Ahhhhh!!! Thank You All So Much For 100+ Followers And 8.8k Interactions On C.ai!! I’m Really Grateful

hai omg your layout is so cute what the eff how is your text so kawaii

omg hii you’re literally the sweetest ever what the freak… thank you so much!! i’m really happy you like my layout hehe. and aaa yes!! the text color thing is actually super easy once you get the hang of it, i promise. i’ll walk you through everything step by step so you can make your text all cute and colorful too!!

how to make your text colored on tumblr (desktop only)

ok so first!! you’ll need a couple of websites to help you out, depending on how you want to pick your color(s):

if you want to pick colors from an image:

https://imagecolorpicker.com

you can upload a pic or paste an image URL, then click anywhere on it to grab the hex color code! super helpful if you’re trying to match a vibe or palette.

if you just want to browse and choose a color:

https://htmlcolorcodes.com/color-picker/

this one lets you scroll through all sorts of shades and gives you the hex code instantly.

once you’ve picked your color(s), you’ll go here:

https://www.stuffbydavid.com/textcolorizer

this is where the magic happens. you’ll paste in your text and your color code, and it’ll give you the html version of it!

example of what this might look like:

now hop over to tumblr (on desktop!! not the app):

1. start a new post and type what you want like normal

2. then click the little gear icon in the top right and switch from “rich text” to “html”

3. paste in the code you got from the text colorizer

4. once it’s in, you can switch back to regular rich text and it should stay all pretty and colored!

(excuse the wonky gif tutorial i did this on my phone in class oopsie)

and that’s it!! super simple once you do it once or twice. i hope this helps a bunch and you have fun customizing your posts — it’s such a cute way to make things feel more you!!

if you need help with anything else or want more custom color ideas just lmk!

congrats on 100 elowyn!!!!! you so deserve it, gonna request M from nsfw alphabet and would I be possible do this artrick? if not just patrick is fine🙂‍↕️

tysm mel 🥹💝 i’ll whip up some artrick for ya

ARTRICK | NSFW ALPHABET | M = MOTIVATION (what turns them on, gets them going)

tags: @destinedtobegigi, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @idyllicdaydreams, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @sohighitscool

ART DONALDSON

Art makes sex feel like the warm weight of a promise.

He doesn’t come at you like he’s trying to conquer anything—he approaches like he’s been handed a gift, and he’s terrified of holding it wrong. He’s soft, but not because he’s unsure; it’s because he cares that much.

What turns him on isn’t power, isn’t control, isn’t anything you’d expect—it’s praise. Honest, needy praise. The moment you gasp out a, “Fuck, feels so good, Art,” his whole demeanor shifts, and suddenly he’s hungry in a way that makes your knees weak. He needs to know he’s doing it right, doing it better, making you feel so good that you can’t even remember how to speak. Tell him he’s perfect and he’ll suck a bruise into your thigh, low and trembling and worshipful, like he’s trying to prove he deserves it.

He gives head like it’s his religion, face buried between your legs, licking and moaning like he’s starved, every sound you make pulling him deeper into the rhythm of it, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair and sob his name, he groans, hips grinding against the mattress because getting you off does more for him than anything else possibly could.

He can be rough when you want it—can pin your hands and fuck you slow and deep with his teeth gritted and his praises pouring out—but even then, it’s all in service of you. You tell him he’s the best you’ve ever had and he’ll fall apart in your hands. You tell him you need him and he’ll shake.

And after, he’ll be nothing but warmth—gentle, whisper-quiet, kissing your forehead and wrapping you in his arms, asking if you’re okay even though he’s already gotten you a towel and a bottle of water and is halfway through tucking you in. “You sure I didn’t overdo it?” he’ll ask with that little furrow between his brows, even though your legs are still trembling and your voice is wrecked from screaming his name. All he needs is to hear you say it again. That he did good. That he’s enough. That he’s yours.

⸻

PATRICK ZWEIG

Patrick’s turn-ons are chaos dressed in charm. He flirts with tension the way most people flirt with eye contact, fingers always testing the limits, grin just crooked enough to get away with it. He gets off on being too much—too fast, too close, too smug, too hot, too fucking good at making you react. Bratty as hell, all lip and swagger, Patrick will push you until you snap because what really makes him throb is watching you lose your patience and take what’s yours.

