#So I can move onto another art project | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nostalgebraist · 6 days ago

Text

Imagine that you can still draw, or paint, if you feel like it, and have the tools. That hasn't changed.

And (no, this post isn't about AI, there we go, where was I) all the other newer tools still exist too: Wacom tablets exist, and Adobe Photoshop, and every sort of camera, and so forth. If you have these tools ready at hand, you can just pick them up, and make pictures with them.

And tumblr still exists, and all the rest of the internet with it. And so – if you like – you can use these venues to share the pictures you make with others, easily and immediately, for free.

However, there is also another venue, for sharing pictures.

That is the only thing that is different.

The other venue is... let's say it's a magazine that only prints visual art, and which has an extremely large number of subscribers.

Everyone knows about The Magazine. Most people you know are subscribers.

Before the internet, The Magazine was the main way that visual art got into people's homes (if it wasn't created there in the first place). Your parents speak of The Magazine as though it's just where art lives, as though the notion that there might be art somewhere else has never really crossed their minds.

Much of what appears in The Magazine is, in fact, pretty good. Conversely, much of the truly great art of the recent past made an appearance in The Magazine, at some point, before or after appearing in galleries and/or being reproduced in other ways.

But a lot of it is just... fine. Trendy, competent, workmanlike.

You flip through the pages and mostly you think, yeah, this sure is the sort of thing that gets printed in The Magazine, in the current year. Occasionally you're impressed by something you see there, and even more rarely something moves you, transfixes you.

Much the same could be said of your tumblr dash, of course.

It must be noted, however, that The Magazine has a higher quality floor than your tumblr dash. Everything that appears there looks polished, professional, carefully worked-over. This counts for less than one might think; that professional gloss can do nothing to elevate ill-conceived or simply dull work (and The Magazine does print such things fairly often).

In a gallery, you might encounter mere sketches, or blatantly unfinished paintings (Leonardo left behind plenty of both, after all). But you will never find such things in The Magazine.

The Magazine's cultural and psychological prestige is immense. It holds the popular conception of "art" in its tight, totalizing grip. If you ever pick up a pencil and draw, it will be assumed – by default – that you aspire to eventual publication in The Magazine. If you are not very good, people will tell you to keep at it; maybe someday you will make the grade. If you are good, people will tell you so, and ask you whether you've prepared anything for submission, whether you've sent it, whether you heard back.

It is tremendously inconvenient to appear in The Magazine.

After all, anyone can pick up paper and pencil, but The Magazine only has so many pages per month. So, The Magazine has standards. It is persnickety. It couldn't afford to behave differently.

But even if it could afford to behave differently, it would not want to. For it so happens that The Magazine prides itself on its active role in the production of "art" (meaning, "that which has appeared in The Magazine").

Even if you are one of the "lucky" few who does not receive a simple rejection letter from The Magazine, you will not simply be allowed to put your drawing or painting or what-have-you into The Magazine as it is.

Unmediated transmission of art, straight from artist to viewer, is for lower-class venues ("tumblr.com," "physical reality and its tendency to project images of nearby objects onto the retina," etc). The Magazine has standards, and they have a full staff of not-quite-artist, not-quite-art-critic people who are employed to impose them. If you do not get a rejection letter, what happens instead is that you begin a long and laborious transaction with one or more of these strange middlemen. They will tell you that your work is a good start, but that you really should have put this part over there, or made the symbolism more obvious or less obvious, or "applied your evident talent" to a more socially relevant choice of subject matter, or something of this nature.

Eventually, after a protracted interaction like this, you might succeed! A new, different, quite possibly worse picture – produced by laboriously adjusting your original one (which, being original/unmediated, is of course unprintable by definition) until The Magazine's staff feel satisfied in the relative scope of their role versus yours in the collaborative act that is "art" production – will end up on a page somewhere in the next issue of The Magazine.

And, finally: real art has been produced! You've made it!

You're in The Magazine. And your work ("your"? you don't feel so sure anymore) does look nice, sitting there on one of those oh-so-glossy pages.

It is nice enough that you spend nearly a minute lingering over it, before you go back to tumblr.com, where all the rest of the pictures are.

(And then, on the weekend, you go to a museum, and look at pictures which were being lauded as masterworks centuries before The Magazine was even founded. You could never produce anything like them, you know – and you feel envious of their creators, not so much because of their greater talents, but because no one ever praised them by saying, hey, this stuff is good enough to be in The Magazine!)

But at least your mom and dad will look at your drawings, now, and think: my child is an artist. You were an artist before, too, but it was just amateur stuff. Now it's for real. Professional. In The Magazine.

Professional? Well, The Magazine did pay you a little in the end, as a prize. And there are some people who make their livings this way. They have good, longstanding, hard-won relationships with The Magazine's staff of intermediaries. They are unusual; by sheer force of numbers, only a select few can make a decent and reliable living in this manner.

(Indeed, The Magazine's insistence on imposing its standards is essentially inimical to steady, reproducible money-making for individual artists. You shouldn't feel secure already that they'll print your next picture without delay, before you've even sent it in for assessment – that would mean they are not keeping standards at all, wouldn't it? And so, cultural forces within The Magazine conspire to degrade its value as a potential source of one's livelihood.)

Those who appear regularly in The Magazine have unparalleled reach. As a child, perhaps, they shaped your notion of what an "artist" was; as a child, maybe you wanted to be just like them, when you grew up.

