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homomenhommes · 15 days

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STORY: My First Bukkake Party

by Brock Archer

OMG! I couldn’t believe I was surrounded by two dozen hot men beating their meat and spooging all over the hairy muscle stud on the workout bench. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My name is Colt, and yes, you could call me a cowboy. I grew up on a small ranch on the outskirts of Nowhere, Nebraska. As you can imagine, there weren’t lots of opportunities for a gay teenager in a rural area to explore and learn about his sexuality. So, when I graduated from high school, I got the hell out of there and went straight…uh…directly… to San Francisco, the gay capital of the world. San Francisco State University, to be exact. I had earned excellent grades in high school, so I could have gone to any of the most prestigious schools on either coast, but I wanted to go where I could experience the full range of what it means to be gay. I was looking for a different kind of education, and man, did I get it.

Josh and I met at freshman orientation and become fast friends—“fast” having a couple of different meanings here. We are so much alike. We had both played sports in high school and were ripped: both 5’10”, 42” chest and 30” waist. Brown eyes and brown hair, though his is a little lighter than mine.

Like me, Josh had come from a small town (in a remote corner of Outhouse County, Oklahoma) and was also eager to explore his sexuality. We began by exploring each other, and we branched out from there. We are both versatile—for now at least. Josh tends to lean more to the bottom, and I’m more of a top, but we decided to experience both sides until we had learned everything we could.

Both of our cocks are just over 6”, a little bit more than the average but still within the “normal” range. Actually, I’m quite sure that my cock is just a tad bigger than Josh’s, and we argued often about this issue. Those arguments usually led to wrestling matches, which led to rough sex. The rule was that whoever won the wrestling match got to fuck the shit out of the other one. Of course, I always won the wrestling matches…except on those rare occasions when I would let Josh think he had won because I was in one of my rare moods to feel a hard dick up my ass.

Just after Josh and I got settled into our dorm, we immediately logged onto our favorite hook-up sites and a few more we had never heard of before, and from there, we arranged one-night hookups, got invitations to bate parties, and found out which gay bars were best for cruising and which ones had dark corners and back rooms.

We especially liked the leather bars, sports bars, and country-western bars, and we never failed to score at any of them—often two or three times a night—sometimes back in our dorm room or at the other guys’ places but just as often right there in the bars. I can thank those bars for giving me the opportunity to experience sex on a pool table for the first time—but definitely not the last.

At the country-western bars, we didn’t have to pretend to be cowboys. We were cowboys, and we had the well-worn boots, Wrangler jeans, leather belts with large silver buckles, plaid shirts, and Stetsons to prove it.

When we went to sports bars, I would wear a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, a skin tight tank top, and 49ers gym shorts or sweat pants. Most of the time, I went commando—not only because it was comfortable and more revealing, but also for the ease of access (wink, wink). Sometimes, though, I would borrow some of Josh’s designer underwear, the kind with a built-in cock ring to lift my junk and push my dick forward. Not that I really needed the help, but the extra advertising certainly didn’t hurt.

At the leather bars, of course I wore leather, but not the biker kind that you usually see in such places. My leather gear consisted of cowboy leather: brown chaps, gambler’s vest, and suede jacket.

To experience a long fetish itch, we once sneaked into the athlete’s gym at San Jose State University and fucked on a mattress of jock straps that we had swiped from the lockers. Most of the jocks smelled like they hadn’t been washed all semester. The stench was awful, but that was the whole point. We didn’t want the kind of proper, sanitized sex tolerated—if not always practiced—by Presbyterians back in Nebraska and Oklahoma. We wanted sex that was raunchy, stinking, vulgar, raw…and real.

To be fair, not all of the jocks were rancid. A few were actually fresh. Those were the ones we used to wipe up the cum we spewed everywhere. Josh and I both walked away with personal souvenirs.

From going to the bath houses in Oakland and San Jose, we learned that we are both voyeurs and exhibitionists. We like to watch, and we especially love being watched. We even got spit roasted in the middle of Folsom Street during the annual festival.

We checked out every exhibit at the festival and volunteered for every demonstration we could. We sampled bondage, flogging, gangbanging, E-stim, fisting, edging, rimming, water sports, and all kinds of toys and gear—from both the giving and receiving ends.

Not all of it really appealed to us, but we figured we’d never know until we tried it, and man, we tried everything. Or at least, I thought I had tried everything until Josh burst into our dorm room one day exclaiming, “Colt, you won’t believe what I found.”

Waving his smart phone at me as he plopped his ass down next to me, he practically yelled, “Look!”

It was a link from one of our favorite fuck apps, a link that led to party announcements. We had both been to sex parties that freshman year—separately and together—but this one was different. “What’s a bukkake party?” I asked.

“Scroll through the screens,” he pressed.

As I did, I found pictures of a bunch of guys circling around another guy and jizzing all over him. “Fucking hot!” I gushed.

“It’s this weekend,” blubbered Josh. “Apparently, these two guys in Sausalito host a party about once a month, and the next one is this Saturday.”

Josh went on to explain that participation was limited to 20 men, and we had to apply by sending our E-mail address. We had both set up extra accounts with aliases, so we used those to sign up. Fortunately, we got in before everyone else beat us to it.

Josh and I both were super hyped and super horny all week just daydreaming about the adventure ahead. We jerked off and screwed even more than usual those last few days.

As we drove up to the house at the address we were given, we could tell right away that the inhabitants had money. The place was a fucking mansion. A valet dressed (or undressed) like a Chippendale dancer met us under the porte cochere and directed us to the front door, where we were met by an ultra-sexy blond-haired, blue-eyed hunk in his early 30s. His entire wardrobe consisted of nothing but a cock ring, which bolstered his already considerable assets.

“Welcome, men. I’m Scott,” he said, extending a firm, masculine hand. “Come on in and get comfortable,” which really meant, “Get naked.”

Directly in front of us, several men were removing their clothes and putting them in brown paper bags, on which they wrote their names (real or fake) with a black marker. We followed their lead and drew flattering gawks and whistles from some of the guys. Josh and I were used to that because we were both handsome, muscular, and approachable (i.e., slutty).

From that room, French doors led to the patio, where we found more guys—ranging from our age to 70 or more. Neither Josh nor I had ever expressed a particular interest in older men, but we were quite surprised at how hot some of the older men looked. Most of the men were completely naked, and some had even started warming up before the main event, though the first hour was supposed to be just for socializing. I guess it all depends on your definition of “socializing.”

There were men of all types. Tall, short, and in between. White, black, Asian, and mixed. Blonds, brunettes, and gingers. Average-looking guys, muscle jocks, pretty boys, and gorgeous hunks who looked like underwear models. Most of the guys had dicks that looked to be average, though most were not yet sporting full erections. Once they did, we found that some even exceeded 9 inches.

Some of the men retained their underwear, though none left much to the imagination. Several were dressed in leather, though some of those wore chaps that exposed their junk or their asses.

Several coolers lined the edge of the pool. These contained various drinks ranging from bottled water to sodas to an array of beers. Josh and I each took a beer and began to mingle. As we did, most of the guys took the opportunity to lay hands on us, squeezing our biceps, ass cheeks, or dicks, placing their arms around our shoulders or hugging us so tightly that our cocks rubbed against each other. One guy, a beefy bear, walked up to me and, without a word, assaulted my mouth as if he were trying to tongue-fuck my tonsils. Some guys might have been put off by such aggressiveness, but I ate it up, and Josh loved watching me succumb.

I don’t know about Josh, but I had learned that I am not really either a dom or a sub, a master or a slave, but I can lean either way up to a point. I learned that you don’t have to go all the way in either direction, and you don’t always have to stay in one role. You can just do what feels right under the circumstances.

Nearly all of the men were complete strangers to us, but we did recognize two familiar faces at the other end of the patio. One was Josh’s chemistry professor, whom I dubbed Dr. Beast. He was ruggedly handsome, giving the appearance more of a construction worker than a university professor. I made a mental note to log onto the registrar’s Website as soon as we got back to our dorm and pre-register for his fall class. I had not really been looking forward to taking chemistry—not really my bag—but this was a man I was definitely eager to exchange test tubes with.

The other familiar face was a guy from my American history class my first semester. I almost didn’t recognize him without his nerdy reading glasses and frumpy sweaters. Many people are quite surprised to learn how cold the air coming off the ocean and the bay can make San Francisco feel. Mark Twain once said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Being from Nebraska, I was used to the cold, but this kid was from southern Arizona and bundled up every day for our early morning class.

I say “kid” because he looked younger than his age. Being no more than 5’6” no doubt contributed to that impression, but so did his really cute baby face. He had a nice bod, though—a swimmer’s build, lean but with strong legs, arms, and shoulders. And to top it all off, he had the most delectable ass I had ever seen. I could just imagine his sphincter muscles milking my dick and balls dry.

Dr. Beast and Chip (we later learned was his name) crossed the patio to greet us, and by the time they reached us, my dick was as stiff as a board, and Josh’s was gaining on me rapidly. We reached out to shake their hands, and they extended theirs in return, but they did not take our hands. They grabbed our boners and took a couple of lustful tugs. Dr. Beast even pumped his dick in tandem with mine with his big, husky hand. Damn, this was going to be a really fun party.

Suddenly, the rock music that had been blaring from patio speakers ceased, and Scott, the blond cock-ring-wearing guy, though he was one of the tallest men there, stepped up onto a weight bench to draw everyone’s attention. An extremely handsome dark-haired and furry middle-aged man offered his shoulder to brace Scott as he ascended. Though the second man was totally naked, I imagined him as one of the actors in a porn flick, the ones that feature middle-aged executives in Brooks Brothers suits pounding away at the coffee boy. Uhhh, cream and sugar, sir?

“For the benefit of the first-timers,” said Scott, “let’s go over the rules. Most of you know my partner Chuck,” the man whose shoulder he leaned on. “As tonight’s guest of honor,” he continued, “Chuck will take the throne,” which was actually the adjustable weight bench that Scott was standing on. The choice of “furniture” was not really surprising since Scott and Chuck both looked like they had spent lots of time in the gym.

“There’s really just one rule,” said Scott: “all the cum belongs to the guest of honor. All of it gets dumped on Chuck. You can fuck his mouth or even his ass, you can ride his cock” (which was already hard and sticking straight up), “you can even play with each other however you wish, but when you’re ready to come, you must shoot it onto Chuck. If you find yourself exploding uncontrollably into a condom or another guy’s mouth, you must transfer the baby batter onto Chuck’s face or into his mouth.” Though I had seen what Scott was talking about in the videos that Josh and I had watched, I was really turned on by the way that Scott explained it. Hell, I was turned on by everything Scott did. He and Chuck were both fucking hot.

“Since no one has signed up to be the clean-up man this month, I will assume that role,” Scott continued. I was not sure what that meant at first, but it soon became pretty obvious.

With the preliminaries out of the way, Scott hopped down from the bench, which he then adjusted to a 45-degree angle, a comfortable level for most of our cocks to reach Chuck’s mouth easily.

The beefy bear who had accosted me was the first to shove his big cock down Chuck’s throat. Chuck gagged, but his eyes revealed that he really wanted that cock. As Mr. Bear fucked Chuck’s mouth, the rest of us played with our dicks as we worked up a good load in anticipation of our turn. Some of the guys stroked their own dicks, and some pumped others’. Some made out, and some sucked each other up to a fever pitch.

In no time at all, Mr. Bear had filled his balls with man juice. He pulled out of Chuck’s mouth and held it open as he aimed his spew into the hunk’s mouth. Some of the shots hit their target, some landed on Chuck’s face, and some dripped off his chin onto his hairy chest. Scott immediately sprang into action as the clean-up man, licking up the cum that had missed Chuck’s mouth and feeding it to him. They snowballed and then kissed, passing the nectar between them. I thought it was the hottest fucking thing I had ever seen in my life. I wasn’t sure who I envied more, the guest of honor or the clean-up man.

As each man neared his climax, he approached Chuck and drenched him in cum. At times, two or even three guys unloaded at once, and Scott dutifully performed his clean-up duties. A couple of guys swapped their loads with Scott before depositing them into Chuck’s eager mouth.

While Chuck was getting his face lathered, some of the guys played with his nipples or his dick. Some rode his stiff cock, and others fucked his ass with their fingers or dicks. Chuck was getting worshipped from every angle and in every way possible. God, I envied him.

I wasn’t ready to shoot yet, and I desperately wanted Chuck’s big cock, so when one guy rose off of it, I grabbed my chance. I positioned myself at the foot of the bench and bent over to swallow Chuck’s manhood. As I began to suck, I felt someone’s feet between mine, spreading them farther apart. Then, I felt two strong hands spreading my ass cheeks. I thought for sure I was about to get shafted, and I was eager for the opportunity, but instead of a cock against my ass, I felt a wet tongue. Some guy was eating me out, and he was doing a hell of a job at it. I thought I was going to come just from the fantastic rim job.

It was useless to look back to see who this tongue master was since his face was buried in my ass, but then he stopped, rose up, and positioned his dick against my opening. Before he entered, though, he spit on his cock several times to lube it. The feral nature of his approach turned me on big time. With his cock and my hole both wet from his saliva, he entered me, slowly at first, and then with one hard thrust after another. He worked up a rhythm and picked up speed, and in no time he was pounding my ass and nailing my prostate like a jack hammer. It was rough. And glorious.

Sensing that Chuck was getting close and not wanting him to shoot just yet, I withdrew my mouth from his dick, which caused him to gurgle through a mouth full of cum, “No! No! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” But I had a different plan and apparently so did the man with his cock in my ass. When he withdrew as well, I looked back to discover that he was none other than Dr. Beast.

The construction worker masquerading as a chemistry professor threw his strong arms around my chest, lifted me up into the air, and set me back down on Chuck’s raging cock, which I proceeded to ride like a wild stallion needing to be broken. Despite having two cocks in his mouth and cum spraying all over him, Chuck maintained enough concentration to buck back, pounding my ass balls deep. I thought he was going to tear me apart, and I couldn’t think of a better way to go.

With each smack, my own dick flopped against the treasure trail adorning his lower belly. That action alone was enough to bring me to the verge of a climax. Without even touching my cock, I shot volley after volley, the first one flying right over Chuck’s head and landing on the cock of a man standing over him. The next two hit him in the face, and the rest trailed down his hirsute chest and abs.

Nearly exhausted, I started to dismount my stud, but Dr. Beast quickly intervened, pushing me back down onto Chuck’s still-hard cock. Then, he really shocked me by shoving me face to face with Chuck. I felt the cum I had just unloaded squishing between my body and Chuck’s, between my cheek and his. As the Beast held my head down next to Chuck’s, he slid his cock alongside Chuck’s in my tight asshole. Yes, with Chuck’s dick and Dr. Beast’s cock both inside of me now, I was getting double-fucked for the first time in my life. Meanwhile, guys continued to jizz all over not only Chuck’s face, but now also over mine.

My sphincter muscles and Dr. Beast’s cock both felt the pulsations in Chuck’s dick and knew that he was about to burst, so the Beast quickly pulled out of my ass and lifted me off of Chuck’s missile just as Chuck began to explode. Once Chuck’s juices had completely soaked his body and face, the professor again pressed my body over Chuck’s and my face against his. Chuck and I swam in the warm sauces we shared.

