#you know indulgent things

[pitgritted]

𝐀  𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓                                                  smell  of  blood  fills  the  caverns  of  his  nostrils  ,  so  sickeningly  dry  ,  sweet  ,  &  metallic  .  the  scent  stems  into  the  receptors  of  his  nasal  cavities  ,  triggering  the  nerve  -  ending  bundles  of  his  brain  .  hard  -  wired  on  the  lustful  desire  for  more  .  his  tongue  pokes  out  [  ;  ]  breathy  &  hot  ,  lapping  up  the  dry  tasting  airs  of  ionian  summers  .  such  heat  was  irritable  &  ignited  his  fists  to  keep  thrashing  down  without  recoil  .  in  a  feverish  want  for  more  ,  hands  dolled  up  in  a  fresh  pelt  of  crimson  [  ;  ]  webbed  in  fine  sticky  strings  that  thin  the  more  he  expands  the  gaps  of  his  digits  ,  he  slowly  retracts  his  form  .

                                                   a  bit  of  it  encrusts  between  the  divots  of  his  knuckle  duster  ,  outlining  the  cracks  of  teeth  that  layer  the  jutting  maw  of  the  wolverine  .  it’s  crimson  eye  socket  hollow  &  gleaming  back  at  him  .  

                                                  ❝  BOSS  —  !  get  ‘yer  head  outta  the  clouds  !!  you’ve  finished  him  —  !!  ❞

                                                  get  my  head  outta  the  clouds  …  but  his  fists  still  throbbed  beneath  crimson  excretions  ,  it  burned  with  a  stringent  desire  [  ;  ]  𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏  𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆  .  the  pads  of  his  fingers  were  embedded  with  gold  ,  pulsating  with  what  he  assumed  were  his  old  blood’s  power  .  it  became  so  concentrated  in  matter  ,  it  sticks  to  the  bulbs  of  his  eyes  &  hair  ,  all  he  could  see  was  in  fact  white  .  his  nose  suffocated  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  fresh  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇  .  

                                                  ❝  don’t  give  me  orders  ,  boss  knows  what  he’s  doin’  .  i  ain’t  a  guy  with  a  nut  for  a  head  …  right  ?  ❞  jutting  fangs  rest  comfortably  against  his  bottom  lip  ,  hair  sprouting  chin  coated  in  saliva  .  perhaps  he  was  drooling  .  his  body  felt  hot  [  ;  ]  it  wasn’t  from  ionia’s  sweltering  hot  season  ,  no  .  he  felt  overstimulated  .  pushed  to  his  limits  .  

                                                  he  crushes  sounds  that  threaten  to  leave  his  gullet  ,  sinking  huffs  &  grunts  beneath  his  blood  soaked  molars  .  his  vision  blinks  ,  color  infusing  through  the  mask  of  white  that  glazes  over  his  eyes  .

                                                  his  sternum  felt  like  it  had  become  stretched  ,  along  with  the  seven  ridges  that  barricaded  his  vital  organs  .  it  was  a  painful  shot  that  scorched  up  his  tailbone  ,  his  expanded  fingers  gripping  at  the  air  for  anything  to  grab  onto  .  a  guttural  hiss  seethes  through  his  teeth  ,  finding  his  attempts  thwarted  .  a  pair  of  wide  hands  strapped  him  in  place  against  bodies  ,  meant  to  stop  him  .  keep  him  tamed  .  𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃  .  

                                                  ❝  snap  out  of  it  boss  .  you’ve  won  .  ❞

                                                  a  deeper  feminine  voice  touched  his  ears  &  there’s  a  stiff  shift  of  his  jaw  .  his  brain  tried  as  hard  as  it  might  to  link  this  voice  to  a  face  .  his  molten  flesh  felt  entombed  against  a  rough  surface  ,  it  was  cool  but  it  was  large  .  he  couldn’t  move  at  all  .  his  arteries  felt  clogged  as  a  hand  mounted  against  his  wide  neck  ,  stifling  his  attempts  at  even  biting  .  not  that  he  was  going  to  anyway  .  