But then you did grow up – and so, you realized that they were employing the tools at hand (pencil, paper) to a very unusual end. Anyone can pick up the tools and draw. But few can make it into The Magazine, and perhaps even fewer than that should want to appear there.

After all, there is something almost shameful about the exercise, isn't it?

The Magazine says: I am the means by art is produced and disseminated. And many people, passively following the ambient culture, unconsciously nod along.

But in fact, The Magazine has no potency in it whatsoever. It is you, and the viewer, who create the work of art and create the experience of experiencing art. You can just draw things. You can just show your drawings to people.

And The Magazine cannot turn an uninspired artist into a genius, or an unskilled artist into a master; it can only trim perceived fat, arrange perceived rough edges into a more agreeable shape, apply gloss and trendiness and "professionalism." But those were never what anyone liked about art to begin with. You don't need them – unless you do, for your own artistic reasons (and your viewers'), and in that case home-made versions will probably do the job well enough.

There is, in fact, not much reason at all to want to appear in The Magazine.

And that, in itself, is a strong argument against the idea.

You ought not to play along in the charade, pretending that the whole laborious exercise has a point after all, if you know that it is in fact pointless. This is a matter of integrity, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's how I feel whenever anyone's like, "so are you gonna try to get this stuff published or what"

#(to be clear this is about my fiction)#(nonfiction writing is a different sort of thing and i'm much more open to getting it published - as indeed i have on occasion)

612 notes · View notes

thewritingrowlet · 5 days ago

Text

The Art of Unwinding, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: deepthroat, anal, fingering

length: 7k

author's note: Yes, it's another Irene fic. Please bare with me.

---

“I will see you all again in two weeks after my leave,” the vice president says. “Good evening, everyone.”

Those last three words sound like the most beautiful ballad in Irene’s ears, as exhaustion promptly dissipates from her body and is replaced by a tremendous sense of relief that makes her shoulder drop almost imperceptibly. Twenty-two relentless days and nights dedicated to the project are finally over, and the promise of a week of simultaneous leave with her superior feels like a lifeline.

Her footsteps, which dragged with the weight of deadlines just moments ago, now feel lighter against the cool tile floor. The knot of tension in her neck and shoulders begin to loosen as her mind, finally freed from spreadsheets and presentations, drifts towards the simple luxury of lying horizontal in bed. Rounding the corner towards the parking lot, the familiar frown that has etched itself onto her forehead softens at the sight of Marco. He leans against their car, the soft glow of the parking lot lights catching the sharp lines of his jacket. He looks as effortlessly put-together as always, seemingly untouched by the kind of stress that has been Irene’s constant shadow.

“Hi, love,” he greets her, his gentle tone relaxing, a soothing balm to her drained soul. He opens his arms, and Irene takes her rightful place between them. “Hi,” she mutters, the scent of his perfume a welcome distraction. “The project is done, isn’t it, baby?” She nods to his question, her cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of his shirt. Marco presses a tender kiss to the top of her head, a wordless expression of his undying affection. “You’ve done so well, love. I’m so, so proud of you,” he says to her, his voice always the first to offer praise and the last to even hint at criticism. “Thank you, love. I couldn’t have done this without you,” she replies, her voice full of warmth, just like this embrace is.

Pulling away from the hug momentarily, Marco opens the passenger door for Irene, signaling her to get in. “Can we get dinner out?” she asks, the thought of facing pans and spices feeling utterly overwhelming. A kind smile stretches across Marco’s face, carrying understanding and empathy for his beloved wife. “Of course, love. Any idea what to get?” he asks back, open to any suggestion. “What about noodle soup?” she suggests, longing for something warm. “Noodle soup sounds like a good idea,” he puts the car in drive, “well, noodle soup it is, then.”

A soft giggle escapes Irene, the light sound a welcome change from the strained sighs of the past few weeks. “What is it you usually say—I’m happy to eat anything as long as I eat it with you?” Marco grins, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Yeah, something like that,” he confirms, his gaze meeting hers briefly before pulling out of the parking space.

The drive to the restaurant is a brief one, filled with comfortable silence and sights of Magnolia’s glittering downtown. As Marco smoothly makes a turn, Irene’s gaze lands on a towering office building that is similar to the one she spends her days in. High up, in several brightly lit windows, she can see small figures moving around within. “I hope they get to relax one day,” she points out, understanding all too well the late nights and relentless pressure those illuminated rooms likely hold.

Marco reaches over and squeezes her hand gently. “I hope they have a good and safe space to come home to—a haven like you have,” he adds softly, his gaze returning the road ahead. Irene pecks the back of his hand, her heart swelling with affection and gratefulness for the safety and comfort that Marco provides. “There would be no haven without you, my love,” she says affectionately.

Marco and Irene enter the restaurant, her arm wrapped around his, letting him lead her towards the register to place an order. “Two noodle soup, please. One regular and one spicy,” he says, his tone dropping to a lower register, a habit reserved for interactions with strangers. Even after all these years, the heavier timbre still sends a pleasant shiver tracing its way down Irene's spine, a subtle reminder of the very charms that captured her heart long ago.

Marco takes Irene to an empty table by the window, knowing well that she likes to glance outside when eating. “Come, baby,” he says, pulling a chair for her. “No, I want to sit next to you,” she protests with a playful pout, crossing her arms for extra mischievousness points. He chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement at her behavior. “Alright, let’s sit together, then.”