Dr. Beast’s resolve evaporated also as he shot his wad over my lower back. Momentarily, I felt a tongue lapping up those juices, followed by a hand grabbing the hair on the back of my head and pulling me upright again. I assumed, naturally, that it was the Beast, but it turned out to be Josh, who had been standing nearby, delighting in my public and thrilling humiliation. I expected him to snowball the Beast’s love nectar into my mouth, but instead he spit it onto my face.

Before I could even conceptualize what had just happened, Josh grabbed one of my arms, practically dragged me to the other end of the bench, and laid my head next to Chuck’s. He pulled on my jaw, forcing my mouth open. At the same time, Dr. Beast positioned Scott in the same fashion. With three receptacles now, Dr. Beast and Josh jerked off, shooting their streams across our three orifices. Before Scott and I could reposition, more guys lined up for target practice, showering us with sperm from all directions.

As the three of us tried frantically to keep up with the pace of the jizz blasting our mouths and faces, a very tall black man straddled Chuck’s chest, fucking the cleavage between Chuck’s well-developed pecs and then impaling his mouth with his monster cock. Though Chuck tried desperately to take the entire 9 inches, he just could not manage, so the black man laid one hand behind my head and one behind Scott’s and pulled us together to lick and suck the base of his massive cock while Chuck sucked on the rest of it. Scott wrapped his lips around one side of the man’s tool, and I worked on the other. When the man ultimately pulled out and splashed his juices all over Chuck’s face, the three of us—Chuck, Scott, and I—launched into a three-way cum kiss.

For most of the guys, that was just the end of round one. Everyone came at least twice (even the older men), and some even came three or four times.

Pleasantly drained, men began to trip all over themselves trying to put their pants back on and stumble out of the house sometime after midnight. Josh and I exchanged phone numbers with most of them. “Hope to see you again next month,” said several of them as we kissed goodnight. “Definitely,” we assured them.

As Josh and I gathered up our clothes, Scott caught us by surprise. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Well, we thought the party was—”

“Fuck it,” Chuck exclaimed from the doorway. “Spend the night,” he added. “My belly is full, but so are my balls. Scott and I have gotten off only once tonight. We’ve had loads of cum, but now we could use some ass. We’re up for it if you are.”

Josh and I both gushed as we tried to contain our enthusiasm.

As our hosts led us to their bedroom, we passed several guys sprawled out on couches and some even on the floors. “They’re either too exhausted or too drunk to drive home,” explained Scott. “We’d rather they crash here than try to make it home.”

“Besides,” smirked Chuck, “who knows which ones might be ready for another round tomorrow morning?”

We ended up spending the entire weekend with Scott and Chuck, in and out of bed, and as it turned out, bukkake was not our only first-time experience. Josh and I had sandwiched before, but never in a four-man chain and never rotating through all the positions.

I had just experienced double penetration for the first time, but Josh had not, so Scott, Chuck, and I set out to rectify that deficiency. As Josh sat on my shaft, Scott and Chuck took turns tag-teaming his ass. I had loved having two big dicks in my ass at the same time, but now I got to experience the exhilaration of Scott and Chuck’s dicks rubbing against mine as we took turns double-fucking Josh.

“Fuck! We’ll never be able to top this weekend,” I lamented as Scott and Chuck walked us back to our car Monday morning.

“Sure you will,” Scott assured us. “Next month, you’re going to be the guest of honor.”

“Me?” I squeaked.

“You and Josh both,” replied Chuck. “You can share the honor.”

“We’d love to,” Josh gushed.

“But only if you’ll play clean-up, Chuck,” I added.

“It’s a deal,” the hunk replied. “And maybe we can get that cute little friend of yours (Chip) to assist me.”

Josh and I remained on a testosterone high for the next four weeks. Could there possibly be any sexual act that we had not yet experienced? “Colt, you’ll never believe what I’ve found now,” shouted Josh, bursting into our dorm room just a few days before the next bukkake party.

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hannahssimblr · 2 months

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Chapter Twenty-Five (Part 2)

Life settles into a comfortable rhythm quickly once Jude is home. I go to work where I’ve spent the day usually not concentrating, and come home to find him on the steps of our apartment, we exchange a couple of words, ask about each other’s day, and then we rush to bed and spend the next several hours getting each other off until we’re hungry enough to stop. We’ll have eggs, maybe toast, cheese, or whatever else is in the fridge and then fall back into bed again.

Sometimes I get up to do my morning runs with Shane, conscious of the fact that time with him is running out, and yet usually, unless Jude comes with us I’ll find myself tangled up in the sheets with him for an extra hour, maybe two, making me late for work more times than I can count.

“I’m getting pissed off at you,” Simon tells me when I drag my exhausted body up the stairs at eleven in the morning and slump into my desk. “Like, I know I’m not paying you a salary but I’d like it if you actually showed up on time, it feels like, you know, a bit of a basic thing…” He rants on for a while while I gaze out the window, and then eventually he tells me that I’m in for a week of cleaning paper off the floor and organising the shelves. It’s fine, it’s hard to focus on being creative when most of my brain power is used up thinking about orgasms instead.

The investment firm in Sandyford rejects Jude’s application in mid June, and he is incensed. “Didn’t they even look at my portfolio?” He’s complaining as we skate around a roller rink in west Dublin. “My CV is solid, my work is good, I just think they don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Maybe it’s because your degree is irrelevant,” I point out, and he huffs with annoyance. “A degree shouldn’t matter, if a person is good then they’re good.”

I laugh at his pouty face, “You’re sounding like you’ve never been rejected before.”

“I have, of course I have,” But when I ask him when those rejections were he can’t seem to think of any, which proves my point. Mister five hundred points in the leaving cert, 1.1 fine arts degree is finally getting a taste of what it’s like to be just like the rest of us. I tell him that this fact is quite satisfying to me and he cracks a smile. “Well, I didn’t want to work in an investment firm anyway, so it’s not like I really care that much.”

He keeps the momentum up and applies for two other jobs, one as a content designer for a recruitment consultant, and the other as a runner for a soap opera. Both reject him fairly quickly. He gets the first email while we’re bowling with Claire and Shane, and the other while we’re visiting Jen at Michelle’s house. He is so devastated both times that we spend the night afterwards over analysing what he might have done to make them dislike him, as though there was some direct personal reason behind it all.

“I suppose that it’s just hard to break into a new career,” I say in an attempt to be soothing as he stares despondently at my bedroom ceiling. “Once you’re in and you have some experience then I assume it gets easier, but like, I don’t know. I’m just hoping that’ll be the case for me when I have Mezzotint on my CV.”

“It’s the recession,” He announces, although I’m not really sure that we’re technically still in one. “There’s just no creative jobs available except for these corporate nightmare ones.”

“The runner job wasn’t corporate.”

“But the pay was shit,” I can’t argue with this, so I say something vague about everything happening for a reason, and then I do a quick google search for creative jobs in Dublin and find almost nothing of relevance.

“There’s an opening for a… um, a technical design coordinator/manager?”

He throws his neck back onto the mattress in frustration and misery, “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’ve no clue, but there’s also an instructional designer position for-”

“Look, it’s okay, Evie,” he puts his hand over my screen and pushes it away, “I think I’ll just wait and see. Something is bound to come up.”

But by late June nothing has, and he starts to feel tetchy again. We get away for the weekend to keep his mind off it, and while we sun ourselves on the beachside deck of our West Cork glamping cabin I feel inspired to ask him, “Have you considered widening your job search? Maybe there are jobs outside of Dublin that you could do.”

He considers this, “I suppose. Maybe if the commute wasn’t so bad, or if I could get a little flat somewhere, then I’d come visit you on the weekends.”

I’d prefer him to be close to me in Dublin, but at this point it really does feel like we’ll take what we can get. He gets out his phone and I look in as he opens to jobs within 500km. Dozens suddenly load up, and I’m briefly ecstatic before I quickly realise that the majority of them are in England.

“Oh,” I say, reading down the list, “London, London, London, Manchester, Bristol, London, London.”

“Useful for next year,” He mumbles, and hits the off button.

“I’m sorry, Jude,” I say, and he takes my hand to kiss it. “It’s going to be fine. Maybe it’s just because it’s summer, you know? People are on holiday, nothing much is happening. I’m sure that by September there’ll be more jobs. And anyway, I think it’d be nice for us to just spend time together and enjoy the weather.”

“Maybe you should just apply to a job in England,” I say defeatedly, “I think you’d be happier if you were working.”

He rubs his eyes, “Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. I just hate the uncertainty of it, you know, like everything in my life felt like it was laid out until now. I went to elementary school, then secondary school and college and it seemed obvious. Now it’s like… what do I do next?”

I tell him I don’t know what to say, because these thoughts frighten me too, but most adults seem to have figured something out. We sit in a bleak silence for a while contemplating our choices and our futures and then Jude gets a burst of manic energy and insists we go and get some chips from a takeaway so that we can be distracted from depressing things.

We make a rule then that we can’t talk about jobs. Applying to them, relocating for them, cover letters, CVs, these all become forbidden topics. As a result we have a perfect weekend. We swim in the Atlantic, we explore the Beara Peninsula and marvel over the views of the mountains across the bay and little colourful houses dotting the coast. It’s sheep and spongy seaside grasses, dramatic, ocean worn cliffs and other beautiful things that are so different from our slice of the country, and when the evening falls and we huddle back into our cabin, Jude figures out how to put the stove on and we sit on the rough, worn rug and watch as the stars rise over Bere Island.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #tw: sex mention

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quinnsteria · 4 months

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Heyyy as the other Duela fan I know of besides myself; thoughts on Enigma, her sister?

Oughhh good question. To be honest, I love Enigma! I think she’s fun, although her designs across the years have always been…. Lacking?

I’m having trouble fitting her in my au! I know Duela for sure (I might actually talk about a briefing of my Duela soon to be honest), but I don’t know what I’d do with Enigma. I remember that I named her Athena though! Goes by Athena Nygma I guess.

Although I don’t know exactly what I’d do, I have a few things that I think about a lot in regards to her character and how I’d interpret it. I don’t think in canon I’d go through with Enigma actually being Riddler’s daughter, but !! I usually talk about Enigma with my friends for Parent AUs so I have ssssome thoughts. I can’t guarantee they’re good though

Enigma has autism and ocd.

She definitely needs glasses and has come to peace with that, but for a long time she was afraid of being seen as a failure so it went on for… too long.

She knows who her father is. Edward Nygma… the smartest man in Gotham. And she’s his daughter. She has to live up to that. Because of that along with Edward’s sometimes misplaced excitement for Athena’s interest in academics, she has a fear of failure. This is something that is actually a very important to her character to ME along with being something that Edward realizes in the parent AU

Duela, in the parent au, is Athena’s step-sister. This is because TWIDDLER SWEEP and I like this idea. Duela is older than Athena (I’d say by a couple grades), so by the time Athena enters high school, Duela is already either a Junior or Senior.

Duela is a bit too rough for Athena at first. Duela has a giant personality, something that clashes with the rather reserved Athena.

Duela’s relationship with Harvey also makes… Athena a little jealous. Edward is not a bad father by any means, but being Who He Is really adds stress to Athena’s own self worth in regards to her being seen as intelligent. Seeing Duela being raised in such an open space where she doesn’t feel the pressure to succeed along with feeling comfortable going to Harvey for her problems regarding herself just makes Athena feel weird.

Another conflict: I believe that Athena, especially when she enters high school, gains that kinda “I need to be better than everyone and if I am then they’re cheating or just wrong somehow” attitude that Edward sometimes has. This really comes out when Athena realizes that… Duela isn’t that bad in school. Duela does good in her subjects, especially science (chemistry related stuff mostly), but also… Athena never sees Duela “pushing herself” or “punishing herself for failure” where Athena usually would. She’s jealous how Duela is still able to keep this all up, something that Duela picks up on.

They’re sisters in the end though so 🩷 it’s okay. They get better, especially as the relationship between Harvey and Edward goes on.

#quinn speaks #alicepooryorick #dc comics #dc enigma #athena nygma

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angeliclute · 2 months

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Lute X Alastor Fan fiction

{This was an inspiration over a tik Tok of Alastor singing 'Feeling good' mixed with an ongoing thread! @tunedradio enjoy! ^^}

SFW

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Lute was getting ready in her room for tonight’s ball that Charlie was hosting at the hotel. At first, she didn’t want to go but Charlie insisted she went and even gone out of her way to go buy a dress with her. Her eyes looked over her strapless red wine and black ballgown. The black design was over her chest and sprinkled down her waist blending into the red. She let out a sigh not wanting to leave the comfort of her room. Deep inside she felt like she didn’t belong here but since meeting Alastor her point of view have changed.

Slowly she left her room and headed out looking down from the upper floor to see everyone chatting and having a good time. Groaning to herself she made her way down and tried to not make herself seem noticeable as she slipped on next to where the drinks were being served. Music played in the background as she watched everyone having fun. "This is stupid... why did I come" She sat down in a chair and threw her face into the palms of her hand.

She felt a tap on her shoulder as her gold eyes looked through her fingers to see Alastor. She soon sat up and managed to put on a smile "Oh hey I'm surprised you're here... I didn't expect you to be here" Her hand pushes her hair behind her ear nervously. "Well, I took it upon myself to see how far I can go past my comfort zone" He leaned against his microphone cane as Lute just chuckled lightly at his response as she could relate. "Pssh tell me about it, but you look great by the way."

He wasn't wearing his usual outfit as he wore a black suit with a burgundy red shirt and a red tie over it. His jacket had a tailcoat as it was over his tail which was only noticeable if he was to move it. His hair was done neatly and clearly it was washed and combed. "Thank you, you look stunning yourself." His eyes wandered over her outfit taking in the intricate designs. His hand extended towards her as she looked at his hand confused.

"May I have a dance with you?" He smiled as his ears were perked up towards her direction. He had leaned over a little bit and his left arm behind his back. Lute blushed lightly as she nervously took his hand. Unaware his tail was wagging back and forth at her response as he pulled her out from her secluded corner. A few others were dancing as well. "Just so you know I don't dance to well" Nervously her eyes looked around paranoid of what others will think. The previous music had ended as it slowly started to merge into the next one.

🎶Birds flying high You know how I feel Sun in the sky You know how I feel Breeze driftin' on by You know how I feel🎶

Alastor pulled her in close as his right hand met with her left hand as their fingers interlaced with each other. Lute's free hand went to his shoulder, and you could tell she was nervous by her grip. "Don't mind everyone else just keep your eyes on me and follow my lead" He used his finger to tilt her head up to look at him as his hand finally rested on her waist.

🎶It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life For me And I'm feeling good I'm feeling good🎶

They slowly started to sway at the music starting off at a slow pace. The other residents of the hotel started to watch them starting to dance a bit shocked to see them both dancing. Once Alastor heard the instruments drop by the end of the second line he let go of her waist and raised his arm as he helped her twirl around. Lute's eyes widen as she stumbled a bit but managed to do a full turn. "Oh shit" She whispered latching back onto his shoulder. He couldn't help but laugh at her reaction. "You did great!" His Hand on her waist as he started to take a few steps back and to the side to get her used to following his lead.