His body is made to be fucked. He knows it, he flaunts it, he dares you to admit it. Slap his ass, spit on his mouth, call him a whore—he’ll moan into it with a bite to his grin, pupils blown wide, head tilted like he’s about to laugh and cry all at once. “You gonna call me names, baby?” he’ll pant, sucking your fingers into his mouth like candy, drooling around your knuckles with that filthy, reverent look in his eyes.

He loves being used, degraded, pinned down and told he’s nothing but a hole to fuck, but he wants it from someone who sees him. Who gets him. That’s where the angel glows through—he’s the devil who blushes when you call him beautiful mid-thrust, the brat who melts when you pull him in and tell him he’s yours.

He switches when it hits right, when the mood turns—one second he’s mouthing off, the next he’s flipping you over, fucking you deep with slow, brutal thrusts and hissing in your ear, “You gonna be good for me now?”—and whether he’s topping or bottoming, he wants it dirty. Wants it wet, messy, obscene. His mouth stays busy—on you, around you, in you—and when he finally comes, it’s loud, full-body, shameless.

Aftercare’s minimal but honest. He won’t do the whole ritual but he’ll hold you, curled against your chest, biting back a sleepy smile while pretending he’s not touched. “You’re obsessed with me,” he’ll mumble, already half-asleep with your fingers in his hair, and when you kiss his forehead he doesn’t flinch—just sighs like he’s never been safer in his life.

ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ BOT RELEASE ۪ ֹ ᮫

COMING DOWN, you and patrick had just come down from both the high and the sex—your body wrung out, brain buzzing, chest tight with the drop. he noticed before you said anything, pulling you into his chest, already calming you down like he always does. it was quiet, tender, and soft in the way only he knew how to be, wrapping around you like a promise: you’re safe, you’re his.

TAGS, @pittsick, @bambiangels, @idyllicdaydreams, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist, @won-every-lottery

NOTES, to everyone who’s fallen headfirst into my dealer!patrick au—thank you, truly. your tags, messages, unhinged asks, and general feral energy have made this little universe feel so alive and loved. i’m genuinely so honored that you’ve connected with this emotionally constipated, tender-when-it-counts, split-knuckle softie of a man. you get him. you get them. and that means everything. so, as per your many (many😭) requests… i made a bot. he’s yours now. be gentle with him (or don’t). thank you for loving him like i do. —elowyn

ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ BOT RELEASE ۪ ֹ ᮫

THREE’S A CROWD, art and tashi invite you to a hotel dinner that’s not really about dinner. the table’s set, lights dimmed, but their eyes stay on you. tashi’s sharp, in control; art’s quieter, unraveling. conversation slips from polite to personal fast—resentments, desires, everything unspoken laid bare. the meal stays cold. their fixation on you doesn’t. lines blur. therapist, obsession, maybe something worse. by the end, they’re not asking for help—they’re asking what you want.

elowyn is such a pretty name! <3

awe thank you!! fun little fact—elowyn means elm tree, and my mom chose it because there was a big elm tree right outside the hospital window when she had me 😲

yea that brotha’s starving 😭😭😭😭😭

this song is so carmy. every single lyric pertains to every single aspect of his life. grieving mikey, the stress of being a chef, being mean to those he loves……..oh i’m devastated (and SO writing some angst!)

THIS SCENEEEEEEEEEEE

FUCK AROUND & FIND OUT

it’s one of those sultry afternoons where everything feels gross and itchy, and you end up tangled with tashi, your bestfriend since childhood, all teeth, sweat, and filthy fucking tension. nothing sweet about it—just spit, slick, and the kind of grind that makes you see stars.

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader | tashi duncan x vulva-bodied!reader

content warnings: tribadism (f/f grinding), clothed & partially-clothed dry humping, mutual degradation kink, frantic sex, messy/wet/cumplay undertones, hair pulling, nipple play, rough kissing. MDNI

It was one of those heat-choked afternoons that felt like time had given up and just started melting — thick air, sweat-sticky skin, and every single second dragging its balls through molasses. The fan did jack shit but push warm air around like a lazy drunk blowing breath in your face. Everything felt gross and slow and itchy. The TV was on in the corner, spitting out those trashy early-2000s music videos like background radiation — half-naked pop stars grinding on sand or leather couches, and every now and then, one of you would hum along without even realizing it, like the heat had cooked your brains just enough to make you forget you had control over your own fucking mouth.