Irene beams as she takes a seat next to him, leaning against his strong shoulder that is most dependable, literally and figuratively speaking. She lets out a sigh, content in the knowledge that she is truly under his careful, adoring watch.

“My love…” she mutters, her finger tracing circles idly on the sleeve of his shirt. “Thank you for everything, seriously. Especially the last month, and the previous one, and the one before that,” she adds. Marco chuckles, the low rumble vibrating through her. “Of course, baby,” a kiss from him lands on her head once more, “after all, I promised you and your parents that I would take care of your every need.” Irene nods slowly. “You did, and you’re doing a damn good job,” she says, her voice honest and heartfelt.

Through the faint reflection in the window, Marco sees that Irene’s eyelids are getting heavy as sleepiness is starting to claim her exhausted body. He pulls her closer, closing the little gap there is, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her safe. “Rest if you can, baby. I’ll keep an eye out for us,” he whispers, casting a mantra to send her to sleep. Irene hums quietly, slowly losing herself to slumber, her grip on his arm loosening. “There we go,” he mutters. “That’s my good girl.”

Minutes after Irene has fallen asleep, the waiter arrives with their food in a tray, the blowing steam a clear indication of how hot it is. After the bowls are placed on the table, Marco carefully takes a sip, testing the temperature. “Too hot. I’ll let it sit for a bit,” he thinks, not wanting to give Irene food that would surely burn her tongue. “Just a moment, baby; let’s wait until it’s a bit colder,” Marco says in his head. Irene hums: she must’ve heard his thoughts. A fond smile grazes his features as a surge of adoration rises within. “Easy, baby. We’re not in a rush at all,” he whispers.

After a few more minutes, Marco tests the noodle soup once more, satisfied by how the temperature has gotten down to a more suitable level for her. “Irene, baby,” he taps her arm gently, “wake up, please.” Irene’s eyes slowly flutter open, and as she inhales deeply to get herself together, her nostrils get filled with the pleasant smell of broth from the bowls on their table. “Oh, it’s here,” she mutters. “Should we… should we eat now?”

Irene picks up a spoon, but Marco quickly grabs her hand, halting her movements. “I’m going to stop you right there,” he says softly, his eyes full of tenderness. “Let me feed you, love.” Sleepy she might be, but the kind gesture still touches the deepest point of her heart, a content smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, love,” she says.

Irene takes a sip of soup from the spoon Marco is guiding towards her lips, sighing in satisfaction at the warmth that is spreading within. “Just what I imagined,” she muses, feeling the moderate heat in her belly. “It’s good, isn’t it?” Marco asks. Irene smiles as her cheeks grow warm. “It is, especially when I’m with you,” she confirms.

Marco patiently tends to his wife, feeding her spoonful by delicious spoonful, each pass as tender as the previous one, until her bowl is empty. After swallowing the last mouthful, Irene burps rather loudly, turning the head of a nearby visitor who glances at her seemingly in disgust.

“What are you looking at?” Marco glares at the stranger, protecting Irene behind his piercing gaze. “Your bitch, dude. She’s got no manner or what,” the man dares talk back, going as far as using a dirty word. A muscle twitches in Marco’s jaw. “Hold on, Marco. Ignore him,” he thinks briefly, but the derogative term ignites a fire within him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Marco rises from his seat abruptly. Feeling immensely pressured, the stranger looks away, his bravado faltering instantly, folding under the sudden rise of Marco’s anger. Marco stands solid, though, his chest rising and falling as he waits for the guy to say something again, his clenched fists ready to be unleashed.

“Marco, please,” Irene pleas, her eyes getting teary at the sight unfolding before her. “I-it’s okay, love—please.” The sincerity in her voice snaps him out of his rageful trance, and he slowly, reluctantly, settles into his seat again. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers right into her ear. “I just didn’t like hearing him say that.” Irene’s hand runs along his spine, as if trying to physically wipe away his anger. “I know, but please, just let it go,” she urges him softly.

Marco begins digging into his own bowl, his sharp stare still locked on the nape of the stranger. Occasionally, he catches the woman sitting across the stranger stealing nervous glances at him before whispering something. “Go on, escalate this—I fucking dare you,” Marco thinks, taunting the pair in his own head. “Marco…” Irene’s soft tone cuts through his mind that is still clouded with rage. “Marco, my love, I know that look,” she whispers. “Please, just… just let it go.” He nods slowly, letting his anger be washed away by her soothing voice. “Yeah, I suppose I should let it go,” he echoes, understanding Irene’s urge to calm down.

Marco finishes his noodle soup swiftly, unwilling to waste another second in this establishment. “Let’s go, baby,” he urges Irene. “We’re done here, aren’t we?” Irene nods, gathering her belongings and following closely behind him.

As they stand at the register to pay, Marco feels an unfamiliar arm draping around his shoulder. “That’s not Irene,” he thinks, so he slaps it away. “Don’t touch me, please.” When he turns to see who it is, the anger makes a quick comeback. “The fuck you want?” he barks, his voice laced with venom, instinctively moving Irene, who stays silent to prevent further escalation, to stand behind him.