🎶Fish in the sea You know how I feel River running free You know how I feel Blossom on a tree You know how I feel🎶

Lute took careful steps to not step on his foot by accident as she managed to find out her feet placement when he moved around. Slowly she started to get the hang of it keeping her wings tucked in so they wouldn't get in the way.

🎶It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life For me And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean And this old world is a new world And a bold world For me For me🎶

Their steps were a bit faster as they glided around the dance floor. As she was swayed around the ends of her dress would extend outward showing off more of the designs at the bottom. "This isn't too bad" She chuckled but spoke too soon as Alastor took a sidestep back and twirled her out still holding onto her hand. He could see her reaction as she was not expecting that move. She was pulled in quickly as her back was now against him. He leaned down into her ear "You spoke too soon my dear" Spinning her around once more he placed his hand on her back just below her wings.

He leaned forward while leaning her back close to the ground doing a deep dip. "Holy fuck Alastor!" She hissed quietly while her hand squeezed his and her nails dug into his shoulder. He kept a smile on his face feeling his upper body tense up slightly. He pulls her back up and sways her around. "Don't worry... I got you" Lute smiled up at him feeling her body less tensed than what it was in the beginning. Quietly to where only she could hear he started to sing along to the song while keeping eye contact with her.

🎶Stars when you shine You know how I feel Scent of the pine You know how I feel Oh, freedom is mine And I know how I feel

It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life🎶

Lute was in awe at his singing, it was rare she heard him sing but when he did, she cherished it. The way the moonlight had shined down made her dress sparkle. At this point all eyes were on them, some cheered and there was Charlie tearing up as Vaggie gave her tissues. "This Is so sweet!" The princess said in tears.

🎶It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life It's a new life For me🎶

He twirled her around a couple of time and bringing her in close taking steps backwards and then off to the side. Lute joined him in singing the song as their voices harmonized together so effortlessly. Angel had elbowed husk and gave him his usual look "You know what they're doing tonight" He grinned down at him as he kept his stern expression. "Shut up" Husker sighed crossing his arms. Lute could hear the bits of bickering as they moved around near others.

🎶And I'm feeling good I'm feeling good I feel so good I feel so good🎶

The song has ended as for a finale Alastor's hand stayed on her lower back, but his other hand moved to her upper back and dipped her lower as he hovered over her holding her close. Both of the angels' hands was holding onto his shoulders as his eyes stayed locked with hers. Her wings had spread out to the sides showing off the patterns a bit. His tail was definitely wagging and he couldn't help it one bit. "This was amazing! You're a great dancer" She complimented as she couldn't help but blush lightly. "Why thank you, You're not bad for someone who doesn't dance a lot"

#lute x Alastor #fanfiction #hazbin hotel #🪽. exterminators {ooc}#Something different!#hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel alastor

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siriannatan · 6 months

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Heartsteel Shorts

I have no idea if there'll be more than one but I had to. I usually write Minecraft stuff so...yep.

I myself am shocked the first thing I wrote wasn't SettPhel. But Ez being so much all over Kayn made me think thoughts.

It all started with an innocent question. "Why do we never hang out in your room?" Ezreal at least thought it was innocent. The glare Kayn gave him would push anyway away from the topic. But Ez wasn't afraid of Kayn at all. A kitten was more dangerous.

"It just happens that way, I guess," Kayn shrugged the question away.

Ezreal just huffed. He was no longer in the mood to go through his recent purchases. The clothes weren't as interesting as Kayn. So he ran out of the room, followed by 'What the hell man?' from Kayn. He had little time before the other realised where Ez was going - Kayn's room. They didn't really have locks, they might have been a rowdy bunch of boys but they respected each other's privacy.

But Ez's curiosity overgrew his respect for Kayn. And it wasn't like Kayn never walked into his room without knocking. Luckily Ez always had pants on when he did.

Kayn realised far too quickly for Ez's comfort. Their rooms were on the different ends of the house the band lived in. And Kayn was much more athletic and faster than Ezreal. But somehow Ez reached Kayn's door first. With Kayn close behind. Freezing as he opened the door.

"Kayn... Nooooo... Please, get rid of it," Ezreal whined jumping in to avoid being tackled to the floor at the last second.

Above Kayn's bed was an old poster of Ezreal from the peek of his career before Heartsteel. Ez hated all his old pop-era posters. He liked his new sound much better. Why did Kayn even have that? They weren't sold anymore. Ez knew no one was selling them online. Not for cheap at least.

"What. The. Hell, man," Kayn huffed, caging Ez against a cluttered with empty boxes and bottles nightstand. "I told you to stay out," he added as Ez spun around as well as he could, his ass pressed against the small table, pushing some garbage off to clatter on the floor.

"Why do you have a poster of me? And of the most embarrassing part of my life," Ez leaned forward to whisper into Kayn's ear. He always had a bit of a crush on Kayn even if he was a bit rude at times. "Would you rather get an autograph or a kiss?" he asked boldly. Worst case scenario Kayn tosses him out of the room and things are awkward for a short moment.

But judging by how Kayn's breath hitched it wasn't the worst case. "You better not be playing with me pop-prince," Kayn almost growled. Ezreal would rather his actual name was said in such a manner than a nickname designed to be offensive.

"How about you close that door and I show you how serious I am?" Ezreal offered. Others were out. Sett took Aphelios to visit his mother. And Yone and K'Sante went to watch some dumb movie. They were alone for at least a few hours.

They stood in silence as Kayn processed and decided what to do. Ez stayed still, for now pushing down the impulse to tease him further. He was about to give in when Kayn groaned and pushed away to march to the door to loudly smash it closed.

"You better keep your word, Ezreal," Kayn growled as he stalked back towards Ez.

Ezreal just grinned and dodged Kayn's hands to flop to the bed. "I only hope you can keep up," he chuckled, already pulling his shirt off.

Kayn groaned. He had no idea how long they were at it before they were both too tired to move. All Kayn could do was stare at Ez, propped up against Kayn's pillows, luckily shirtless so the whole situation wasn't that terrible. "You're a monster," Kayn huffed hugging a pillow.

"I should tire you out more often, you're cute like this," Ez giggled, messing with Kayn's hair. He only got a tired groan as Kayn buried his face in a pillow. "The autograph offer still stands, by the way," he added, tossing his phone away before sliding down to cuddle up to Kayn.

Luckily for them, others didn't come into either of their bedrooms so they avoided too much ribbing and jokes.

#my stuff #my stories #heartsteel #league of legends #ezreal #kayn

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she-who-the-river-could-not-hold · 1 year

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Rambling March Updates

A little bit of a fun update for this month and moving forward, since I’ve been feeling a shift in how I approach my creative work (and well, everything else too) and I feel like organizing my thoughts somewhere. It’s technically the 2nd of March, but after a mini vacation post half-marathon, I definitely feel like it’s a valid bookend to semi start at. I’m in my usual “time to overhaul my life and plans” mood so it’s fitting for that as well, like a spring cleaning for the mind!

Writing Updates:

I’m about halfway through my celebration oneshot, which is a Bellarke AU based on the winning tropes from my survey that I ran during my follower celebration. So in a sense it’s a collaborative fic which is pretty fun! I’m liking it so far, though I do feel a bit rusty writing the Bellarke again after taking a bit of a break.

If you somehow missed my excessive reblogs, I finished my longest fic ever last month (hence another writing break)! It was for Stranger Things/Hellcheer (Eddie x Chrissy) and ended up clocking in at just under 80k words. Pretty astounding and I haven’t really processed how long it is. I feel like I need to reread it just to bask in the accomplishment and to also remember what I wrote lol.

Organizing the new month means updating my word count calendar, and with it I’ll probably spend some time reworking some outlining and WIP plans. I still like most of my WIPs that are unfinished, though one or two might get axed and abandoned. But the ones I want to finish deserve a polishing up and fixed outlines so I feel more confident getting back into them! And of course, organizing some new fic ideas I have and seeing if I can prep myself into making them shorter, easier projects for the main reason I’m about to share!

The biggest reason I want to spend time narrowing down my approach and what I want to write in terms of fanfic is that I’ve finally confirmed to myself that I want to write my own original novel. The idea started bouncing around in my head and I tried to ignore. Thought about it a little longer, told my husband about it, and he enthusiastically insisted that I legitimately consider writing it. And now I can’t stop thinking about it, so I’m going to give it a go! I can’t let myself think about any goals beyond writing it, but I am excited to see how that goal can fit and how I can push myself with it and hopefully actually write it.

Design/Visual Creative Updates:

I do want to eventually finish my Stranger Things episode gif sets. I find them incredibly relaxing to make and a nice little visual stimulation break!

More episode posters such as this one are also something on the back burner. Mainly because I’m also considering expanding my efforts in an online shop and I think it would be cool to include them! A part of that is organizing the categories of work I want to do, as well as the very tedious element of figuring out a name for the shop so that I feel comfortable sharing it across platforms. Hopefully updates on that will come down the line by the summer!

In non-fandom thoughts, I desperately need to update my graphic design portfolio and take new headshots. It’s driving me bananas at how much I’ve stalled on that so that needs to be a priority

I’m determined to learn how to book bind this year and turn my own fics into physical copies (also a nice tie in for my own potential novel). We’ll see how that goes––it’ll be added to my long list of physical creative projects I want to get into this year!

I’ve negotiated my current contract to being a four day work week, so I’m excited to see my schedule start to form in a way that I can maximize my time and work on more personal projects!

However all of this comes on the back of that my husband and I are officially looking to move to a new state and city! Which means there’s a buzzing amount of stress just consistently in my mind right now, which will most definitely multiple over time as we actually have to complete the process. That means I’ll probably put a lot of this all on pause later this month and into April, but I also think that moving to a bit of a slower paced lifestyle is also going to be really good for both of our goals moving forward. Very exciting and very scary at the same time as we look to start a new chapter in our lives!

Onward to updating Notion and hopefully getting some good work in today! Happy almost spring!

#kathryn chats

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theknightswhosay · 2 years

Text

Ed gives Stede a tattoo

Slowly, quietly, he pulls his loose shirt up and over his head. His expression as he turns back to Ed is equal parts open, trusting and nervous. Once again, he is bewildered to have someone look at him this way. Bare-chested, his co-captain’s chest is pale, a stark line of darker skin at his neck and wrists where his skin has been coloured by the sun.

Ed shuffles out of his shoes and rocks onto his knees, shifting closer and then closer, until he can kneel comfortably at Stede’s side.

The faint, fair hairs on Stede’s arm stand on end as he runs both palms along it, thinking, measuring, sizing up his canvas.

“Do you have a design in mind?” his co-captain asks, voice slightly shakier than usual.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I did. I realise we should have talked about this before, probably.”

“No no, I am happy to defer to your artistic judgement.” In other words, I trust you. Ed only nods.

With a stick, he traces the simple geometric image in the sand: a pair of parallel lines with half squares coming off them facing outwards.

“The usual…something about protection, health, and a long life.”

“I’d quite like some of those things.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ve got the same on my calf, back when I would practise on myself. Here - hold the water, I’ll start.”

He dips a blade of grass into the ink and carefully marks the two parallel lines on the middle of Stede’s shoulder. It’s difficult not to be hyper-aware of how close they are and as he draws out the design both men seem to realise that at once.

The hafted needle he takes into his right hand, the mallet into the other. He weighs them up, getting used to the feeling, experimentally tapping his calf to check how it feels.

“Right. Are you ready? I should warn you, it’ll be painful. And I don’t need to remind you that it’s permanent.”

“Well, it’s a jolly good thing I know I’m good hands then, eh?”

He can’t help but mirror the small smile Stede shares with him. The warmth in the other man’s eyes is genuine and heartfelt - he looks away quickly, giddiness rising like nausea in his chest.

Scooching even closer, he gets into position - legs crossed, his right pressed against Stede’s own - the outer edge of his right hand resting against Stede’s shoulder, mallet at the ready to tap the needle along the lines.

He begins.

It’s been a while, but his hands remember. The motion comes easily, familiarity settling in as he guides the hafted needle left across the top line of the design, tapping on the end with the mallet continuously as he does so. The small blow pushes the needle into the skin, each pinprick driving the ink into the wound.

“You alright?” he asks, once the first line is done.

“Quite alright. It hardly hurts.”

“You say that now, this isn’t that part that hurts.”

“Ah, I was afraid you might say that.”

“Stay still, I’ll start on the second line.”

He feels Stede’s eyes on him as he works. It’s an effort to cut out the noise and focus on the task at hand - if he lets himself think too much about the strange swirling in his stomach, the warmth of Stede’s skin beneath his touch, the strength of his gaze, he might tremble and ruin the design.

A wonderful and dangerous silence falls between them as he finishes the first phase of the design. Without asking, Stede hands him a cloth from the bowl of water in his lap, and Ed studiously wipes away the blood and leftover ink, checking the pinprick marks have hit true, still unable to meet his co-captain’s gaze.

“I have to go over the design once more so it’ll take. This is the bit that hurts - you tell me if it’s too much and we’ll pause, ok?”

“Ok.”

To Stede’s credit, he doesn’t utter a sound as Ed goes over the design again with a second round of tapping, the hafted needle driving into the fresh wounds and drawing swollen beads of bright red blood. It starts to run down the skin, mixing black with the ink, and he has to stop often to mop it up. He finds himself glancing more and more often at Stede’s face, checking for signs of pain. The other man’s jaw is tight, but he doesn’t flinch or tremble.

Some time later, it is done.

He feels a strange reluctance to finish the job. Part of him wants to sit here much longer, close to his co-captain, with an excuse to rest his hands on Stede’s skin.

Ed shakes himself and pulls back. It’s as if a spell is broken. Neither look at each other.

“There. All finished.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, man.”

They get to their feet. Ed turns away to hide his face, a strange heat creeping into his cheeks.

[read the full fic here]

#tattoo #ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #stede x ed #ed x stede #blackstede #ofmd fic #my fics

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disasterghaster · 1 year

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Oscar Meyer has a first name.

I don’t bother to use the bench press anymore. The ghaster matter can move whatever weight it pleases–any weight I please. It’s not made of muscle fiber, tendons, and bone. It’s made of will and whatever it manages–what ever I manage–to put together.

I try not to think about it.

Instead, I focus on other parts of me. The parts still made of meat. Curls and squats and lunges and whatever else I can pressure myself into doing before the whole matter seems overwhelming when I feel constantly empty.

I manage a full set of excercises today. Something of an achievement. Usually I miss one or two sets. Or all of them.

I make it this time, though. Closing out on the specially designed treadmill. I don’t go as fast as I can. I’m not qualifying for the supernatural track and sprint or anything. I’m merely confident that I’m good at a full sustained run of 110 for twenty minutes before I start to sweat too much. Breathing too hard, too. An improper dismount jars my knees when I hop off to the side and come to such a sudden stop.

I end up sititng on the ground as the muscles in my legs burn. Maybe I really pushed it just then. Or I haven’t been drinking enough water. I rub my thumbs and palms along hamstring and calfs until they’re intermittently barking about the strain I put them through and my lungs no longer burn.

I take my time standing up and getting a towerl off the rail of the mil and due a little swipe of my face and back of my neck. Since I’m in the privacy of my gym in the expanded basement, I give the girls a quick dry off under my A-shirt.