                                                  his  vision  continues  to  blink  &  spiral  into  a  series  of  dismantling  colorful  images  .  there  was  a  mound  of  red  at  the  center  ,  surrounded  by  a  heavily  saturated  surrounding  .  his  pit  …  that’s  right  .  he  was  in  the  ring  .  he  was  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃  on  account  of  a  greater  ticket  being  cashed  in  .  awaiting  sacks  of  coin  to  spill  it’s  impregnated  canvases  over  his  desk  .  

                                                  wait  he  —-  won  ?  she  said  …  he  won  .  his  enclosed  limbs  slowly  were  dispelled  of  the  heat  ,  his  magic  ,  &  became  turmoiled  with  pain  &  exhaustion  .  ❝  wait  …  really  ?  ❞  he  rasped  out  to  her  ,  so  hushed  ,  so  ingrained  with  spent  resources  .  she  mimics  her  reply  with  a  belated  hum  .  ❝  i  got  you  ,  settrigh  .  the  bouts  have  already  dispersed  the  crowd  …  you  got  your  pay  .  nobody  seen  what  has  happened  .  ❞  

                                                  so  much  for  that  …  sett  would  delegate  his  workers  ,  making  sure  there  are  enough  big  bodies  guarding  the  profits  ,  while  he  prepares  for  a  jam  -  packed  audience  ‘  hankering  for  blood  .  ‘  who  was  he  not  to  give  his  blood  -  thirsty  customers  of  his  a  deserved  show  ?  no  matter  the  gore  behind  it  .  but  if  it  was  enough  to  draw  even  his  trusted  to  thwart  him  ,  this  won’t  be  a  pretty  sight  for  old  eyes  .  

                                                  ❝  be  honest  with  me  ,  farhozi  …  what’s  the  damage  to  that  crooked  fella  ?  ❞  

                                                  ❝  about  as  dead  as  the  croonies  you’ve  slaughtered  in  the  past  .  but  you’ve  ripped  into  him  ,  despite  his  passing  .  damn  near  unrecognizable  .  ❞  she  replies  .  ❝  well  …  more  just  a  sack  of  meat  than  recognizable  .  ❞

                                                  ❝  fuckin’  hell  …  ❞

                                                  ❝  you  might  want  to  get  ‘yerself  cleaned  up  before  filing  up  those  papers  for  the  deceased  .  ❞  she  advised  .  sett  scrunches  his  nose  &  scoffs  .  

                                                  ❝  yeah  …  just  give  me  a  sec’  ,  will  ‘ya  ?  ❞  once  he  stated  this  ,  his  body  had  finally  been  freed  .  blood  smearing  on  his  face  as  his  palms  rubbed  the  plates  of  his  rugged  face  .  his  vision  finally  gets  back  at  him  ,  reading  his  environment  &  deducing  visible  information  .  

                                                  that  red  mound  could  be  depicted  as  an  obscene  distortion  of  gore  [  ;  ]  gristle  broke  through  flesh  &  marrow  sticks  upwards  ,  completely  disregarding  it’s  original  purpose  or  shape  .  sett  couldn’t  even  make  out  what  belonged  to  what  in  the  skeleton  .  entrails  are  flattened  &  pasted  against  the  ring’s  floor  ,  thick  pink  innards  caved  in  with  shapes  of  his  brass  knuckles  .  chunks  of  the  scalp  with  specks  of  black  hair  loiter  about  with  the  flecks  of  blood  splattered  a  bit  of  a  distance  away  .  