“Nothing, man; I just want to say sorry,” the man says, the hostility from earlier completely gone. “No, you’re not fucking sorry. You’re only saying it because you’re scared,” Marco spits out, rejecting his apology. The man shrugs, realizing there’s no way to make amends with Marco and Irene, especially with the former. “Alright, man, whatever you say,” he turns around, quickly making his way back to his seat.

After going through the exit, Marco takes Irene to a secluded spot in the alley next to the restaurant. “I’m sorry, baby,” is the first thing he says. “I just hate hearing that term, especially when it’s aimed at my loved ones,” he reasons. Irene hugs him, holding him close, soothing him in her arms. “I know, love, but surely, we can learn from this. Maybe we can pay attention to our manners more when we’re in public,” she says, not only understanding his stance but also acknowledging her improper mannerism.

Irene pulls away from the hug, her hands drifting to find his. “Maybe we can sit at the park and relax?” she suggests. Marco’s lips begin to curve into a smile as the bitterness disappears without trace. “Alright, baby, let’s go to the park.”

With arms around each other’s back, they begin making their way to a nearby park, drawn to the allure of the round lamps like moths to a flame. Knowing that things will likely take a turn towards intimacy, they agree to sit on a bench that is not as brightly lit.

“Marco,” she calls to him, “thank you for protecting me, even if it was so scary to watch you be so angry.” He pecks her on the temple, both accepting her gratitude and apologizing for providing such an unpleasant sight. “You’re welcome, love, but let’s not bring this up again. I’m still sick to my stomach,” he begs, reluctant to visit the sour memory that is still very fresh. Irene nods, returning the peck back to him. “You’re right; it’s better to focus on ourselves.”

Irene’s gaze roams around the park, looking for pleasant things to look at, and— “Wait, did you hear that?” she asks, scanning her surroundings. “What? Hear what?” Marco looks around too, unsure of what she’s referring to. “A cat, love. I heard meows.” The meows become clearer to his ears now that he knows what they’re looking for. “Oh, yeah, it sounds like it’s pretty close to us.”

Marco thinks he sees something underneath that tree, squinting to make it out. “Is that it?” He rises from the bench, inching closer to the perceived source of the faint sound. “Oh hi, little kitty,” he bends down, looking at the kitten intently. “Are you separated from mommy?” As he inspects it further, he’s starting to get convinced that it’s not a regular street kitten, but rather one that someone has discarded—no street kitten has fur like this.

“Irene, baby, come here,” he calls to her, and she quickly joins him in looking at the kitten. “That’s a special breed, no?” In a moment of uncertainty, Irene tilts her head, trying to decide if the kitten is indeed of a certain breed. “Maybe,” she says, still unsure. “Can you grab it, love?”

Marco takes little steps towards the kitten, trying his hardest to not startle it. “Easy, little one. We’re not trying to harm you,” he says. As if able to understand him, the kitten just stays there, sitting on its hind legs, looking at him with its little eyes while still meowing endlessly. He reaches over and carefully holds the kitty in his hands; it doesn’t look too small now that he’s got it in his palms.

Irene puts her hands on her chest, overwhelmed by the cuteness of the little cat. “Oh, aren’t you gorgeous,” she says. “Can we keep it, love? Please? Pretty please?” she begs Marco to agree to keep the kitten. “I suppose we can,” he says. “But I think we’ll need to take it to the vet first.” Irene looks at her watch, the smile on her face faltering. “I don’t think there’s one that’s open right now.”

Despite the initial hesitation to take in an unchecked kitten, Marco eventually concedes; they will take this kitten home tonight and take it to the vet on Saturday. Irene hops around, excited at the thought of having a cat at home, something to distract her from the burden of life in pleasant, perhaps even mischievous, ways.

During the ride home, Irene cradles the little cat in her lap, petting its head gently with her finger and eventually managing to have it fall asleep. “Goodness me,” she exclaims, her eyes getting teary at the cuteness before her. “It’s so cute, love—look at it!” Marco chuckles, her vibrant enthusiasm rubbing off him. “I know, baby. It’s so cute and tiny,” he says, already falling for the small animal.

Once home, Irene rushes to find something to keep the kitten in, and her choice lands on an unused container from back when they were moving into this house. “Whoa, whoa, hold on there, madam,” Marco stops her, “not that one, please; that one is quite expensive.” Irene pouts, but she complies, opting for a smaller container that is less expensive. “That one is fine, yeah,” Marco expresses his approval of the revised choice.

Irene puts pieces of cardboard on the inside, serving as a mattress for the cat. Perhaps it can also function as a scratching mat since cats love scratching things. “Alright, little one, you’re going to sleep here for now,” Irene says as she carefully places the kitten in the container.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute,” she can’t resist its charms, petting it endlessly, “what should we name you, hm?” “Let’s name it Rora—you know, like roar,” Marco suggests. “You hear that, cutie? We’re going to name you Rora,” Irene echoes, relaying the news to the cat.

Irene rises to her feet, leaving Rora behind, and pads over to Marco, her face glowing with genuine excitement. “Thank you, love.” She kisses him on the lips, her hands cupping his face, happy for the chance to keep the cat. “Maybe it’s not the time for us to have children yet, but it’s definitely time to have a pet.” Marco nods, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I mean, we can try for a child if you want one that bad,” he offers. Irene chuckles, shaking her head as she does. “Give me one more year, please. I’m so close to the top,” she reasons. “Sure, baby. After all, we’re not exactly in a rush.”