Towel goes into a hamper when I pass it on my way back up the stairs to the main level of the house. By then, the juice the work-out soaks my brain with during fades out. The world goes back to feeling slightly sideways. Like everything is one of those crooked photo frames that never seems quite straight or level with the rest of the wall. Every day feels like that anymore.

I ignore the bit of jello feeling in my legs as I travel up the next flight to the second floor. Getting to my bedroom and ajoining bath before long. Something in my neck and shoulders droops as I pass into the sanctity of that space. It’s quiet there. Black out curtains are a bit ajar so the room is brighter than usual, but that’s alright. Cool fresh air breezes in through the open window and makes it feel less like a self-imposed tomb.

I leave the bathroom door open and flick the light on in there. It’s harsh in comparison to the rest of the lightning I keep in the house. I don’t always use it, usually just go by a nightlight plug into the socket next to the mirror and sink. But I need the light today. I want to cut my hair.

I got caught up looking at my reflection instead. I’m reminded of days where metal chafes at my throat and my wrists. I was thin then, too. With piano wire muscles strung tight along bones. I didn’t have so many lines on my face back then. Or much hair. Inky fingers, off black and almost gray, scratch through the couple inches growth on much of my damp scalp until they wander higher into much longer and darker hair at the top. Pulling tie out and tossing it into nearby basket that held the others I used.

That hair is long and reaches an inch or two past my shoulders. Tying it all the time makes it crimped in some places. I know it’s wavey even if it weren’t. I notice there’s more streaks of white there than there used to be, too. I already knew about the thick banded streaks above my ears in the shorter hair. I think the color seeps into other places due to stress more than age. Could be age. I don’t know how long someone like me is supposed to live if they make it to a ripe age.

About then, I remember to pull off the eye-patch. It doesn’t hide a dulled eye. They're the same anymore. Same matter my hands are with dots of ambiently glowing purple. It’s a comfort to wear the patch. Like a reminder of who I am. It helps me mentally control how much I see or don’t see. The world is so many layers of information if I don’t. Much of the time, it’s too much. I don’t need to see every little creature peaking through the mirror or what type of rock the nickle backing was refined out of. Takes a few seconds to tune it back out without the patch helping my psyche retain a muscle memory for it.

I pick comb out of a seperate basket and take to working knots out to one side of my head. Then the other. Then back so I can tie it up neatly again. A thick bristled boar brush and a bit of water, and touch of comb, helps me seperate the long and the short with great accuracy.

Then it’s time for clippers. I debate a few comb length attachments before, as usual, I decide to do it with a naked blade. It would grow back. Would also leave a fine centimeter of fuzz until it did. After fetching a black plastic trash bag I use for just such an ocassion from under the sink and lay it over the sink, I set to work. The buzz of the clippers is medatitave after a few moments of hair falling onto the plastic under my head. The buzz is comforting in my hand and against scalp. I have to switch hands at times and can feel the vibration in my fingers still.

I work it around the sides and back quickly with a few reruns to make sure it ends up all the same length. Feeling with fingers to ensure what I couldn’t see.

The fine work of lining the sides and back of the longer patch take the most time. Don’t want to fuck it up. I have some practice, though. It doesn’t take too long.

When it’s done, I keep over the plastic filmed sink and take boar brush to it just to work out as much of the smaller clippings as I can. Off my scalp and shoulders and back of my neck. Satisfied, clean the blade and oil it, then return it under the sink. Clippings are wrapped up and put in the nearby bin. It’s a bit wasteful, but it makes it so I don’t have to clean the sink. I can sweep the floor later.

Off peels my shirt and the sweatpants. Those go flying out into my room for now.

On comes the hot water in my shower. I wisely sit out the first cold minutes on the closed, chilled, lip of the toilet. Head in hand.

All of these things are a practice of not thinking too hard as I watch the water patter on the shower wall in silence. A practice in functioning when it’s the last thing I want to do with myself. There is nothing else I can do. Semi-retirment allows me much more idle time than I allowed myself before.

Into the shower I go. Closing curtain and taking a spin under water to rinse off loose hairs before having a seat on shower stool with back to the water. The heat soothes out my back nicely. It’s a while before I pull over toothbrush and paste.

Taking a shower is a whole ordeal when I’m not in a rush. Starts with teeth.

Takes a tough and big brush to handle my teeth the further back you go. Doesn’t hurt to be resilient against the roughtness of my tongue, either. I realize, with some dismay, that I’m out of orange toothpaste. Might have to suffer mint if I can’t find another supply. Bleck.

I don’t know if it helps to do this, but I leave the suds in my mouth while I wash my face with vigour and some good cleansing face wash. I do this with everything that suds. Just leave it for a bit while I do the rest. Hair, next with shampoo and one of those scalp massagers. Same with the soap, I use a loofah to suds up from neck to toe. Just feels like it does more if it’s not on for two seconds and gone the next.

Rinsing is the same pattern as sudsing.

And, yes, before anyone asks, I get the bits. I like to do that last and seperate. Those parts require getting up and spreading things out, alright. It’s work. I save it for last.

At some point, I remember my tail. After everything else. Almost bleatedly. It’s attached to me. I don’t know why I forget sometimes. Bit of shampoo for that does the trick.

Then the water comes off and I let water dip off me for a bit. While I squeeze the fur on the tail out several times. The fur there is dense and likes to hold onto water. Drying it takes time. I imagine my head would too if I had more than that little bit of hair. Of which I still take a moment to squeeze and ring, too.

By then I can step out without dripping everywhere onto a bath mat. And grap towel to dry off with. Special attention, again, to hair and tail. Then privates. No one likes to smell funky there. Towel is hung up and I leave the bathroom with a small bottle of oil for my hair and a comb.

Deaftly working light bit of pleasent lavander smelling oil into my hair with fingers and comb before it has a chance to dry. Both are discarded onto dresser afterward.

Then I flip face first into my bed. Naked and slightly damp. Energy gone. I’ve done abosolutely all the self-care I can. I don’t care that my stomach is growling or my throat is dry despite all that time, and maybe even more so, due to the shower.

Thoughts threaten to filter in. I refuse their entry as I pull a pillow to myself and tuck it under my head, shifting onto my side where I can curl with it. It doesn’t stop a few tears burning across my nose onto the pillow. I can’t stop them as skillfully as I used to. They often come too fast and hard for me to stop. Out of the blue or over some sappy ending to a movie I wasn’t even closely paying attention to or just emotional comercials. It’s very stupid and very annoying.

I’m so tired. Always.

Even when I wake up after the sun’s no longer falling through the bedroom window. Mn. Time lost.

I sit up and rub crust off my eyelashes for a while. Coughing a few times as I make it up to my feet and over to the window. Closing the curtains. Not worried about getting peeped my neighbors so much as just wanting to be alone.

I left a half-finished bottle of water by the absurdly large beanbag under the same window that I now pick up and finish in a couple of chugs. A brief crush and tightning of cap compacts it one empty. Making it easy to pitch into trash can near the door.

I don’t feel any better. The water tasted stale.

Somehow, I still drag on some clothing. Cotton sleep pants and loose fitted gray t-shirt that said ‘show me your kitties’ with a gray tabby peering over a flat horizontal line on it. I feel a pang of guilt as I think of Tiggs. They were with someone else, I knew I couldn’t take care of Tiggs like they needed right now. Still, I missed them.

Finally, I leave my room and go downstairs to the kitchen. None of the floorboards creak. I don’t need physical strength to remember how to walk like a ghost. Or open a cabinent silently. I stare at the box of cheerio’s for a while. I know I am hungry. I feel a bit sick and my lower stomach hurts. But it doens’t look appealing. The memory of it on my tongue recalls like grit and sawdust.

My shoulders slump with a huffed sigh. Leaning forhead into the cabinent door’s edge that I still hold open.

Maybe I should hire a chef. Trick my brain into just eating things put in front of me. I weakly ponder this for a moment until it’s dashed away. I can’t trust anyone to feed me that isn’t explicitly trustworthy to me. Hire a chef? Sure. Let an assassin right in. Great idea. If they don’t filet your throat, they’ll slip some sort of poison into a chicken dinner.

The corners of my eyes prick with fustration. I just want to eat.

I close the door with more of a thud than I normally would and go to the firdge. My eyes immediately end their scan by lingeirng on the bottle of whiskey down low on the door. I take it out and set it on the counter, then look back into the firdge.

God, fuck. Everything has to be cooked in some way. Same for shit in the fridge. Even hotpockets got to go in a mircowave. Back to looking in the fridge. There’s a package of balogne and a bottle of ketchup.

I take both out and get a paper plate and a red solo cup. All get tucked into hands and arms including the whiskey bottle before I make the walk out the back door.

It’s dark out, but I can see fine in the enclosed and screened off back patio. I tick the light on anyway and sit at the table there. Nudge a couple of electronics out of the way to the otherside of the small table. A pile of sleeping things, that is. Tablet, phone, bluetooth keyboard, and a e-reader. Space is replaced with plate and accouterments in short order.

Oscar Meyer bologna gets peeled out of packet and red wax ring. Sorted out in a four-by-two formation on plate and then their centers get a squirt of ketchup. I leave that a moment to pour half a cup of whiskey. There’s a plan here. A bad one, but it’s a plan.

I roll up a slice of ketchup filled bologna and take a bite. It’s fucking disgusting in that way in which desperate and depressive food is–but ultimately tastey enough to get addicted to. It’s salty and a bit sweet. And, anyway, there’s whiskey to mask the taste with when I swish down a mouthful.

This pattern quickly leads me to being able to eat the following slices in peace. Being drunk takes away most of my taste and leaves just the salty and the sweet. Two things alcoholic brains love. It’s less of a slog then. I eat slower due to groginess is all.

I don’t stop until the package of quesitonably labeled deli meat is empty. It’s better than nothing.

By then I’ve had three half cups of alcohol and my face feels close to numb. I’m sweaty and too warm. Thankful for the chilly breeze that comes through the screens from the outside.

I’m struck with the dreaded curse of actual thoughts. Thankfully, the ones that make it are sloshy and breakup on rocks before they fully form.

Still, every so often, they linger. None of them are good. My next breath is deep, but it shudders due to my lungs having shifted down into very shallow breaths to then. I toss plate ontop of the pile of devices and lay my head down on the cool glass of the table top.

The thoughts keep looping back on a common thread and theme which forms one repeating coheasive concept; I’m not good enough.

It’s not always that sentance. Today it is.

I admit that it’s a frequent one. One that rides off the back of my lack of self-worth. One that points out that I can’t think right or talk right or love right or cry right or–well, there’s so many things. All the things that matter when every bit of your worth is tied into keeping people ‘safe’ and ‘happy’.

All I know is gaurding something that I imagine is black and ashy in my chest and lashing out in feeble attempts to protect other people.

Often, I admit while gulping down the fourth half a glass, missing the mark and lashing out at the same people that I love so deeply it hurts just to look at them

There’s other things. But it comes down to that. All roads lead to Rome.

Heh, so why can’t I get off them? I want to go somewhere else.

I don’t notice that eventually my vision blacks out along with my thoughts and my memories. I wouldn’t come to until late in the morning from the depth of my beanbag with an urgency to get to the bathroom for a good wake-up vomit.

No wonder I’m alone.

#ic #mobile )) (( work #drabble #(( beware typoes #not much for spellcheck here at work ))#(( been a long time since ive been able to crank something out like this so please lemme know if it's any good aaaaaaa ))

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roebeanstalk · 1 year

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a note to me and whoever

I need to be honest. With you, with those around me, and with myself.

I have a heavy habit of avoiding the things that scare me. The problem is, everything scares me, except a thing or two at a time, and those things change very regularly. Some days, art doesn’t scare me. Sometimes personal art does and commissions don’t, and sometimes it’s the other way around. Sometimes games don’t scare me. Sometimes food doesn’t scare me. Sometimes friends don’t scare me. Most of the time, TV shows and movies don’t scare me.

I am especially afraid of all of the things that are actually, genuinely good for me. I’m afraid to work out, to eat right, to look at the things I need to do, to confront myself, to work, to make money, to text my mom or my landlord, to clean the bathroom, to shower, to cook my own food.

Every time that I’ve pushed through it, I’ve been happy that I did.

But that is so, so rare. I have about a 5% success rate on pushing through the fear and doing the thing.

This week, it was hanging out with friends on Saturday and then getting a haircut on Monday. I also leave for my family for holidays on Thursday, and that is going to take a lot of pushing. I’m already coming up with all the reasons not to go, even though I know that I absolutely want to.

When I’m up against something that scares me is good for me - I should start making this distinction, but that’s scary too - My head starts to work overtime. Suddenly, I’m telling myself (and instantly believing myself with such conviction) that I don’t want to do it, that I can’t do it, that it’s going to hurt, that it’s going to kill me. It’s not in those actual words, and I guess I don’t feel an actual physical threat to my livelihood… But instead, an ethereal one? I feel everything close around me, I think of all of the things that I’ll have to confront, I’ll think of how much it’s going to hurt - emotionally. Just thinking about it, I get battered down to the point that I’m exhausted and just want to go to sleep. A lot of the time, I do.

Right now, it’s been three weeks or so since I even opened a commission file, although I go to do it every day. I owe a lot of pieces right now. As I write this, my brain is trying to remind me of all of the reasons why, and how hard I’ve failed at weathering the storm and keeping everything on track. I know I have emails waiting for me, including some with some rude words. And honestly, that should be okay. I get into my avoidant hidey hole because I’m scared, and I don’t come out until I feel that everything has burned down around me. Maybe I feel more comfortable that way. Maybe I’d rather be seen sweeping up and making the best of a terrible situation, rather than being in the middle of a misstep.

Right now, in terms of art and commissions, I’m terrified. When I sit down to work, it’s like a giant swarm of shadows and more are swirling around the folder I need to open, the file I need to double click, the website I need to go to. More often than not, I have no idea how to handle them and I run. I get as far away from them as I can, so I can forget about them. At the end of the day, though, the things I need to do are still inside. I carry their weight with me throughout every second of every single day, except for that brief moment after I run away.

My intention is always, always, always to come back. It has been for years. This is not a new problem for me, and it’s definitely not only something that happens with art commissions.

Something I love to do when I’m having a hard time with something, is come up with some kind of scenario where I can handle it. It’s usually something fantasy. When I was in college and in a sound design class that I hated, I came up with this cool idea of a character who can collect sounds in jars, to be stored until you opened them and the sound would play. I was hoping that jazzing up the idea of me walking around Columbus would make me want to record audio bits more, but it never did.

In this moment, I’m wishing I had a weapon of some sort to fight these swarms of shadows that are chaining up and blocking the door. Maybe a baseball bat anointed in an oil, that I can swing around and diminish the shadows. A baseball uniform stitched up with special thread that has shadow dispelling properties, a cap that eases the effect on your brain you get from being around the shadows. Damn, that’d be cool.

I love coming up with these metaphors, and often get wrapped into trying to make big stories about them. In that, I wind up doing exactly what I always do: avoiding the thing that scares me.

Just do it. Brute force it. Fake it till you make it. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

I want to be able to use those mindsets, I really do. I’m terrified and feel so fragile, and I just want to prove to myself over and over and over and over again that I’m not. I want to believe that I can do these things. I know I have the skills to do most of the things I want to do, and that I’m an incredible student when I want to be.