Tashi was sprawled out like a bored brat in a porno scene, half on her stomach, flipping through some beat-up Cosmo that probably still smelled like her older sister’s weed stash and old perfume. Her legs kicked aimlessly in the air, watermelon gum popping every couple of minutes like a goddamn metronome of irritation. That sound was enough to make you twitch — snap, snap, snap — loud in the stifling quiet. You were slouched somewhere in the disaster zone of pillows and tangled sheets that had once been a bed, sweat plastering your tank top to your back, your sleep shorts clinging to your ass like a second skin. Hair stuck to your neck. Every breath felt like licking the inside of a fucking sauna.

Tashi groaned like a dying animal, flinging the magazine away like it had tried to assault her. “Fuck me, I’m gonna drop dead from boredom.”

You didn’t even look up from your phone. “You say that every ten minutes.”

“Because it’s true every ten minutes, dumbass.” Another snap of gum, and then a pillow flying straight into your lap. “Seriously, what the fuck are we even doing?”

You barely shrugged. “Existing.”

She made this dramatic gagging noise like you’d just told her to meditate. “Jesus. You’re so fucking boring sometimes, babe, I swear to God.”

“Eat shit,” you muttered, glancing up just in time to see that feral glint in her eye — the one that always meant trouble was two seconds away and smiling like the devil.

Her toes jabbed you. Sharp. Annoying. On purpose.

You flinched, swatting at her leg. “The fuck? Cut it out.”

She grinned like a little demon and did it again — harder.

“Tashi, I’m not playing.”

“Oh, yeah?” she chirped, all fake-innocent sass. “What’re you gonna do, cry about it?”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it straight into her smug face, grinning like a jackal. The sound it made was perfect — a soft thwump followed by her surprised bark of laughter. She caught it, lunged, and suddenly you were both in it — flailing and grabbing and cackling like feral children on a sugar high, the sheets twisting around your legs as you wrestled like you were six again, except you weren’t. Not even close.

Your hand got in her hair. Her elbow jammed into your ribs. She shrieked with laughter as she pinched your side and you squealed like she’d stabbed you. It wasn’t cute. It was messy, breathless, chaotic. Your tank tops had ridden up, shorts twisting tight between your thighs. Every movement left you more tangled, more flushed, more wound up with that tense, vibrating heat that had fuck-all to do with the weather.

Then suddenly she had your wrist, twisted and pinned, her body hovering above yours with this wicked glint in her eye. Her thighs locked around your waist, warm, damp, and snug, her skin slick with sweat where it pressed against yours. She was breathing hard, but grinning — eyes alight with something mean and teasing and way too fucking aware.

“Say it,” she panted, cocking her head, smirk wide and full of teeth. “Say ‘uncle’.”

“In your fucking dreams,” you spat, writhing beneath her.

She leaned down, her face inches from yours, breath hot and sweet with gum. “You’re so full of shit.”

And then she rocked her hips — just a little. Just enough to make your breath catch. Enough to feel it.

The shift was instant — one slow grind of her cunt against your stomach and the mood flipped like a switchblade. That smug little roll of her hips wasn’t playful anymore. It was calculated. Slow. Wet. Her pussy already leaking through those paper-thin shorts, leaving a warm smear across your skin that made your whole body twitch. She felt it too — the way your stomach clenched, the way your breath hitched like someone had yanked the air out of your lungs. Her mouth curled like a knife.

“Hey,” she breathed, all low and dirty, like a secret she’d been waiting to unwrap. “You fucking like that.”

You should’ve told her to fuck off. You should’ve shoved her away. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when her cunt was grinding down like that — slow and heavy, soaked enough to make your stomach shine where she dragged over you. The shorts didn’t hide shit. Just spread the mess.

You bucked up without meaning to, chasing it, and her laugh was this hot, breathless little sound that hit straight in your gut.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, teeth flashing. “You’re practically begging already.”

“Bite me,” you hissed, but your voice was shaking. Soft. Pathetic.

She leaned in, her lips brushing yours — not kissing, just hovering, teasing. “Yeah? Want me to? Want me to fucking mark you up like a little bitch in heat?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Her mouth crashed into yours, all spit and teeth and desperation. No build-up. No hesitation. She kissed like she wanted to break something — her lips hot and wet, her tongue shoving past your teeth like she owned the place. The gum was still in her mouth, mashed between you, sweet and sticky and obscene. You tasted it. Felt it smear across your lips.