Irene arrives at work in high spirits, looking forward to a particular thing that has been waiting for her for a few days now. As she approaches her office, her gaze lands on a cardboard box sitting on her desk, waiting to be opened. “Oh, there it is. That must be it,” she thinks, resisting the urge to scream simply out of excitement.

She sets her belongings on the desk, leaving them as is, her attention stolen by the box that is promising something grand. With a cutter, she slashes the tape that is keeping it closed, her heart pounding hard and fast in her chest. “Goodness me…” she mumbles. The content of the box is exactly what she’s been anticipating: a new, shiny plaque, signifying her new post at the company.

“Mrs. Irene Bae-Moretti. Vice President of Product Compliance and Regulatory Affairs,” she reads the text out loud, her voice breaking as each word leaves her lips. Irene holds the name plaque to her chest, her mind taking her on a nostalgic trip, showing glimpses of the things she has gone through to get here.

After wiping the tears off her cheeks, Irene places the plaque on her desk, her hand digging through her handbag to find her phone. Once found, she quickly searches for Marco’s number, and he’s quick to pick up.

“Hello, this is—"

“Marco, my love!” she talks over him, unable to contain her excitement any longer. “I’ve got it! The new plaque with the new title!” The crisp sound of his old money laugh vibrates over the call, and Irene can’t help but break down crying as she’s getting overwhelmed with emotions. “T-thank you… for… just absolutely everything,” she says in a trembling voice, pushing through the tears. “I… I could have never done this without you, love,” she adds a heartfelt declaration, making sure Marco knows how much he means to her.

“Congratulations, baby. It’s been so amazing to see you rise through the ranks,” he replies. “The sky is truly the limit, isn’t it?” Irene shakes her head, familiar with the test lying beneath the question. “N-no, it’s not,” she says. “We… we don’t have any fucking limit.” Marco laughs once more, his pride of her woven in the sound. “That’s my girl.”

As Irene cries to her heart’s content, Marco stays with her from the other side of the call, offering sweet affirmations that do not help her calm down at all. “My dear, I’m so sorry, but my meeting is about to start. How about we talk again later, hm?” Irene takes a deep breath, collecting herself just enough to properly say goodbye. “Y-yeah, that… that sounds good. See you later, Marco, and good luck with the meeting.”

Irene sinks into her chair as soon as the call ends, and as luck would have it, one of her subordinates passes by in front of her office, seeing her through the glass door. She waves at Irene, concern etched in her face. Irene waves her off, putting on a smile to assure her that she’s okay. “These are tears of joy, Melanie—tears of absolute joy.”

Marco cracks open a can of soda right as Irene’s car pulls into the driveway, the sound of it too familiar to him. “Ah, perfect timing,” he says to himself. He stands right between the kitchen and the living room so that Irene will catch him as soon as she steps through the front door.

Irene’s frown of exhaustion gets replaced with a beautiful beaming smile when she sees him, his rolled-up sleeves adding more allure factors to his appearances. She quickly closes the door behind her and jogs straight towards him, longing for the comfort only he can provide.

“I’m home,” she mumbles into his chest, her voice muffled by it. “Welcome home, my love.” Marco holds her tightly, sharing the warmth of his body with her. “How was work, Madam Vice President?” he asks, his manner teasing but genuine. Irene giggles, blushing slightly at hearing the new title she’s been given. “It was good, Mister Vice President,” she answers, using his job title back against him.

Marco loosens his embrace, putting enough distance between them to look at each other in the eyes. “I’ve prepared dinner for us, baby,” he tilts his head towards the kitchen, “I made everything myself—well, everything but the wine.” Irene turns her head to the side, saliva pooling in her mouth at the sight of such an appealing formation of dishes with mac and cheese in the center. “I’m not hungry, though,” she kids, but her stomach isn’t cooperating; the subtle rumbling sound just blows her cover out of the water. “Yeah, you’re definitely not hungry,” he mocks her playfully.

With fingers entwined, Marco leads Irene to the kitchen, taking her closer to the source of the pleasant smell that is swirling around them. “Mac and cheese, baby. Three types of cheese and breadcrumbs on top, exactly how you like it,” he points at the dish, particularly proud of his work. Irene beams as the steam coming out of the mac and cheese calls her name. “Did you put chili flakes in there?” she asks, trying to make sure Marco didn’t miss the single most important detail. “I did, baby,” he whispers, his hand finding its spot on the small of her back. “Just so you know, we’re now out of chili flakes.”

Marco pulls a chair back for her, and Irene mutters a soft thank you at the kind gesture. “Why don’t you have taste, baby, hm?” he urges. Irene wastes little time to take a spoonful of mac and cheese, her eagerness drawing a smile on Marco’s face. “Oh, yeah, that’s just perfect,” she says. She’s quick to follow up with another spoonful, enthusiastic to keep stuffing her mouth with this creamy, slightly spicy, goodness. “This is amazing, love,” she turns her head around, looking at him with appreciation shimmering in her eyes, “thank you so much.”

The rest of the dinner goes with a comfortable silence, both Irene and Marco savoring each mouthful of mac and cheese. Pushing her plate to the side, she reaches across the table, her hand searching for his. Marco catches on quickly, meeting her halfway. “Yes, baby?” She lifts his hand towards her mouth, pressing a soft peck to his knuckles, thankful for the simple yet hearty dinner. “You’re welcome, love,” he says, understanding the unspoken words so well.