I have absolutely zero confidence that I can do anything that frightens me, or isn’t comfortable. I absolutely do not want to end this on that note. I’m trying to come up with a lovely way to turn it around, wrapping this up with a positive mindset. I don’t have one right now, and maybe that’s okay. I don’t feel negative. I’m glad that I’ve written all of this, and that I’m even thinking about posting it (don’t know if I will). I think I should let that be enough. Confronting myself on this, owning up to it, is enough for tonight.

So… In short:

I have been really scared and avoiding a lot of discomfort. I have not been doing the things that will help me in the long term, and by doing so, I have been very unkind to myself. I’m really wrapped up in the shadows of it all, and I don’t want to be here anymore. Tonight, I’m acknowledging all of these things.

edit: little update i kept writing after this, 'cause i still had time to fill. i'm trying to do 30 minute journal sessions a few times a week. i decided to think about what i would do if i had the energy for it, and then i did some of it. i feel lighter. i wrote some notes to myself and i'm setting a reminder to read through what i posted here and the rest of it, including my notes to myself... i can do this

#robin chirps #late night feelings #rant #cw mental health

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pickledpascal · 1 year

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Sweet Nothing

Chapter Four: You’re in the Kitchen, Hummin’

Summary: Blake and Will have an idea to get Abigail to open up better.

Warnings: A little bit of swearing, sex jokes (kind of)

Word Count: 2.5k

Sweet Nothing Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

On a day spent with Blake, in between classes and figuring out cases, Will brought up the subject of Abigail Hobbs. The girl with the serial killer father who obsessed over her, to the point that he would both kill and consume other girls with similar features to his daughter. Blake didn’t know much about the case until Will started talking with her, of course it was monumental–there aren’t many…. Families like Abigail’s.

They were in Blake’s office as she filled out some paperwork, something about the recent case with the man who created ‘angels.’ “Myself and Hannibal think Abigail would benefit from more time outside in the real world, while Alana believes it would help her more if she stayed inside a controlled environment and focused on getting better.” Will explained, adjusting his glasses slightly as a sigh of frustration escaped him. “She can’t stay in there forever and I’m…. afraid she won’t feel as normal anymore if she does.”

“All teenagers are different.” Blake responded, still writing down some notes as she talked. “I, for one, loved staying in my room. But I can imagine it gets very…. stir-crazy when the only thing she is,” She paused, “For lack of a better word, forced to talk about with others is her trauma.”

Once done with the report, Blake closed the folder with an idea forming in her head. She folded her hands on her desk and said, "If you truly believe Abigail would benefit from time outside the psych ward, it would have to be in a controlled environment. So, maybe, you can sign Abigail out and take her to my house. We can have lunch and do, really, whatever she'd like to do." Blake proposed.

Will pursed his lips, staring at the edge of the desk for a little while. "It will be hard for her to learn to trust you." He warned.

"I know the feeling." Blake countered. "I will be able to see the signs in case she feels uncomfortable or like backing out. Just make sure to remind Abigail that it's alright if she wants to leave at any time." She said softly, a light smile on her face.

Blake knows what it's like to be forced to do something that you may absolutely despise doing. To the point she may have a panic attack or a nervous breakdown.

Will nodded, eyes making their way upwards to meet Blake's. "Do you…. Think it would be okay if you invited more people?" He asked softly. Perhaps getting to know people not affiliated with the FBI would make Abigail more comfortable.

"I have a few friends I can ask to come over if it would help." Blake nodded.

—-------

"Are you…. Sure about this?" Abigail asked, nervously fiddling with the scarf around her neck. "I mean, I'm alright with it but are you sure this is not just…. For nothing?" She knew what this was for, to help her acclimate for a more 'normal' society but she didn't feel normal anymore. In fact, she wasn't sure she ever would feel that way again.

Will rubbed Abigail's shoulder as they stepped onto Blake's porch. "Doctor Bloom approved this for the fact that it would help your mental health, and I think so too." He admitted softly before he pushed on the doorbell.

The pair waited for a few moments before they realized some music was playing on the inside. Eventually, it stopped and Will could hear footsteps that gradually got louder signifying they were coming closer.

The door swung open to reveal Blake in much more laid back clothing. At the Bureau, Will was used to seeing her in turtlenecks and sweaters paired with some sort of blazer and plaid slacks. In her home, though, she wore a sweatshirt with a graphic design on the front and jeans. Blake's makeup style changed as well. She would usually light makeup at work with minimal eyeliner while in this more comfortable environment, her eyeliner was thick and winged at the end, and her blush was more apparent. The changes made Will blink, averting his gaze quickly as he felt a heat rising on his face.

"Hey, Abigail! It's nice to meet you, I'm Blake Adler." She introduced herself, holding out a hand to shake. She seemed more outgoing than usual, perhaps she was simply trying harder.

Abigail looked to Will for a moment as a crutch of some sort before she shook Blake's hand. The younger woman stayed quiet as Blake led them inside.

"I do have some friends over at the moment but I sort of yelled at them to keep it down. I can introduce them to you if you'd like. They're not necessarily extroverted but they're friendly." Blake joked softly, taking a small breath. "Anything you'd like to drink? Lunch is pretty much done, just let me know when you'd like to eat."

Abigail smiled stiffly, taking a look into the living room where she heard people's voices. They certainly were a colorful bunch of friends. "Water is…. Fine." She said softly. "Can I…. Talk with them?"

"Of course!" Blake said happily, filling up a glass of water to give to Abigail. "Just…. Ignore whatever Zach says." She warned, a light grimace on her face.

The younger girl's eyebrows furrowed as she took her water and made her way to the group in the living room. Abigail also took this time to admire Blake's home. She was born and raised in Minnesota, she grew up on hunting and her home showed that. With its many deer heads plastered on walls that were an off white and exposed deep wooden beams.

Blake's house was more maximalist and all-around darker than many stereotypical homes. Her kitchen had deep green cabinets with black and golden marble countertops, her walls were decorated with vintage posters and small paintings, and her furniture seemed vintage as well and yet her home had a modern feel. Abigail found Blake's home very…. Comfortable. It felt lived in and loved in ways she couldn't quite describe.

"I must admit…. I'm nervous too." Will sighed out, shaking his head slightly. He hoped this went well and he hoped Blake's friends…. Would like him.

Blake's lips quirked upward for a moment as she set some plates down on her table. "Will, you and Abigail will be alright." She then went over to Will and cupped his cheek which he leaned into. "This could be a turning point for Abigail. Either she understands you can't just turn off the bad stuff or she doesn't."

"And if she doesn't?" Will asked, swallowing thickly as his gaze drifted to the back of Abigail's head.

Blake let her hand drop to Will's shoulder. "Then her journey to acceptance of her situation will be a much longer road."

—-----

Abigail walked to the group, interrupting their conversation. She observed them for a moment. Blake certainly had a colorful group of friends, some with dyed hair and others with their natural hair color. Abigail had to admit, she had relatively normal looking friends before everything happened.

"Am I…. Interrupting?" She asked, suddenly feeling self conscious.

"Not exactly." A girl said with a polite smile, sending a glare in the direction of one of the boys. Specifically, the one with shoulder-length black hair and olive skin who wore glasses. She had purple streaks of hair dispersed through the rest of the brown.

Actually, Abigail noticed most of them wore glasses. Including Blake.

"Zach likes to…. Say a lot of things." Someone else piped up. He had a similar look to the one the purple-haired girl glared at but the underside of his hair was shaved and his face was rounder. "I'm Matt." He was the first to introduce himself. At least, Abigail could begin to put names to faces.

"Right! We didn't introduce ourselves yet. I'm Elle." The purple-haired girl said with a smile. "Zach's that guy." She motioned to the man next to Matt.

Speaking of, Zach mumbled under his breath, "You guys bully me." He crossed his arms and pouted like a child.

"What else are friends for?" A new voice joined. He certainly looked taller than everyone else and even, normal, compared to the rest of them. "I'm Chris." Chris kind of had the look of a frat boy. What the hell was he doing there?

Abigail cocked her head at Chris for a moment before her gaze drifted to the last person who had yet to introduce themself.

"Jayme. Also known as Jay or the resident trans rat bastard." They said, a light chuckle escaping them as they introduced themself. "And also the hater of the group." Jayme added.

Abigail let out a small but genuine laugh. She couldn't really remember the last time she laughed. It's been a while. Then she realized she hadn't introduced herself to them yet. Although, she expected Blake to have at least told them her name. "I'm Abigail. I don't really…. Know what I am right now." She admitted.

"Ah, that's fine. We have experience converting people." Jay joked, shrugging. Abigail cocked her head in confusion, not knowing what they meant.

Elle let out a sigh, "Some day, you're gonna have to accept that people are going to like men no matter what you do." There was a light joking tone in their voice.

Abigail raised a hand to her mouth to keep herself from laughing too loudly. Well, now she knew why Blake kept them around.

"Blake is a work in progress though. One day she will like only non-men and women and it will be glorious." Jayme clutched their fist as if their cause was a noble one.

Blake's voice cut through them from the kitchen, "I heard that, Jay!"

"You're halfway there! Being bisexual is just one step away!" Jayme yelled back, a light smirk on their face.

Elle chuckled nervously, "They're joking." She clarified for Abigail, afraid she may be taking it the wrong way. "It's not that Jayme hates bisexuals, they just hate men and don't really understand how…. Someone can like one."

"I don't think Blake is a work in progress anymore." Chris said in a hushed voice, discreetly pointing over to the kitchen. Slowly, all their eyes were on Blake and Will.

The scene unfolding in front of them, one could only describe as…. Affectionate. Cute, even. Music was still playing lightly in the background so they couldn't quite make out what they were saying but they didn't need words to know how the pair felt about each other.

Blake grabbed a thermos and filled it with some golden liquid that was being stored next to her stove. She then gave that thermos to Will who hesitantly pressed a kiss to her cheek in thanks.

Abigail realized. No one she talked with in the FBI talked about themselves so she didn't know much about Alana or Hannibal or Will, even. She could sense the tension between Alana and Will, though, and Hannibal…. Really everyone. They dealt with criminals for a living so it seemed everyone was on edge all the time, something she could now relate to. But with Will and Blake, there was no tension at all. In fact, Abigail saw Will's shoulders visibly relax as he stepped onto that porch.

"Oh shit…. She's giving him the cider. The I-Want-To-Fuck-You cider." Zach gasped, putting his hand on his chest as if he was truly shocked.

Elle's eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head. "Blake literally gave all of us that cider. If that was true, she would've fucked all of us." She countered with a light laugh.

"Well, you never know." Zach shrugged.

"Zach, you have a girlfriend what the fuck are you saying?" Chris laughed, shaking his head.

Jayme's eyes widened, "Yeah. Weirdo." They teased with a small smirk.

"Abigail, you should eat." Will said from the kitchen, not necessarily listening to them but the words stuck in his mind either way.

The young girl nodded, giving those she sat with a small smile before she stood. Abigail walked over to the kitchen where Blake and Will stood by the counters. In front of Blake were two plates filled with a nice looking sandwich. She slid one over to Abigail as she sat at the counters and handed the other plate to Will.

"It's called the Adler Special. This sandwich got me covered all throughout college and even high school." Blake chuckled softly.

Abigail picked up a slice of sandwich with her two hands and observed it for a moment. The bread was toasted, the meat looked to be turkey, there was some sort of green on top–arugula–as well as some oil that seeped out onto the plate below. She took a bite and hummed at the taste. It's been a while since she's had a home cooked meal, psych ward food wasn't that good. So Abigail appreciated it more than she probably should have.

"Was…. College fun?" Abigail asked after a while, wiping her mouth with her arm. Ever since what happened, she felt hopeless that she wouldn't have a future. No more college. No more friends. No more…. Fun.

Blake shrugged, "It could be. Classes were a little hard but making friends is really what makes it fun." She smiled softly, "I was lucky enough to meet them during orientation." Blake motioned to the living room as she talked.

Abigail hummed in response, looking down at her meal.

—-------

As Abigail left to get into Will's car, Blake held Will back to talk with him. Among…. Other things.

Will blinked as suddenly Blake's lips were on his. He cupped her cheek as Blake set her hands on his waist. This kiss was a bit more heated than their first one…. It was also in front of people who actually knew them. But, for once, Will's mind was clear.

"W-What was that for?" He stammered as he tried to catch his breath, taking a deep breath.

Blake squeezed Will's waist for a moment, making the blush on his cheeks redden. "You looked like you needed it." She teased softly.

Will cocked his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"You're worried about her." Blake jutted her chin in Abigail's direction, letting Will go so he could stand on his own. "She's made progress today, Will. And I think she'll continue that progress with your help." She said softly, caressing Will's cheek.

Sometimes people believed Will Graham didn't care about many things besides his dogs. But the truth was, if he started to care he would care too much and perhaps even destroy himself in the process. So he liked to distance himself as much as he could. But Abigail…. Will felt an obligation towards her after killing her father. Someone had to be there for her. And it was either going to be him or no one would.

"Just…. Watch her. And be careful. But also, don't act as if she's made of glass. Don't throw her against the wall and shatter her but maybe slam her against the table." Blake advised, planting another kiss on his lips.

Will breathed in softly, "I'll keep that in mind."

#will graham #will graham is soft #will graham x oc #hugh dancy #hugh dancy x oc #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal is a cannibal #blake adler #sweet nothing

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apogee-gd4 · 8 days

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Writing Initiative #8

What have you learned about yourself doing this self-directed assignment?

Something I've learned about myself through completing this self-directed assignment this semester is my ability to stretch my practice and craft outside of the digital space (adobe platforms). Material design has always scared me a little bit. I worry that I won't be able to learn how to use and 'perfect' certain materials. While I was often quite outside of my comfort zone, it was actually really refreshing to take much of my design process outside of the screen, and how often I was able to continue to apply aspects of my usual design values into analogue.

Something I remember vividly saying during my very first critique in this class was "I only like to make work that is easily reproducible" ex. something that can be reprinted easily. But there was something so special about created one of a kind work that can stand on its own, and really have much more value behind it. This semester I learned how to work with wire, macramé, paper mache, vinyl die and tint, audioscapes, neon printing and so much more!

What did you find to be the most difficult aspect of your chosen assignment? Creativity? Research? Connecting design to research? Craft? Organizational skills? Time management? Something else entirely?

Analogue craft in many ways depends on long periods of time that digital craft does not: waiting for things to dry, waiting for something to absorb, no simple "cmnd Z"/undo. As a result, I found patience throughout the semester quite difficult. It wasn't that I wanted to rush through each assignment, more so that I wanted to keep adding, even when a period of waiting time was needed. This resulted in many "fails" that made the processes even longer. For example, trying to modge-podge the miniature pills by dipping them, instead of brushing it on lead me to need to remake the pills from ground zero.

What did you enjoy about this opportunity?

I really enjoyed being able to walk through the entirety of this process with my classmates. Seeing how I progressed, but also how my classmates progressed over 12 weeks was really rewarding. I always left class feeling more creative and willing to work harder, make changes and keep pushing. I also enjoyed how receptive my classmates were to the feedback and inspiration others would give them. Seeing a peer feeling stuck one week, and in a completely different place the next week was really cool to take part it.

How would you rate your performance over the course of the semester?