“Nnghhh…” you groaned into her mouth, and she swallowed the sound like it was dessert.

Her hips never stopped. That sloppy, filthy grind got rougher, wetter, her clit grinding hard against your abdomen. Every move dragged more slick from her cunt, the wet spot on her shorts blooming bigger by the second, smearing a mess across your stomach. Your own hips started moving, rutting up, instinctive and shameless, trying to match the rhythm, to chase that sweet, aching drag of friction.

Tashi broke the kiss with a laugh, gasping against your lips. “Look at you. Fucking humping me like a dog. You that needy, huh?”

You grabbed her ass and yanked her down harder. “Aaahhh!—” she gasped — this high, surprised little sound that made your head spin.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you spat, fingers digging into the curve of her ass hard enough to bruise. “You’re dripping all over me and I’m needy?”

She laughed again, mean and breathless, her hips slamming down harder. “Fuck, yeah, you are. You feel that? Feel how wet I am for you? Could drown you in it.”

You bit her. Right on the shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her flinch and groan — “Nnghhh—” loud and hot, her whole body jerking.

“Jesus fuck,” she gasped, clenching her thighs tighter around your waist. “Do that again and I’ll cum on your stomach right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” you growled, flipping her off-balance, grabbing her hips and grinding her against you even harder. “You’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you? Getting off like a desperate slut while I’m stuck here covered in your mess.”

“Ahh—fuck—” she moaned, no words — just a sound, raw and ruined, as she ground down like her life depended on it.

“Take your top off,” you snapped, already tugging at the hem of hers, dragging it up past her tits. She didn’t argue — just peeled it off, tits bouncing free, her bra shoved down useless under them. You reached up, grabbed a handful, thumbing over her nipple until it hardened like a bullet.

“Fuck, that’s it,” she whimpered, her head falling back, hips grinding faster, more frantic now. “Touch me — fuck — I’m so close already — this is so fucking good—”

You pinched her nipple hard.

She choked on a moan, her whole body trembling.

“You’re such a fucking wreck,” you muttered, licking up the sweat between her tits, your teeth scraping the swell of one. “Little cunt-hungry bitch just needed something to grind on, huh?”

She nodded, wild-eyed, hair stuck to her face, her whole body flushed and dripping. “Yeah,” she panted. “Yeah — fuck, I needed it so bad — I’m so fucking close — please — just a little more—”

You grabbed her shorts, yanked them halfway down her thighs, not even bothering to take them off. Her pussy was soaked — the crotch dark, slick, practically painted in cum. You pushed your own down just enough, then grabbed her by the hips and slammed her cunt down on yours.

The sound it made was obscene — wet, smacking, like slapping raw meat. Both of you moaned at the contact — “Ahhh—” “Nnghhh—” — bare, slick heat against bare, slick heat, the friction perfect and raw and fucking criminal.

“Holy fuck,” she gasped, fingers digging into your shoulders. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god—”

“You like that?” you hissed, rocking up hard into her, the wet drag of clit on clit making your head spin. “Fucking take it. Rub that dirty cunt on mine. Want you to make a mess on me.”

She lost it. Grinding hard, fast, desperate now. Hips slamming down in messy, sloppy circles. Her moans were loud and high and completely unhinged. You were both soaked — thighs slick, the whole bed probably stained with the mess of it.

“God — fuck — I’m cumming — I’m gonna fucking—” she shrieked, her body locking up.

You grabbed her ass and slammed her down one last time — and that was it. She came with a strangled, breathless cry, legs shaking, her cunt grinding hard against yours like she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Her whole body twitching, riding it out, milking every fucking second of it.

You weren’t far behind. The second her clit dragged over yours just right, you were gone — hips jerking, mouth open in a silent moan — “Aaahhh—” — the orgasm ripping through you hard and fast and fucking mean. Your thighs clenched, your back arched, and you came with a strangled, gasping growl, grinding your cunt up into hers like you could melt together.

The room spun. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing.

When it finally eased, you collapsed into the sweat-soaked sheets, limbs tangled, your cunt still twitching, still leaking, still pressed up against hers in a hot, messy smear.

Tashi was giggling — this breathless, fucked-out laugh that shook her whole body.

“Holy shit,” she panted, resting her forehead on your chest. “We’re fucking disgusting.”

You grinned, chest heaving, sweat dripping from your brow. “Yeah. And you love it.”

She didn’t deny it. Didn’t need to.