                                                  ❝  shit  …  did  i  really  do  that  ?  ❞

                                                  farhozi  sniffs  at  him  ,  wiping  her  thumb  against  her  nose  .  ❝  in  all  my  years  of  being  a  professional  pit  contender  ,  this  is  the  most  gruesome  thing  yet  .  ❞

[ruushes]

my hof was born to be a griffon rider, if they could've given him a griffon at the start of dao the blight would've been over in a week

[u3pxx]

chat i dont think i can explain this one

[aeide-thea]

on principle opposed to describing art i dislike as 'masturbatory' because even though it's an alluringly contemptuous word to sneer it's impossible to reconcile with my pro-masturbation stance

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

[canisalbus]

✦ 2023 summary of art ✦

[hoofpeet]

The gender thing ever <3 she has so many complexes

[bread-wizards]

I actually think Dorian and Orym should fight more.

Remember when their slowly building tension over and entire episode (full of passive aggressive remarks and blame throwing) led to threats? And how after, Orym thanked Dorian for handing over the crown sadly because he knew Dorian would be mad at him? And Dorian couldn't even look at him because he was legitimately hurt, thinking Orym was disappointed in him for doing what he thought was right? That was peak.

The fact they went from that to their current closeness and trust is the best part of their entire dynamic. Their relationship was hard fought and still will be. They will fight for it because they respect and care for one another deeply, and their disagreements don't change that, only improve it.

[artistmarchalius]

I wanted to design my own female Alastor for funsies and put her in clothes she might have worn in the mid 1930s. Once I’d drawn one outfit it was hard to stop. Of course I had to turn them into a catalog page!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I want you whipped into shape!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[daily-odile]

everything is the same except Odile is the one looping

oh. heheheheh. muahahahaha. hold on *digs through my pile of disorganized sketches*

Odile loops au; a sketch compilation!!

Some old fic drabbles + associated sketches under cut (a6 secret spoilers):

hc: Since equipment carries over, as long as Odile uses her book in a fight, she can write down notes and have it carry over loops

toxic doomed yuri (for a more fleshed out fic I highly recommend The Sweetest Thing by soreimoon, it's amazing)

[spicyet]

What are you looking for here? Scroll back up.

Just kidding, here’s a treat:

[welcometogrouchland]

I've been binging Batman Beyond recently (Terry ily so much) and thought about how- bc of the JLU twist which I think isn't even canon to the comics BB verse but shhh bare with me- he'd technically be Damian's half brother??? Which is just so ridiculously soap opera to me. I need them to interact in a silly time travel adventure so bad you don't even understand (ID in alt)

[zorrasucia]

13. Hot Cocoa + Baking

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (2.3k)

Tags: Chocolat (2000) AU, Friends to Rivals to Lovers, Food, Curvy Reader, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Smut, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Maybe it was corny and provincial, but you always welcomed your neighbors with a batch of cookies. It was good for business most of the time too - the insurance people next door bought pastries every other day for their breakfast after you gifted them some for their opening.

So, there you were, close to the counter of the new specialty chocolaterie, box of cookies in hand, captivated by the smell of chocolate... There was so much more though: caramel, vanilla, almonds, coffee, cardamom, berries, and was that pepper...?

"Welcome to The Bear, what can I do for you?" a tall man greeted you.

"Oh, hi!" you smiled politely. "I'm from the bakery down the street. Wanted to say hello and give you a little welcome present."

You handed him the box, delicate calligraphy marking the name of your shop.

The man beamed. "That's so sweet! Pun not intended," he chuckled to himself. "Now we definitely have to give you something on the house!"

You looked at his name tag. "Richie, that's not necessary at all..."

"Nonsense. Plus, you get to see the magic happen. Cousin!" he bellowed to the back, where you assumed the kitchen was.

"Magic?" you frowned.

A blond guy with blue eyes emerged from the door and gave you a polite nod.

"What is it?" he asked Richie, he seemed irritated.

"Cookies from our neighbor, cuz," Richie offered him the open box, he was already biting into his second one. "Say thanks and do your mind-reader thing."

"It's not... Never mind," he mumbled in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Carmy Berzatto," he said and offered you his hand to shake. "Thank you for the cookies."