Letting the dirty plates and mugs still sitting on the table, Marco leaves his seat, extending his hand towards Irene in invitation to spend some time in more intimate ways. Irene takes his inviting hand with a smile, the stress from work melting away with each step they take. She squeezes his hand tightly as they approach the bedroom door, her heart pounding with exciting anticipation.

“After you, my love,” Marco steps to the side, letting Irene enter first, and her nostrils immediately pick up the fragrant scent of aromatics from the diffuser. She asks, “Jasmine again?” Marco approaches her from behind, his hands resting on top of each other on her belly. “Yes, baby; jasmine again,” he confirms. “After all, this was your favorite out of the 6 scents we’ve tried.”

Irene leans back against him, letting her body be supported by his firm torso. “Marco…” she whispers. “Can we… get comfortable, please?” The peck that lands on the side of her neck sends shiver down her spine, flooding her mind with thoughts of losing herself between the walls of the most private section of the haven that is their bedroom, where they have done all sorts of things in.

Irene shivers slightly as she loses her blazer to Marco’s deft hands, the no-sleeve dress providing little protection from the cool bedroom air, but the way he promptly hugs her again warms her up right away. “You know, it’s like you’re trying to get me between your legs,” Marco whispers, his voice hoarse, hinting at how luscious she looks in this black dress.

Irene catches her faint reflection on the glass wall, the sight mixed with the scenery of their backyard. Beyond her ghostly outline, the gentle sway of trees in the evening breeze and the subtle shimmer of their small pond creates a private oasis, a natural extension of the intimacy blooming within the room. It is in this liminal space, where her own image is intertwined with the serene world outside, that she turns fully into Marco's embrace, the cool glass a silent witness to the warmth that envelopes them.

“Marco…” she calls to him, desperately longing for intimacy. “Marco, baby, undress me, please.” Irene exhales heavily when the zipper on her back begins to part, thus revealing the smooth skin of her back to his hungry gaze. With skillful and experienced moves, Marco frees Irene from her dress, letting it pool on the floor, leaving her only in her underwear.

“Is this enough, or do you want to be completely naked before me?” he asks, his whispered words hot against her ear. “I-I want to be totally bare, m-my love,” she stammers. “A-after all, I-I’m your good girl.” Marco smirks, pleased with her answer, even if she’s stuttering a little bit. “As you wish, then.” He makes quick work of her panties, yanking it down her legs, before turning his focus to freeing her plentiful tits. “Can’t be any more naked than this, can you, sweetie?” he teases.

Irene’s heart pounds in her chest, the beat fast and hard, as Marco’s hand slides down towards her crotch. He chuckles; his fingertips reach the dangerous triangle area that is covered with a small patch of pubic hair. “You’re perfect like this, baby,” he praises, still as attracted to his wife today as he was when they first started dating.

Irene yelps when Marco touches her sensitive lips, squirming around in his arms as if trying to escape. “Shh, easy, baby,” he whispers once more. “We’ll take this nice and easy, okay?” Swallowing a gulp that is stuck in her throat, Irene nods. “Y-yes, please. I-I’m not ready to go too fast just yet,” she says.

Marco’s touch on her “dangerous triangle” sends a fresh wave of shivers through Irene. He traces the delicate curve of her hipbone before his fingers dip lower, parting the soft curls with a gentle exploration. Irene’s breath hitches as his fingertips find the slick heat waiting there, a silent testament to her arousal. He presses lightly at first, familiarizing himself with her readiness, and Irene leans further into his touch, her head falling back against his shoulder as soft moans escape her lips. The rhythmic pressure begins to build, each stroke deliberate and knowing, coaxing forth a deeper response from her body.

A low groan rumbles in Irene’s chest as Marco’s fingers dance with increasing intimacy. He finds the small, sensitive nub hidden within the folds and begins to tease it with a feather-light touch, sending jolts of pleasure through her. Her hands tighten on his arms, her body swaying slightly with each exquisite sensation. The world outside the glass wall fades away as her entire focus narrows to the building pressure within, Marco’s knowing touch expertly guiding her closer and closer to the edge.

The breath catches in Irene’s throat, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as the gentle teasing intensifies into a more insistent rhythm. Waves of pleasure crash through her, each one stronger than the last, tightening her muscles and stealing her focus. Her body begins to tremble, her grip on Marco’s arms growing fierce as she rides the escalating sensations. A soft cry breaks free as the peak washes over her, a series of intense pulses radiating outward from the core of her being. Her head lolls to the side, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the echoes of the climax reverberate through her, leaving her limp and utterly sat in his arms.

Noticing her trembling legs and shaking knees, Marco guides her towards the bed, having her sit on his lap while he offers soothing touches. “Easy, baby. Easy does it,” he whispers, his hand running gently in circles on her belly. He holds her tight as she collects herself, smirking to himself at the fact that he can still pleasure her thoroughly with just his fingers. “Just like when we were 26, isn’t it, baby?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement. Irene nods feebly, still riding the last bits of her climax. “Y-yes, my love. J-just like when we were 26,” she continues.