I would personally say that my performance over the course of the semester was great. I arrived on time and ready to engage in critique every single week. I came with a great attitude, but also pure honesty about how I was really feeling about my work. By the end of the semester, I felt like I had a holistic and complete body of work executed with great craft, and clearly representational of the word that I was assigned.

Hindsight is 20/20. What would you do differently, now that you've had this opportunity to work this way?

I think that I would've like to have included some sort of participatory element in my work. I admired those of my classmates who in someway got us to engage in their work either throughout the semester, or during our final reveal class. I also wished that I would have been able to source the letters from my final reflective piece fully on my own. I believe that had I reached out to a more diverse group of facilities, earlier in the semester, that I may have had more luck sourcing these letters.

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aliaharomero · 11 months

Text

Final curated portfolio

1. Artists reflection post

2. Sketchbook Ideas for Franz Klein

3. Franz Klein inspired paintings

4. Line assignments

5.Chaos and Order

6. 5 black shapes in white background and 5 white shapes on black background.

7. Color Theory Charts - Sketchbook

8. 6in Square swatches - missing.

I struggled to find the motivation to complete this assignment as I was struggling to mix the colors properly. During this point in the semester, I would mix colors that ended up being too similar to either the primary colors or colors I already placed down.

9. 3 colors that become 4

10. Vibrating Colors

11. Two 6in squares with 2 inserts in Analogous Color schemes

12. Examples of cool swatches for midterm.

13. Midterm Assignment

When it came to creating my art piece, I approached it by experimenting with a very limited mind. I found it difficult trying to come up with my own original idea after looking at other students finished product. I find myself doubting my ideas because my brain tends to think that there is only one way to approach this assignment and that it has already been done. The process of choosing the colors was done by looking at paint swatches in real life to see if I liked the mixture of them together. The warm and cool colors in my piece gave me a sense of energy. I recall that cool colors attempt to serve as the background and warmer colors usually come forward. The yellow and red tends to pop out and I tried to silence them with the coolness of the blue and the lighter cyan. When I first placed the colors together it encapsulated harmony making it feel more exciting. I had to take a few steps back to allow myself to gather my thoughts to approach this piece with an original idea. My vision of creating a balanced piece was executed by searching for the right shapes that would smoothly interact with positive and negative space. Every square needed to be unique enough to be different but share some shapes to be connected. For example, all four of them share a pointy shape like a triangle but in different ways. This was done by incorporating 2 principles of art, variety and repetition. Overall, I am satisfied with how my piece turned out as I believe it accurately represents what I have learned about the principles of art and two-dimensional design.

14. Book and Album Cover

"Chinese Cinderella: A True Story of an Unwanted Daughter" By Adeline Yen Mah.

For the book cover I decided to go with a simple design that incorporates different aspects of Chinese culture. In the book, Adeline’s family believe Adeline is bad luck because her mother died when she was born. In order to represent that I gave her a white skirt/dress, which is seen as bad luck in Chinese culture because it is associated with mourning and loss. Adeline found comfort in her academic success, despite not being loved she would always look forward to school to take that off her mind. I represented this by giving her gold slippers instead of crystal heels. Gold represents pushing through and the idea of overcoming a challenge. Additionally, I wrote the title in red paint to counteract the bad luck the white color gives. This was to show how’s she’s actually lucky and resilient to survive an unloving environment. I decided to paint the background a light blue as I was trying to use the coolness of the color to push the character back. The most difficult part of this process was the making of the dress and legs as I struggled with the proportions.

Drif by Heilhung.

For this album I decided to go with realism mixed with a bit of abstract. Heilhung is an experiment folk band that produces songs based off ancient texts and runes. They explained that Drif meant gathering and that they wanted this album to be a reminder of ancient history and to “reconnect to the beginnings. In order to show that to the audience, I decided to use Norse mythology and the Yggdrasil tree. This tree held the 9 realms and was said to be destroyed by Ragnorak, it was a sacrifice needed to create a new world. That’s the message I wanted to express with this album. I decided to paint the background in 3 colors with a light green, light blue, and a darker red. This was done to not put the tree in a known location. The band wanted to create a “bridge from history to modern day of society.” So I decided to make it subtle in the painting by dividing the tree and painting them slightly different shades of brown. I wanted the audience to determine which side is history and which is modern day society despite looking the same. This is also why I decided to leave the tree without leaves. Even the letters of the Album are written with one half of English letters and the other half with Nordic letters. I decided to make the letters neon because it’s a connection between the past and the present. Neon signs are a technological advancement we have today and in nordic mythology they had magic so I tied those two together.

15. Extra credit.

Faculty Alumni Exhibit Visit!

I visited the Loose Threads exhibit looking for a bit of inspiration for some of my pieces. I really enjoyed seeing the dynamic of the exhibit as there was some that were very realistic and others were more abstract.

Valeria Yamamoto Wind Trails, Series Composition II, 2019 wall installation.

This piece was one of my favorites because of how simple yet expressive it was. Next to her artistic statement is a Haiku which I really found interesting because I’ve attempted a few before. It’s also fascinating that she decided to make this composition out of metal because it’s a great contrast to how light wind is. I enjoyed how some of the leaves had lines that resembled leaves and others were smooth. I like how even though it’s a static piece, you can feel the breeze and the season itself.

Pedro Nieblas, Féria del Pueblo, San Miguel de Allende, 2022

Pedro’s work included various photographs of his trip to Mexico. I particularly like this photograph because it reminds me of my own culture. Many of his photographs show how artistic the place was. Even though I am not part of this culture, is does remind me of my family’s native country and how we are connected in a way.

Alena Fresquet, Kintsugi Installation, 2023

Lifeline

This group of compositions was really inspiring after Fresquet expressed what it was supposed to represent. She explained the process behind them, how she would dry excess paint on pieces of paper and cut and paste them onto a black background. Except it was a full black background, it had tiny hints of other colors so that it wasn’t fully black. She explained that these lines were to represent a time line like the rings on a tree. The artist statement mentions that her series also has to do with Fresquet’s experience with lobular breast cancer. Fresquet’s collection is truly inspiring and eye opening. When I look at these framed composition all I see is how even though there can be pain in life, it can create such beauty. It doesn’t mean that happiness can’t create beauty but it means that art is versatile and can be created in any moment.

It was truly a wonderful experience walking around and looking at what these Artists have created. Many of the pieces in the exhibit had the powerful ability to evoke different amount of emotion from the viewer and it was a fascinating experience. All artworks were truly unique embodying the work of the artists.

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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You and I - Henry Cavill smut

The one where Henry comes over to fix your computer

Warnings: reader is a henry fan, pandemic theme, lockdown and quarentine-ing, little bit of second-hand embarrassment?, heatwave, henry is feeling deprived in this one, oral sex (f), masturbation (f), dirty talk, brief hairpulling, the name of God in vain, Henry’s monster dick, laughing and teasing while fucking, hand over throat but no actual choking, orgasm control, p in v, unprotected sex

Word count: over 3k, ‘cause I got no chill

A/N: this was inspired by a tik tok someone requested me to write a fic about it. Obviously I took it in a different direction because can I ever follow guidelines? No. I do love this fic, though. Thank you to @lokiscollar for giving this a read for me!

Y/N’s P.O.V

Driving to a secluded location to spend lockdown in felt like a wonderful idea. There was a working wi-fi connection, so I could work remotely from the seashore cabin without any problem whatsoever, and the view was obviously to die for.

I did not expect someone else to have the same idea as me. The cabin next door had been occupied on the same day that I arrived, and much to my surprise, I recognized my new neighbor as someone I never expected I’d come to meet in my entire life: an actor. An actor I actually had a crush on.

Thankfully, the situation didn’t exactly call for mingling. I ran off to hide inside my cottage as soon as I realized who he was, occupying myself with fixing everything for the next day instead of daydreaming about the man next-door.

There would be time for that later, once I got in bed. But weirdly enough, that was the only time I really thought about him during those first weeks of quarantine. Every once in a while I’d get the random wave of curiosity about what he was doing - what did Henry Cavill get up to while spending lockdown by himself? But that was pretty much it.

I woke up every day, had breakfast, worked and then went to bed. Sometimes I’d sit by the balcony and watch the birds fly, taking in the scenery and breathing in the salty water. Even as a kid, I’d always loved the sea. It was comforting, so it made sense for me to turn to it in such a stressful time.

Sometimes I’d hear a bark or two, reminding me of the man who was staying in the other cabin, and it made me smile. I always did like his dog, whenever I saw pictures of him.

I hoped they were alright and that the absence of any human contact wasn’t getting to them, even though it was getting to me. I could feel my own social abilities - which weren’t exactly stellar before - slowly becoming decrepit, and I was scared to think of what my first human interaction would be like once lockdown was over.

I just hadn’t anticipated it would be come so soon.

The morning began as it usually would. I took my shower, I had my breakfast, and I sat in front of the computer with my coffee in hands, ready to start working for the day.

Only the computer wasn’t ready for it, too.

“What?” I talked to myself - something that had become more usual the longer lockdown went on. “Oh, no, no, no…” The situation was looking drearier the longer I stared at my lifeless screen.

Looking up at the clock, I considered my options. Even supposing I could get someone to come to this middle of nowhere to fix it, there was no way I’d be able to get it done before work started.

Sighing, I pushed away from my designated desk to call my boss. Thankfully, he understood and I was left to repair the damn thing and come up with a solution for the next day.

My heart ached at the prospect of having to abandon my refuge because of an electronic malfunction. And that is, if there even was anyone willing to fix the damn thing, considering the pandemic and the rules of social distancing. That’s when suddenly, an idea popped up.

I remembered all the fuss a few months back over a video of Henry assembling a computer all by himself. There was no way someone with that much hardware prowess couldn’t at least know enough to fix this simple laptop.

With that thought in mind, I gathered all of my courage to leave my little shack and make my way to the neighboring cabin. I took a deep breath before knocking on the door, and after a few seconds of silence - he was probably surprised and certainly not expecting anyone - a voice sounded from within.

“Who is it?” Now, I had thought this through. If this man came as far as I had come to this damn forgotten town, it was because 1) he wanted peace and quiet and 2) he was as terrified of the virus as I was. So I knew what I needed to say - what I would like to hear if the roles were reversed.

“It’s your neighbor. My name’s Y/N. I’m so sorry to disturb, but my computer broke and I need it to work and you’re the only person I’m 100% sure has been socially distancing for long enough not to put my life in risk.” After all, I would have seen if someone had come to visit him. I didn’t need to say this because both of us knew it. “Would you pretty pretty please come and check it out?”

Silence followed my question and I sighed, rubbing my sweaty forehead as I knew this was a long-shot. “I understand if you’re unable or uncomfortable doing so, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks anyway!”

I had already turned my back to his front door when I heard it swinging open, the pitter patter of paws following close behind. My eyes took in the man in front of me for only a second before looking down at the dog at his feet, head tilted in interest as he analyzed me.

Immediately, my eyes lit up. “Kal!” I exclaimed, kneeling down to let the animal sniff me so I could pet it. My heart stopped working for a second when I realized what I’d done, though.

“Sorry!” I looked up at him from my kneeling position, trying to ignore how awkward it was, considering what I was close to. “I-I do know who you are, I’m not gonna lie about that.”

I straightened up as he kept looking at me in a way I couldn’t quite define. Neither could I determine how it made me feel, just that it made me avert my gaze so I’d stare at my feet.

“So… Are you gonna help me?” He chuckled at my question, closing the door behind him and taking a step in my direction, making me fumble as I instinctively stepped back.

“Sure.” It was the first thing he spoke to me, but we walked back to my own place in silence. He had his hands in his pockets as Kal followed us closely, his tongue hanging outside his mouth as he happily explored the outside for this little while. “Come on in.”

The way the cottage was set up left little space for him to wonder where he should be helping me. The desk in which I had prepared my set-up stood right by the wall to our left, and there he went without me having to point it out.

I watched a drop of sweat roll down the nape of his neck and fall under his tank top, distracting me as I licked my lips at the sight of it. Then his head turned to look at me and I realized that he was waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, huh?” He chuckled again, making my face feel warm - an not (only) because of the overwhelming heat.

“Is it okay if I disconnect the wi-fi?” I wave my hand dismissively, shrugging.

��As long as you’re able to fix this, you can do whatever the hell you want.” I got the impression that I amused him, but he didn’t say anything else as he got to work on my (seemingly) dead computer.

Minutes went by of complete silence, safe from the sounds of typing and metal as Henry worked on the machine and I tried not to bite my nails. Finally, he pulled away from the screen and put his hands on his hips as if assuming some sort of decided stance - but if it was a good or bad thing, I couldn’t tell.

“Tell me, doctor.” I asked, pushing myself away from the sofa to approach him. The smell of a man’s sweat really had no right to be this arousing. “Is it life or death?” Henry turned to stare at me with a quirked eyebrow, and in the seconds it took for him to answer, I was once again distracted by just how hot he was.

“Sorry, what?” I asked when he became silent and I realized he’d asked me something I hadn’t heard once more. His smile said he was annoyed and entertained at the same time. “Sorry, you’re hot, it’s hot, and I can’t think straight,” I sighed, brushing the hair away from my eyes as I pressed my palms against them, trying to pull myself together.

“I swear to God, I’m not crazy.” I tried to look him directly as I said that, but was surprised at what I saw when our gazes met. There was a peculiar sense of yearning that he exuded, something I couldn’t quite place but that took my breath away all the same, especially when he took my silence as an invitation to invade my personal space.

“If you want me so badly, all you have to do is ask.” Silence fell heavily and I was out of breath just from his words - not a good sign. My throat felt dry, too dry, so I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip as I struggled to say something.

“W-why, though?” He tilted his head to the side, eyes inscrutable while he judged my question, trying to understand where it came from just like I was trying to understand his interest in me, when he suddenly smiled.

“I figured it’s a nice way for you to pay me back.” It took me a second to understand what he was referring to, and then my eyes darted from the computer to him, my mouth falling open in offense until he started chuckling. “I’m joking!” But even so, the question remained…

“Sweetheart…” He spoke, voice low and velvety as two strong hands suddenly enveloped my hips. “You’re seriously underestimating how hot you are.” I didn’t know what to say, so I had to make sure I’d hear him right.

“M-me?” A predatory smirk took over his face, slowly. I gulped under its intensity, feeling much like prey as he started to back me against the couch. I fell on top of it with a gasp, and another one escaped me when he used my ankles to pull me closer.

“I wanna eat you out.” It was all I got as an answer, but I can’t say that I minded it. As he dropped to his knees before me, pulling down my underwear before spreading my legs for his eyes to take in, it felt like I got a response from the gesture in itself.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I ate pussy?” The unexpected question made me choke on my own saliva, as he chuckled darkly in amusement at my bashfulness. I could only breathe through my mouth when he leaned down to run his tongue on the edge of my lips, slowly acquainting himself with my taste, making me moan softly.

“I-I definitely and decidedly don’t.” He seemed to like this answer, understand that it delimited exactly the type of fan that I was: the kind that knew what he was and what he liked - his dog, his computer - but not someone who was obsessed with his entire dating history, eager to know his every secret.