"You're welcome," you smiled at the sight of him eating with gusto.

"Is that piloncillo sugar?" he asked after a moment of savoring.

"Yes!" you beamed.

"Tremendous," he said earnestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked closer to the counter and stared at you, intensely, for half a minute. "Mocha frappe, double espresso shot, whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. That's your favorite."

You stared right back, mouth agape. That was your comfort drink, no matter the weather. How did he know?

"Do we still have the nice Mexican coffee? She'll appreciate it," he asked Richie.

"Yeah, third shelf. Neat trick, huh?" Richie grinned, enjoying the shocked look on your face as Carmy went to the back.

"How does he-?"

"Fucked if I know," he shrugged. "He says it's a family thing. He never misses."

"Did he guess your favorite too?" you asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "It's hot cocoa with marshmallows. He says I have the palate of a six year old but if it ain't broke..."

While Carmy prepared your drink, you looked around the shop. There were beautiful confections with crazy flavors, covered in gold leaf, almost too beautiful to eat. But there were also dollops of milk chocolate with puffed rice, humble looking and ready for a kid to devour. Truly something for everyone.

When he handed you your coffee you asked: "What's your favorite?"

Carmy gave you a tense smile. "Hope you like it. Pleasure to meet you," he said and left.

"He says it's a secret," Richie handed you a napkin, then he added in a whisper: "I don't think he has one. He doesn't enjoy things that way."

"What way?"

"Uh, the normal way, I guess," Richie shrugged. "He barely eats the things he makes. Lives like a monk. It feels like he has to make chocolate 24/7 or some family curse is going to get him. Dunno if I'm making sense."

"Kind of," you said.

You took a sip of your drink and knew you were fucked forever. No chain coffeehouse would be able to compete with this.

~

It had been a couple of months since The Bear opened. They had a few loyal customers plus whatever weirdos wanted to see if Carmy was as spot on with his predictions as online reviews said he was - he never missed.

You had become friendly with the staff and had developed a routine of sorts with Carmy.

It probably wasn't healthy but you saw him as a mystery to solve. You didn't know about chocolate, not the way he did, but you knew baking, you understood how comfort and love could be encapsulated in a dessert. So you tried to find his favorite, the thing that would make his heart sing like he could do to you and every other person that walked into his chocolaterie. If nothing else, you got constructive criticism from a kindred spirit on a weekly basis.

Could use less cinnamon. 

Maybe with brown sugar instead? 

Oh, that's good. 

What about blackberry jam? 

Delicious... but not my favorite.

"Anyone told you you're a buzzkill?" you said with a dejected sigh.

"Many people. Often," he replied dryly.

"Richie doesn't count."

"Point still stands," he said, wiping crumbs from the flaky pastry you had brought. "People think I'm supposed to be having fun in there for the chocolate to be good when it's probably the opposite."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Carm," you said, exasperated. "You don't have to be fucking miserable for this to work."

He took a deep breath. You had never spelled it out so clearly and it clearly struck a nerve.

"I appreciate you," he said. "I do. But I'm fucked up. And you can't fix me with pies and cakes and-" he looked at the ceiling. "You're an incredible pastry chef. And you're so fucking nice but, uh, I think we should stop this."

"This?"

"You coming here and asking for feedback on your already perfect baked goods. I don't know what you're expecting from me but you look at me with those Bambi eyes and I always disappoint you," he ran a hand through his hair. "It fucks me up."

"Right." You picked up your stuff as quickly as you could, feeling heartbroken and humiliated. You knew you probably came off as needy but you hadn't realized just how much. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Won't happen again."

And you left.

~

Weeks passed, weeks that you devoted to yourself, to feeling better, dressing pretty, baking delicious treats for happy customers, standing in front of the mirror to say nice things about your curvy body.