Marco helps her lie flat on the bed, and Irene looks at him with loving eyes and a beautiful, content smile. “I don’t want to stop here, Marco,” she says. “I… I want you inside me.” Marco replicates that smile, tucking a stray strand of hair on the back of her ear. “Gladly, baby, but let me get you some water first.” He quickly makes a trip to the kitchen, filling a bottle of water for his beloved, and returns to the bedroom. “Here, baby.” He watches her intently as she takes small sips of water from the bottle and wipes the excess off her lips.

Rising from the bed, Marco begins undressing, letting Irene see his good physique without restrictions, and she can’t help but lick her lips at the sight of his erect manhood. “Can I have you in my mouth first?” she asks, missing the sensations of having her mouth filled with his sizable member. Marco nods, moving Irene around the bed until her head hangs off the edge. “Mm, yes, take my mouth, love.”

Irene opens her mouth as wide as she can, allowing Marco to fill the space with his shaft. He sighs deeply in pleasure as his shaft enters her mouth centimeter by delicious centimeter, pushing his hips forwards until the entirety of him disappears in Irene’s mouth and throat. “My God…” he mutters, his fingers tracing lines along her bulged throat. “You’re amazing, baby girl…”

Marco begins moving back and forth, rubbing his shaft against her soft lips. Irene, being used to this, doesn’t gag at all; she just lies there, letting Marco use her mouth and throat cavities for his own pleasure, offering muffled moans to signal to him that she’s content with this.

Marco continues his rhythmic movements, his hips gently thrusting as Irene’s mouth and throat work their magic. He lets out a series of low groans, his hands now gripping her breasts, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of the pleasure building within him. Irene’s hands reach up, finding purchase on the back of his thighs, deepening the connection. The sounds in the room are now solely the wet, sucking noises of her mouth and Marco’s increasingly ragged breaths.

The pace intensifies, Marco’s thrusts becoming deeper and more urgent. He can feel the tightness of her throat, the insistent pressure that is driving him closer to the edge. His vision starts to blur at the edges, and he lets out a strangled groan, his body tensing. A series of involuntary spasms wrack his frame as his climax washes over him, a potent release flooding Irene’s mouth. He groans loudly, his body shuddering, his grip on her tits tightening even further as the waves of pleasure subside, leaving him weak and panting above her.

Marco retreats from her mouth, positioning Irene in a more comfortable way, and wipe off the mess on her beautiful face. “Thank you, love,” he offers a heartfelt gratitude for her, still panting heavily from his high. Irene laughs softly, touched by his simple but genuine thanks. “Of course, love,” she says. She reaches for his face, her thumb stroking his cheek, adoring this man before her. “I love you,” she mutters. “I love you more, baby.”

“Give me a moment, please. We can continue after this,” she adds, exhausted but keen to keep going. Marco nods in understanding, punctuating it with a fleeting kiss to her lips. A gesture that is uncomplicated yet meaningful; he’s never the one to shy away from kissing her, even if her mouth was filled with his release just moments ago.

Marco joins her in the spacious mattress, cradling her from the side and offering pecks. “You know,” she begins. “I think I want something more tonight.” Intrigued, Marco asks, “Yeah? Such as what, baby?” Irene’s smile carries the desire lying underneath it, her nails lightly scratching his chest.

“I want you back there, daddy.”

Marco’s jaw clenches: it’s been some time since he’s granted access to her rear hole—and the eccentric name tells him that she’s serious. “Is that so, baby?” he asks, getting very aroused at the thought of being connected in such a naughty manner. “I mean, if you feel like it. I was just... expressing my desire,” she says.

Marco’s hand moves from her butt cheek towards her tight pucker, his mind running wild with imaginations of getting in that hole again. Irene’s heart begins racing once more as she feels Marco’s finger tracing the shape of her anus. “You want it too, don’t you?” Marco nods, his finger pushing slightly into the snug ring, trying to find its way in. “You bet I do,” he answers, no hesitation in his voice.

Irene moves to straddle his thighs, stroking his member to make sure he stays hard. “How long has it been since we last had anal, love?” she asks. Marco’s breath quickens as her soft hand traces a path along his cock. “Two months, maybe three?” he offers his estimation. She giggles. “Well, it’s been long overdue, hasn’t it?”

Irene turns around, showing him the bubble butt she’s very proud of, and uses her hand to guide his cock towards her ass. She gasps when her muscles give way to his invading member, almost out of practice after about two months of not taking him back there. She keeps lowering herself, taking more and more of him, the stretch bordering on pain and pleasure at the same time.

“Oh, God, so deep, so full,” she blurts, savoring the fullness of being penetrated in the asshole. Irene lifts herself off Marco’s lap slowly: the way her tight anal walls drag along his length oh-so-tightly never gets old.

The friction intensifies with each of Irene's deliberate movements, the slickness easing the initial tightness into a pleasurable burn. Marco’s hands explore the curve of her waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of her back, urging her deeper. He can feel the exquisite clench of her inner muscles around his shaft, a sensation that sends shivers of pure sensation through him. His breath hitches, and he lets out a low growl, his hips instinctively meeting hers, thrusting upwards in a primal rhythm.

Irene throws her head back, her hair cascading down her spine, her eyes half-closed in ecstasy. The feeling of being so completely filled, so intimately connected, sends waves of pleasure radiating through her entire body. She increases the pace, her movements becoming more frantic, her soft cries echoing in the room. The intensity builds, a tightening coil of sensation in her core mirroring the building pressure within Marco.