The longer Henry ate me out, the clearer it became just how long it’d been since he’d done this. It was obviously something he liked - the way he buried his face against my cunt and engulfed it entirely with his open mouth showed so. And the fact that he licked me and sucked me like he was a starved man? This was a man denied of a pleasure he genuinely enjoyed, that much I was certain of.

“Do you like this?” He asked once he inserted one of his thick fingers inside of me, already stretching me beyond what I could do with my own hand.

“How could I not?” I managed to moan a response, making him chuckle.

“Show me how to find it,” he instructed, eyes sparkling with determination. “I want to find your sweet spot.” I’d never had someone I was with so interested in giving me pleasure before.

Hypnotized, my fingers circled his wrist as best as I could, slowly moving him to run his digits over the top of my channel. He knew when he found it because I cried out for him, closing my eyes momentarily.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, and how could I deny him that, especially when he was looking at me with those darkened eyes? He milked my orgasm until my pussy had stopped clenching around him, but the second that it was done, he growled, getting up to his knees. “Gonna fuck you now.”

He pulled me by my hair, making me moan out loud as he slowly inserted his monster cock inside of me. “Oh, God!” His groan had me panting, cunt clenching around his thickness. I couldn’t understand how I was able to take it, but I was glad that was the case. “So… tight…”

Through his grip on my hair, he pulled me to deposit quick kisses down my jaw. “You take me so well, darling.” It was a compliment I was proud to receive, even though I wasn’t too sure how I managed to earn it in the first place.

“I honestly don’t know how,” I admitted, gasping when he slowly dragged his cock out to slam it in me, but I instinctively pulled my hips away, earning an amused chuckle from him.

“Come back here,” he ordered, already pulling me back to spear me with his painfully hard length. I’d have to be inhuman not to cry out at the feeling of his bulbous head bumping against my cervix. “Are you scared?” He joked as I bit on my bottom lip not to give in and laugh. “You think I’m too big?”

“You’re more than enough, I’ll tell you that.” Now, that had his own laugh escaping his chest, making my body tremble underneath his, inadvertently getting some friction between the both of us. It earned me a moaned out, “Yes…” that got his attention back to where I hoped it would be, and as his eyes settled on me, I briefly wondered if I was prepared for what was to come.

“But now that you got all of me inside of you, do you really want to go?” The whispered question made me shiver. I never expected him to be the type to talk dirty, but then again, I never expected I’d be fucked by him, either.

“No.” It was all the permission he needed.

“Then let me fuck you hard.” And hard he did fuck me. He was hard inside of me, it probably would have been painful for him if he wasn’t so desperately trying to alleviate it by frantically fucking me against the couch.

It was the most deliciously torturous experience I’d ever gone through. I had to bite my lip while I held onto his shoulders for dear life, trying to stop my moans from escaping because I was sure that for once, I’d become a screamer.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Henry didn’t appreciate my efforts to keep his ears from deafening. “What’s wrong?” He questioned, fingers tightening on my hips. “I thought you wanted this.”

Confused, all I could think to say was, “I-I do.”

“Then let me hear you,” he insisted. “You know you can scream all you want. We’re all alone up here on the coast.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. And with that reassurance, I allowed my head to fall back and my mouth to fall open, my moans flowing freely from my body as Henry kept fucking me.

“This is so much better than touching myself in search of a release,” he mumbled at some point, like he was talking to himself. “I was so damn lonely and you have such a tight little pussy.”

Being fucked by him felt like a religious experience. Henry somehow knew the map to my pleasure, easily bringing me to the brink of bliss before I had even managed to wrap my head around this turn of events.

My moans grew louder as I climbed higher and higher, but before I could fully tip over his hand curled around my throat, not constricting any air, just calling my attention.

“Ask for permission, baby.” Just the order had me clenching around him, prompting him to release a moan of his own. All the while, I was groaning in frustration, trying to control myself or say what he wanted me to say, but all that came out of me was, “Goddamn! You can’t say stuff like that.” Henry’s laughter flowed freely once more, making my heart skip a beat. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a fucking movie star and I am not up to fall in love with you.” That had his eyebrows raising in surprise, the smile disappearing from his face before it came back as a teasing smirk.

“Oh, so this is a one-time thing.” The taunting manner in which he said it surprised me in turn, so I hesitated before nodding. I mean, of course it was, right? He didn’t even know me. This was strictly sexual and physical, I would not be fooled by my own hormones. “My cock is not enough for you to want to get to know me some is that it?” … Was he testing me?

“Yes.” His smirk only grew at the word. “This is a one-time thing.”

“We’ll see about that.” His fingers ran down my body to graze over my clit. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep it in, knowing I was going to lose. Eventually, as my thighs began to tremble, I gave in altogether.

“Please, let me cum, please.” His eyes softened at my broken and desperate plea, hand gripping my cheeks as he finally nodded.

“Keep staring at me as you cum,” he commanded, still just as bossy. “Show me how pretty you look when you cream all over my dick.” That was all I needed to succumb to the pleasure he was subjecting me to.

I felt his cock, still hard as it pumped rope after rope of cum inside of me, and by the time I was able to open my eyes again, he was panting over me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my face.

I didn’t have the time to think about what I should do - push him away, try to pretend this didn’t happen - because the second I began to adjust on the couch, he pulled me to rest against his chest.

“Let’s stay here for a little while,” he quietly asked me. “Then we’ll figure out if there’s enough room for me to take you in your bed.”

#my fics #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #smut #henry cavill request #henry cavill requests #my requests #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill reader #henry cavill reader insert #henry cavill reader inserts #rpf #fanfiction #henry cavill oneshot

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russiandoll-from-brooklyn · 3 years

Text

Just Once - Part 2

Title: Just Once - Part 2

Some of y'all were asking for Part 2 of Just Once so here ya go! This picks up right after the first story.

Pairing: Tony Stark x fem!reader

Summary: Grief and loneliness got the best of you last night. Your friendship with Tony was too precious to risk, and now all you want to do is move on. But what happens when the other party doesn't want to forget?

Warnings: smut, language, (technically) cheating, friends to lovers, mentions of past canon trauma, oral (f receiving), protected sex

Word Count: 5.1k

[Starts out sweet and all about tony x reader friendship, then turns into steamy Tony smut. Table sex, included. 😳]

---

Thump, thump, thump.

Your feet hit the pavement rhythmically as you jog your normal morning route. It’s a misty Seattle morning, and the world is still quiet. The sun is rising sleepily, beginning to bathe the world in gold. All is well.

Except. It isn’t.

You turn the block corner, and your apartment comes into sight. You take a glance down at your watch.

42 minutes.

That’s how long ago you had quietly slipped out of your apartment for your morning run. That’s how long it had been since your eyes shot open and you remembered the events of last night, rushing into your mind, all at once like a tsunami. You had turned your head to find Tony still asleep beside you in the bed. One leg sticking out of the messy sheets and his face buried in the pillow. Your pillow.

You had stared at him in disbelief, half-expecting him to disintegrate into a fleeting figment of your imagination. You had rubbed your eyes, trying to clear the haze.

Nope. Still there.

You silently curse yourself and your stupidity (see: weakness in the face of sexual temptation) for the 50th time this morning as you approach the brick building. Perhaps, when you reenter your apartment, Tony will be gone, and this will all have just been a bad trip — or something of the like.

Before you even open the door, the smell of frying bacon reaches your nose. You step inside and are greeted by a peculiar sight.

Tony Stark, clad in nothing but a pair of dark jeans, is buzzing about your small kitchenette. Simultaneously, there are eggs being flipped over-easy on the stovetop, orange juice being procured from the open fridge, bacon sizzling happily in a pan, and toast being buttered. You stand in amazement for a few seconds, processing the scene before you. The wonderful aroma of the all-American breakfast makes you mouth water.

“Y/N! Hey!” Tony exclaims when he sees you.

You slide onto a stool at the bar top, overlooking the controlled chaos unfolding in the kitchen area. Tony truly has remarkable skill when it comes to multitasking. You guess, all that time in the suit, operating about twenty computing systems at once, was good practice.

“Wow. Breakfast?” you remark, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you cook?”

He scoffs, shooting you a brief smile before turning away to rapidly crack some black pepper onto the eggs.

“Cooking is easy. People think it’s a skill, but really it’s just planning, timing it out. It’s like assembling anything else. You just do the parts in order, trying not to break any yolks.”

You roll your eyes sarcastically at the classic “Tony” response.

Suddenly, all the components come crashing together, and Tony is setting down two perfectly assembled breakfast plates on the bar top — complete with a glass of orange juice for each of you. It looks delicious; it’s been way too long since you had a proper breakfast. Meaning, a breakfast that wasn’t cereal, a protein bar, or a bowl of sad, pale, scrambled eggs. You thank Tony as he pulls up the other stool to sit across from you.

“Dig in,” he says cheerfully, raising his fork. “Good run this morning?”

You nod, taking a big gulp of orange juice.

“Yeah, I heard you leaving,” Tony continues mindlessly. “Kind of weird waking up to an empty bed after a night like that. I finally know what it feels like to be on the other side, I guess.”

You nearly spit out your bite of toast. And just like that, reality comes crashing back down to earth. For a brief moment, it had felt like things could possibly come out normal on the other side. You and Tony could go back to being perfectly normal best friends.

How ignorant.

“What?” you remark incredulously.

You’re on the verge of laughter, partially out of amusement but mostly out of bewildered embarrassment.

Tony gives you his award-winning “I’m innocent!” raised-eyebrow expression. You suddenly become acutely aware of the situation. Tony Stark is sitting in your kitchen, shirtless, serving you breakfast. After you spent a far-from-platonic night rolling around your sheets together. You want to slap yourself.

“I’m talking about the incredible sex we had last night. And then, you leaving me alone before sunrise,” Tony explains casually, pushing your buttons further. “That's usually my play.”

He looks up at you, expecting a playful quip in return. Instead, you just slowly set down the fork you had been gripping.

“Tony,” you begin, seriously and calmly. “Let’s not talk about it. It was one night, and it won’t happen again. It was just once. We gave into the moment, but we shouldn’t-“

“The moment?” Tony suddenly blurts out, interrupting you. You purse your lips, surprised by the new and unexpected edge of anger in his voice. “God. Y/N. The moment, huh? You’re really just going to shrink it down to that. Just a moment.”

You stare at him, confused. Tony’s big brown eyes hold yours with an intensity. It's amazing how fast his sarcastic, playful tone can morph into ferocity. You want to look away, break his gaze, but you can’t. This whole thing was a mistake.

“It was fun,” you finally say. “But it was just a fuck. We were lonely.”

“You know, Y/N. You’re so damn smart,” Tony replies, leaning back a bit in his seat. “So, why do you always try and kid yourself? It bothers me. I know -- that you know -- that this wasn’t just a fuck.”

Your mind races through a million different responses.

Then, what was it?

What do you mean?

Why are you acting like this?

I'm not kidding myself.

But something tells you, deep down, that there's nothing you can say that won't lead to something you don't want to hear.

So, instead, you angrily snatch up your glass of orange juice, rising from your seat at the bar. You grit your teeth at Tony one more time before turning your back and striding toward to your study. You feel your cheeks burning hot.

The study is a second living room-sized space where you keep all your projects. Early sunlight is now streaming in through the large windows, falsely giving the impression of a peaceful Saturday morning. The large wooden table tops are littered with wires, microchips, and other electronic parts. When you first met the Avengers year ago, you and Tony butted heads over your shared expertise in technology and robotics. After much bickering and trying to outdo each other, you eventually accepted one another's intelligence and bonded over your shared field.

You look to the floor of your large study to see the air mattress you had set up there prior to Tony's arrival yesterday, obviously still pristine. You squeeze your eyes shut. Your apartment is absolutely dripping with reminders of last night's events. The empty whiskey glasses, still sitting on the side table in the living room. The couch pillows crumpled from the weight of your bodies, hungrily crashing together above them. You don't even want to think about your bedroom, where you're sure Tony's missing shirt is strewn on the ground.

You push the thoughts out of your your mind, pulling up a seat at your work table. You start to fiddle with a new lightweight shoulder pauldron you're currently designing. You can feel yourself going into 'shut-out' mode, trying your hardest to focus all your attention on the metal in your hands. This was all too much. This was all wrong.

When you hear footsteps behind you, entering the study, you ignore it. Tony quietly traverses the floor, coming to pull up a chair on the other side of the work table. He silently watches you working the wires into place. You don't look up. You don't have to see his expression to know the contemplative expression undoubtably painted on his face. You also don't have to look at him to know he's pondering more than just your work.

"You know, aluminum-titantium alloy won't hold up after a few heavy hits," Tony comments, nodding to the armor piece.

"I'm gonna chromatize it," you reply dryly, not looking up from your hands.

"I wouldn't bother. You can't just give everything a shiny coat to hold it together. If the problem is underneath, that is."

Fuck Tony and his fucking metaphors.

You growl angrily, throwing the pauldron down in frustration. You sit back in your seat and cross your arms, finally meeting your friend's eyes.

"Ok, fine," you say matter-of-factly. "Let's talk about it. It was good. It was really fucking good. And we both needed it. But that's it. I'm willing to leave it at that and forget about it if you are."

Tony rubs his beard in his palm, seemingly mulling over your words. His brown eyes don't leave yours. The warm sunlight coming in through the window behind him paints yellow patches on his bare shoulders, bathing him in gold. You take a mental picture of him, sitting there in his thoughts. A brief, intrusive thought passes through your mind, threatening that this could be the last time you see him. You immediately banish the notion. This friendship means too much to you. Not even a fuck-up as big as this one could make you want to toss it away. You hope Tony agrees.

"Help me understand where your head's at, Y/N," Tony finally replies. "What is your biggest concern right now? Wait, listen, I know there's a lot of reasons why last night was bad. But I want to know what you're thinking."

You sigh, uncrossing your arms. As much as Tony's 'list-and-analyze' reaction to crisis could be annoying, in some ways, it comforted you. Tony is impulsive, yes, but those who know him best also know his calculative nature: the mental risk assessments, the contingency plans labelled through Z. Always searching for the route that will hurt everyone the least. Always.

You consider his question carefully. Again, there's a million answers: the risk of ruining your friendship, the potential awkwardness, Pepper -- oh, god, Pepper --, the pain and grief you've both been through in the past few years. You close your eyes and pick one.

"You're one of the only people left that I trust. One of my only friends. Complexity doesn't often end well."

"You're right," Tony admits. "But aren't you the one who asked, 'is it wrong to not want to be alone'?"

You scoff loudly, angered by his using your words against you. However, that bitterness melts away into nothing when you see the heart-wrenching expression on Tony's face. His lips are pursed, and his eyes are searching yours desperately. Tony rarely shows outward weakness, but right now, the man before you isn't Iron Man. The man before you is broken. Someone who has tried everything to hold it -- his sanity, his relationship, his life -- together, to save the people he loves, to be strong. Someone who failed at that. Someone who truly felt alone.

You rest your chin in your palms and sigh, the weight falling over you as well.

Finally, you speak.

"Isn't it awful -- and strange -- how it can feel like a lifetime ago and just yesterday at the exact same time?"

Tony nods sadly at your observation. Of course, you were talking about the snap. About Thanos.

"You're right. About everything," he remarks. "Sometimes, it just gets too much. The...”

Loneliness. You finish his sentence in your head.

“Me too.”