You had tried and failed to make Carmy see how much better his life could be if he let himself enjoy things, actually savor his chocolate instead of finding four things that were wrong with it upon his first bite. Only now you realized how similar you two were, both wanting to fix things that were probably best left alone. Carmy wasn't a recipe you could perfect and he wasn't your anything really to worry about.

It wasn't lost on you, the metaphor for everything you had been doing - his lithe body and your slightly overweight one, and how much you wanted his toned biceps on either side of your head as he panted above you, letting himself lose control for once. As you indulged in these fantasies, your fingers deep inside your pussy, you wondered whether he ever desired stuff that way. You pictured him, eyes rolled back in bliss, while he held you, and you came with a cry.

~

You were closing up for the night, cold wind ruffling your hair and your skirt.

"Hey."

You turned to see Carmy, blue apron underneath his wool coat.

"Hey," you said curtly, avoiding his glance.

"I, uh, I've been wanting to talk to you..." he said.

"Okay? Can you make it quick? I have to get up at four in the morning," the prickly part of you woke up at the sight of him.

"Listen, you don't need to do it if you don't want to but-" he handed you a paper bag with The Bear's logo on it. "I was wondering if you could make pain au chocolat with this?"

You received the bag cautiously. "How many?"

"I only need two," he mumbled and you scoffed. He knew - he fucking knew how hard it was to make the dough and that you couldn't just make two. "You can keep the rest of the chocolate," he offered.

"I'm still gonna charge you full price," you warned him.

"Of course."

You eyed him suspiciously, his bright eyes and open hands, his overall apologetic manner...

"Fine. I'll come by tomorrow after I close."

~

Maybe it was pride but you didn't try the pain au chocolat with Carmy's chocolate. Not one bite out of the entire batch you had baked. It would, of course, be excellent and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Here you go," you handed him the box, all pretty with a ribbon and a blank card ready to be gifted.

"Thank you," he gave you a shy smile. "Wanna sit down? I'll make you hot chocolate."

His shop was empty - only half the lights were on, and the sign at the door read 'Closed'.

"Come on," he insisted, his blue eyes pleading and you sighed in defeat, sitting by the counter next to him.

He served two cups of hot chocolate and plated the pastries, one for you and one for him.

"What are you-?" you started.

"When we first met, you asked me about my favorite," he explained. "Then you started bringing cookies and pie and muffins and it was so nice. I'm not used to nice things. And you were getting close. So I pushed you away and I Iashed out. I was an asshole."

"Yes, you were," you took a sip of your chocolate. He would be so much easier to hate if the things he made weren't so tasty.

"I'm not asking to go back to the way things were if you don't want that. I just hated how things ended," he nudged the plate towards you. "This is my favorite."

The pastry you had baked with the chocolate he had made.

"You haven't even tried it," you challenged him.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. You squeezed your thighs at the low, delicious sound.

"Fuck. That's perfect," he declared. Your heart beat faster. "Try it."

You took a bite. It was cozy and delicate, the rich chocolate caressing your tongue.

You nodded. "What a way to put my chocolate supplier to shame."

Carmy smiled, taking another big bite. "I'll give it to you for free if you keep making these."

You blushed at the double meaning and turned away.

"Fuck, that sounded awful. Sorry," Carmy said after a beat.

"It's okay," you laughed. You turned to face him, he had a giddy smile on his face that made him look younger and prettier.

"You have a-" he pointed at your lip but then he reached over and rubbed at your lower lip, wiping some leftover chocolate. He brought that same finger up to his mouth and sucked it clean. Your stomach dropped and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Carmy stood up, you could see his pupils dilate the closer he got, see his eyes linger on the low cut of your shirt.

"I thought that if I stopped seeing you, I would be able to focus," he whispered, his breath tickling your face. "I have never been so fucking distracted. Just thinking..." he kissed the side of your face, open mouthed and hungry. "Kept thinking of things I'd say to you, recipes I could share and shit like that," he mumbled, his hands ghosting over your thighs, playing with the hem of your skirt. "Thinking about your hands, kneading, working, and how they'd feel," following his lead you placed your hands over his chest, caressing his sides. He groaned. "Thinking about your body. Every part of it..."