“You should know though,” Tony continues. “I would never stop being your friend. No matter how complex things are. This — what we’ve been through — could never change, Y/N.”

There it is.

Some situations feel like you're running in circles; you're spiraling downwards and everything you say only makes matters worse and worse. It feels like sinking in quicksand with no way out. In every one of those situations, there's a key -- that one sentence, that one idea, that effortlessly clears the fog. This was it. Tony is going to be here, always. Everything is going to be alright.

You straighten up a bit in your seat. You let out a long sigh and give Tony a small smile.

"I know," you assure your friend. "Sometimes I forget everything that's happened. How complicated it's been before. How we made it out."

Tony laughs, and you're relived.

"How could you forget? It's been a wild ride."

The two of you grin at each other. You take a sip of your orange juice, which you had forgotten about and was now lukewarm.

"OK, happy?" you inquire with a playful tone. "Base material fixed. No need for shiny coats of anything. We're solid now."

Tony lets out a hearty chuckle at the stupid analogy. Suddenly, he stands, circling the work table until he's right in front of you. You suck in a breath of oxygen. From your seated position, your head only comes up to his abs. Bare abs, that is. You tilt your face upwards to meet his eyes.

"Y/N," he says gently. “Stand up.”

Confused, you rise to your feet. Before you can open your mouth to say anything else, Tony’s lean and muscular arms are wrapped around you. He pulls you into his chest, embracing you in his warmth. His grip is firm, as if he’s afraid you might run away. You soften into the hug, wrapping your arms around his back. You feel safe.

After a few moments, Tony releases you. However, he doesn’t move away, and the two of you are still nearly chest-to-chest. You peer up at him, and your friend’s warm toffee eyes meet yours.

“Wow, a Tony Stark hug?” you remark sarcastically. “I should play the lotto today.”

Tony chuckles under his breath. Despite your joking, it was true that Tony rarely gives hugs. He just isn’t the touchy-feely type — according to himself. Somehow this gesture, right now, meant everything. A hug was the most intimate thing Tony could have given you. It was a seal, a mark saying ‘I meant every word I just said.’

Tony is still standing directly in front of you, so close there’s only a magazine’s width between you. He’s so near that you can feel the warmth of his steady breathing, and the slight radiating heat from the arc reactor in his chest. Suddenly, you feel that familiar tug in your stomach. A rush of blood downwards...

“Tony-“

“Do you want me?” Tony cuts you off. His voice is low, gentle.

You suck in a breath of air at his words. Despite his directness, there's a detectable edge of nervousness in his tone. You smile internally at knowing you have this effect on Mr. Playboy. The slight uncertainty in Tony's voice also tells you that it's true: this is different. Last night was not just a mindless fuck. This is an understanding, wrapped around a mutual care that runs so deep that it burns.

You don’t even try to convince yourself that you don’t want Tony. Every ounce of your being is screaming to close the gap between you. You can still hear the scientist-logic-brain in you resisting, but your heart feels at ease. You and Tony. A concept that felt like the forbidden fruit itself just ten minutes ago now looked more like an oasis. And oasis that was maybe alright to take a drink from every once in a while.

You snake one hand upward to hold his cheek. Tony pushes gently into your palm.

It's you who leans in first. When your lips collide, it's soft. He presses himself into you, a delicate sigh escaping. You pull back just enough to whisper a breathy "I want you."

And oh, god do you want him.

“Then, have me,” Tony whispers back, gently.

You nearly visibly shiver. Any trace of hesitation is gone from his voice now. His words are demanding, but his tone is more of a plea.

“Do you want to go the bedroom?”

“No,” Tony replies immediately. He’s breathless. “Right here.”

You immediately feel wetness drop into your panties. Tony’s eyes have grow darker, as they bear down at you. The intensity makes your legs feel weak. You need him. He needs you.

In a moment of boldness, you bring your hands down to the hemline of your shirt. You lift the garment up and over your head, placing it on the work table beside you. Tony’s eyes wander to your red sports bra and your now-stiffened nipples showing through the sleek fabric.

In the next breath, Tony is suddenly kissing you again, his lips against yours in a desperate hunger. He brings his large, roughly calloused hands to your waist. He firmly grips your body, making you feel tiny in his hold. You let a small moan escape your lips.

Still holding you in his grasp, Tony starts to walk you backwards until your backside is pressed against the edge of your large work table. Tony’s hips press forward into you, making you gasp with excitement. You fingertips tangle in his hair, just wanting more and more and more...

In an effortless movement, Tony lifts your sports bra over your head. He throws the red fabric to the side, neither of you caring where it lands. Tony breaks away from your lips, starting to kiss down your cheek, jaw, and then finally giving attention to the delicate skin on your neck. Again, he’s careful not to nip or suck too hard to leave marks. The light scratching of his facial hair contrasts with the soft wetness of Tony’s lips, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

He continues to attend to your neck and jaw as one of his jean-clad thighs moves to fall between your legs. You let out a deep groan as Tony begins to rub and and roll his knee forward, stimulating your clothed core. His movements are like a wave, every forward crest bringing you a tiny bit of that friction your body wants so, so much. You’re in awe of the control Tony has over his movements and the effortless pleasure he’s capable of giving. You can’t help but find his experience and expertise sexy.

“Y/N,” Tony breathes against your neck. “Say it again. Please. Say you want me.”

It occurs to you that, aside from last night, Tony hasn’t felt wanted in a long time. Like, truly wanted. A pang of sadness fills your heart.

“Tony. I want you,” you declare, making sure the conviction in your voice shines through. You don’t have to try. You desire him more than anything right now. “I want you. I want this.”

With your words, Tony moans deeply into your jawline and begins to move his leg between yours more vigorously. Your fingertips trace over his bare back muscles. You trail your hands upward, into the nape of his neck, massaging his scalp. Everything about his beautiful form fits perfectly in your hands.

Tony continues moving downwards, soon finding your right nipple in his mouth. You arch your back, letting a loud moan escape your lips. He works your nipple expertly, rolling it and playing at it with his tongue. He alternates to your other nipple, his thumb replacing where his mouth just left. He lightly strokes the hard, spit-slick bud, and the combination of coolness and friction is heaven.

Tony stands back up, and a second later, his hands are at the elastic band of your running shorts. His eyes meet yours for a moment, silently asking for your permission. You nod a bit too eagerly, and Tony cracks a small, teasing smile. You scoff and lightly slap his shoulder, returning the smile.

Tony pulls your shorts down in one swift motion, leaving you in just your underwear. Next thing you know, Tony’s arms are around your waist. You let out a soft, surprised squeal as he lifts you effortlessly to sit on the edge of the work table behind you. Slightly elevated now, you come to about the same height as Tony.

“Hey,” you protest playfully. “Be careful. There’s important stuff here.”

Tony reaches behind you to clear the area, moving your half-finished projects and parts to the side.

“My apologies, Ms. Y/L/N,” he replies with a huge grin. “Got a bit carried away.”

You pull him into another deep kiss. He growls with pleasure when you nip at his bottom lip. Tony is now standing between your knees, his torso pressing gently into your panty-covered pussy. You can feel his erection through his jeans, straining against his clothes. After seeing Tony’s length for the first time last night, the mental image of his cock — just a few millimeters away from your core — is enough to make you drool. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in harder against you. He moans into your mouth, and you feel the vibrations as your tongues tangle together.

You feel Tony’s body leaning forward, slowly coaxing you to lay down on the table. Now fully on your back, Tony’s above you, taking in the sight of your body.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most magnificent creature on Earth?”

“No,” you reply with a smirk. “But now, knowing how many other planets are out there in the galaxy, just being Miss Earth doesn’t seem like a huge deal.”

Tony laughs, smiling with his teeth. You find the crinkles that form on the outer corners of his eyes utterly endearing.

“Well, you’re still one out of four-and-three-quarters billion,” he jests back. “Not too shabby. It’s all about the little victories.”

You giggle. The pleasant thought passes through your mind that despite the current situation, everything does feel strangely normal. Tony is still Tony; you’re still you. The banter between you and your friend is still comfortable and easy. Your relationship, although maybe morphing into something more nuanced, remains unmoved.

You’re so caught up in your inner thoughts, that you don’t register Tony kneeling to the ground between your legs. You gasp when you feel his warm mouth over your still-clothed pussy. The combined wetness of his mouth and your core easily soaks through the fabric of your panties, making it cling to your skin. Tony runs his tongue over your folds, through the saturated cloth. You groan with pleasure, the small of your back arching off of the table. You grip Tony’s dark hair, needing something to hold onto.

The sensation of Tony’s lips and tongue through your thin panties is completely unique, and fuck, does it drive you wild.

After a few minutes, Tony’s hands reach up to hook in the waist of your panties. He removes your final garment, leaving you fully bare. His mouth immediately returns to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit, before running downwards through your lips, and then back up again. He alternates this pattern with gentle sucks on your clit.

“Oh, Tony. Shit,” you manage to call out. “That feels so good.”

He hums hungrily into you, pleasuring you to a level that no previous lovers have ever come close to. Tony’s large, rough hands wander upwards. One palm gentle grips your breast, while the other comes under your waist to hold the small of your back.

You raise your head slightly to glance down at Tony. The sight is pornographic. His face is buried in your cunt, head bobbing. The shape of his shoulder muscles, and his strong back. His tan skin, all bathed in golden sunlight.

Pleasuring you. On his knees.

It’s like a painting. Beautiful and erotic.

“Tony. I need you,” you gasp out, suddenly overcome with neediness. “Inside me. Fuck, I want you.”

Those magic words, again. I want you. The effect they have on Tony is instantaneous. Without hesitation, Tony is on his feet. He swiftly unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. His pants fall down to his ankles where he kicks them off. To your surprise his naked cock springs free. A glistening pearl of precum is formed at the tip.

“Wow, commando, huh?” you tease, gently biting at your bottom lip. “You were so confident you were going to get lucky again today?”

“Of course not. I just like to let it breath sometimes,” Tony remarks. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s a man thing.”

You scoff and roll your eyes sarcastically. Lovable idiot.

“Top drawer?” Tony asks, referring to the location of the condoms.

“On the left.”

Tony hurries out of the room and returns a second later with a condom from your bedroom. Stepping closer between your knees, he gives his cock a few pumps in his fist. You can feel your heart quickening with anticipation. Your pussy is nearly pulsing, needing to be stretched and filled.

Tony rips open the shiny wrapper and rolls the condom down onto his length. You scoot slightly closer to the edge of the table as his hands travel to grip your thighs. You moan deeply as Tony rubs the head of his cock over your slit, spreading your moisture.

“Are you ready?” Tony asks, eyes dark with desire.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Make me feel good.”

With that, Tony starts slowly pushing into your dripping pussy. You groan as your walls accommodate to his girth. It’s amazing that you took him just last night, and he’s already capable of stretching you like this again. Tony throws his head back, hissing in pleasure as he bottoms out, his pubic mound flush against yours.

He starts pumping gently. The way Tony’s hips roll forward in fluid motions makes you want to scream with pleasure. His hands are gripping your thighs tightly, fingertips digging into the soft flesh.

Tony’s pace quickens, and soon the room is filled with sounds of wetness, skin slipping on skin, and the moans leaving both your throats. One of Tony’s hands moves to your pussy. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit making you see stars behind your eyes. The extra stimulation almost immediately starts tightening the orgasmic coil in your stomach. Tony seems to know the exact speed to move his cock and thumb to turn you into a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Oh, more,” you groan, your pleasure growing. “Tony Stark. Yes, oh, please.”

“Come for me, Y/N,” Tony growls almost primally. “Wanna feel you squeezing around my cock.”

Tony’s filthy demands go straight to your pussy. You love the feeling of being under him, sprawled out on the table, completely naked for him to fuck. And the dirty talk is the cherry on top.

The pleasure in your abdomen continues to rise until you’re on the edge of ecstasy. With one last thrust, your orgasm washes over you. You scream Tony’s name into the room, not caring who hears. Pulses of pleasure rip through your entire body, even making your feet tingle. When you come down, the convulsions slowing, your head feels fuzzy and bubbly.

Not even a moment later, you feel Tony lifting your legs higher. Still inside you, he straightens them, bringing your ankles to rest on his shoulders. The new sensation is instantly nirvana. He starts pumping into you, and the head of his cock rubs your G-spot on every thrust. Penetrative sex had never felt this good for you.

“You feel so fucking amazing, Y/N,” Tony manages to says between moans. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

The feeling of your pussy being pounded in this angle has your eyes rolling back into your skull. All your thoughts seem to leave your head. The only thing you can focus on is the immense pleasure. The sound of Tony’s balls slapping against you wetly with every stroke combined with his desperate moans fill your ears.

Tony’s thrusts start to become more jagged, needy. His moans slowly transform more into whimpers as he continues to fuck into you. Suddenly, Tony comes with a series of loud groans, his eyes shut tight. You feel his dick pulsating inside you as he orgasms. He thrusts a few more times, riding out the last waves.

He gently slides out of you, his hands coming down the tabletop next to your waist to steady himself. Both of you are breathing heavily, your bodies radiating with the afterglow of pleasure.

Silently, Tony helps you to stand before sweeping you up easily in his arms. You lean into his chest as he carries you to the bedroom. Tony lays you down carefully on the cool mattress before hurrying to the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a warm washcloth.

After cleaning yourselves up, Tony crawls into the refreshing sheets beside you. He slips one arm under your neck, and you cuddle in closer to his body. The warmth and smoothness of his skin is so, so welcoming. In the strangest way, it feels natural.

“I didn’t think it was possible to top last night,” you finally say, chuckling.

“Me neither,” Tony replies. “I guess we just have good chemistry.”

“Who would’ve thought?” You laugh and drape an arm over his chest. “Hey, question.”

“Ask away.”

“Why did you cook all that stuff earlier? Like the eggs, toast, the whole nine yards. It was sort of...”

“Out of character?” Tony finishes your sentence.

You nod. Tony takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly.

“Honestly, when I woke up, and you were gone, I was freaking out a little bit. I wanted to talk about last night, but you weren’t there, and I just didn’t know what you were thinking. If you were having serious regrets, or if you were angry, or upset with me. Or if you were thinking our whole friendship was burned to the ground.

“I just needed to do something. Anything. Busy my hands, distract my mind. Sorry that I kind of raided your kitchen.”

You turn to peer up at him, letting out a soft laugh. His chocolate eyes meet yours, and you give him a kind smile, endeared by his typical, hyper ramblings.

“I’m sorry I left,” you start. “I was freaking out a little, too. I guess that’s always been a difference between us. I always try to run from the unknown, while you just want to plow straight through it.”

Tony smiles warmly and blinks his gorgeous, thick black eyelashes at you.

“It’s why we make a good pair. Balance. Yin and yang. Ya’ know.”

You both chuckle, content in one another’s arms. You open your mouth to reply, but you’re cut off by a loud growl from your stomach. Tony bursts into laughter.

“Your fault for barely touching breakfast,” Tony remarks playfully. “Which — not to toot my own horn — was quite artfully made.”

“I guess I could settle for a bowl of lowly cereal as punishment,” you reply with mock sadness.

Tony chuckles and shakes his head. He starts to rise from the bed, then offers his hand for you to follow.

“C’mon, I’ll make you some more eggs.”

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