"Touch me," you practically begged, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your breasts over your clothes.

"Imagining how sweet you'd taste," he panted against your lips, letting you close the small distance left, tasting his own chocolate in your mouth as he devoured you. You pulled on his hair, desperate to return every bit of passion he was giving you.

"Carmy," you gasped and brought him closer, opening your legs and scooting to the edge of your seat. His hard cock rubbed against your center, his hands were everywhere.

"So soft," he said, kissing down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breast with one hand and squeezed your hip with the other, guiding you to grind against his erection.

"Fuck," you cursed. "Like that."

You tugged on his hair, getting a low groan in response. You took the opportunity to shove your tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all the hunger you had for him. He bit your lower lip and you moaned.

"You even sound sweet," he said absently, a desperate rhythm building between you.

"I thought of you too," you said, looking into his blue eyes, squeezing his ass to bring him closer. "Thought how'd beautiful you'd look when you came - all sweaty, your eyes on me."

"Fuck," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Can't wait to take you home. Fuck you properly. Fucking taste you..."

You could feel fireworks inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing, grinding desperately against Carmy, biting on his bicep to muffle a cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, my God," you gasped for breath as he chased his release, you grew pliant in his embrace, carding your fingers through his hair, legs shaking around his waist, your underwear soaked.

"Fuck," he froze and exhaled hard, his nose tickling your neck. "If you feel this good with your clothes on..."

You giggled. "Come on," you kissed his temple. "Let's close up shop."

[lemonfroq]

squids and peace!

+ bonus doodles of vash being an affectionate creature as usual (and credit to sol_rust and fresh8cto on twt for their zapfish!vash design inspos!)

[senseearly]

For a moment, imagine yourself in Mithrun's brother shoes.

Your brother - stronger, prettier, more charismatic, but also distrustful and disdainful of everyone especially you - is to be sent to the Canaries. It is the rule, it is the duty of all noble houses. But you know what goes on there, Mithrun knows what happens there. Yet you see him off, bidding a temporary farewell as you do, because someone from the House has to go and it won't be definitely you. Mithrun knows this, you know this. And you wonder, very briefly, if Mithrun hates you now more than he does already.

Your brother - powerful, agile, a good soldier just as he is as an heir, if he could only be an heir - suddenly disappears. The unit he belonged to suddenly disappeared. And you're speechless because - how? why? No one wants to answer you; they will instead try to bring back a body, they promise to you. But that is not what you want. You grieve for your brother. but your own family doesn't grieve with you. Wasn't Mithrun family too?

Then you found out: MIthrun is alive.

Your brother - now weak, despondent, his eyes always looking for something that is not here nor there - is to be sent home where people can take care of him. It is not your first choice, you want him home. But he is - sick. Not quite there. He needs someone who can look after him and you look at yourself - your gait, your constitution - and you know it can't be you. So, you follow the advice of your family and pour out all your resources to find him the best of healers and caretakers. You ask yourself, almost daily, if Mithrun would ever return to who he once was.

Your brother - strong, pretty, uninterested of anything and anyone else aside from what he calls 'the demon' - is now better. He can walk on his own now, eats without throwing up on himself. The color on his skin is back and the scars of his injuries have faded into thick bumps and discolored skin. But he still isn't quite there; still needs help and probably will for the rest of his life. And you can live with that. You can provide that. Just as long as he comes home.

But doesn't. Your brother - now a husk of his former self, and you hate thinking of him that way, but you can't help yourself, the Mithrun you knew is gone - runs straight back to the Canaries. His mission is not over, he says. He doesn't care how long it takes, he says. And you see him off, again, because someone from the House has to go and it still can't be you. Mithrun knows this, you know this, and you can't help but wish, very briefly, if things would've been different if you went instead of him.