Marco’s control begins to slip as the pleasure overwhelms him. His thrusts become deeper and more forceful, his groans louder, his body arching with each upward surge. He can feel the precipice nearing, the point of no return. His vision tunnels, and every nerve ending in his body is focused on the intense friction and the exquisite tightness gripping him.

With a final, guttural cry, Marco’s climax erupts, a powerful surge of release flooding his senses. He grips Irene’s hips tightly, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he continues to thrust deeply within her. Irene, caught in the wave of his pleasure, cries out as well, her own climax joining his in a shared explosion of sensation that rocks them both to their core.

Irene shudders as her forbidden hole gets flooded by Marco’s virile seed, a feeling that is truly like none other. Still intimately connected with him, she falls backwards onto him, his firm torso supporting her weakening body. “Irene…” he whispers right into her ear. “Thank… thank you, baby.” A small smile plays on her lips, satisfied with both the pleasure and his appreciation of her efforts. “You… you’re welcome, love,” she replies, her breath ragged and heavy.

The soft morning light filtering through their bedroom window illuminates the peaceful stillness of their bodies intertwined beneath the sheets. Marco stirs first, his gaze falling upon Irene's sleeping face, a serene smile gracing her lips. A wave of pride washes over him as he remembers the previous day's news and their passionate celebration. He carefully brushes a stray strand of hair from her forehead, careful to not wake her, and slips out of bed, eager to start the day and subtly acknowledge her new title.

Perhaps he can prepare her favorite breakfast, leaving a small, elegant note addressed to "Madam Vice President" beside her plate?

With lighthearted and swift movements, Marco quickly whips up some toast and latte, along with her favorite blueberry jam and peanut butter to complement them. “Hehehe.” He can’t help but laugh at himself, his heart swelling with excitement and pride at the fact that she’s managed to reach the top, all by her own efforts and supported by his tireless, steadfast presence by her side.

Marco takes the food to the bedroom, hoping that the smell alone will be enough to wake Irene, and he can’t be more right: she begins opening her heavy eyelids as her nostrils pick up the pleasant aroma of toasted bread and freshly made coffee. Marco sets down the tray on the bedside table and joins her in bed, cradling her from the side.

“Good morning, baby,” he greets her, punctuating it with a tender peck to her head. “How did my favorite vice president sleep?” She chuckles, smacking his chest lightly. “The vice president is sore,” she quips. “Her husband was… quite passionate last night.” Marco laughs, squeezing her more tightly in his arms. “Well, the vice president’s husband must love her so much, huh?”

Irene stretches languidly, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "The vice president appreciates the breakfast in bed, Mister..." she trails off, mirroring his earlier tease. Marco leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. "Mister... what, my love?"

Irene reaches out, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. "Mister... vice president who knows exactly how to celebrate a promotion," she whispers, her gaze softening as she meets his eyes. "Thank you, Marco. For everything. Never could have done this without you, and you know I’m not lying."

He captures her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Anything for you, Madam Vice President. Now, eat up. You have a big day ahead of you." He gestures to the tray laden with her favorites.

As they eat, their conversation flows easily, touching on Irene's excitement and slight nervousness about her new responsibilities. Marco offers words of encouragement and unwavering belief in her abilities, reminding her of all the hard work and dedication that brought her to this point. The air in the room is filled with a quiet joy and mutual admiration, a perfect start to Irene's new chapter.

As Irene prepares to leave for work, Marco stands by the door, his eyes filled with pride and affection. He straightens her blazer, a small, loving gesture that speaks volumes about his unwavering support.

"Go get 'em, Madam Vice President," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. Irene leans in for a lingering kiss, a silent promise of their continued partnership and love. “Yes, sir,” she answers, her voice firm and steady. “See you later, Mister Vice President.”

Marco offers her a wry smile, a hint of guilt rising within him. “I’m sorry, but I’ll probably come home late.” Irene’s second kiss erases that guilt quickly, the gesture carrying the assurance that he needs. “Please be safe out there and come home to me in one piece,” she says. He nods, energized by her words. “Of course, baby. Thank you.”

Stepping out into the bright morning, newfound confidence radiates from her. The city, bustling with its usual energy, seemed to hum with a different tune, a soundtrack to her ascent. With Marco's love as her anchor and her own hard work as her wings, Irene steps forward, ready to embrace the challenges and triumphs of her new role, their shared journey continuing, stronger and more intertwined than ever before.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #red velvet smut #irene smut

433 notes · View notes

redflagshipwriter · 1 year ago

Text

batmom Cass progress post

(masterpost)

Far Too Young: Cassandra Wayne, Teen Mother Debutante?

Danny cringed away from the headline on the newspaper sitting on the coffee table. “I am so sorry,” he said miserably. Someone must have reported on that first day in the city. Why'd they sit on the story for so long? That was the only time he'd been in public with Cass. So far, he'd only left Wayne Manor with Damian and Alfred to volunteer at the animal shelter.

Cass blinked up at him, from her perch on the back of the sofa. “Don't be,” she said. “It's fine. They will always talk.” Her face twitched into condescension. “It means nothing.”

He wrung his hands because it really did look like something. She hadn't given him the article and he wasn't quite bold enough to request to read it. But it couldn't be nice. Even the headline was judgmental.

“It would probably be for the best if we made a statement.” Grandfather Bat said out of nowhere.

Danny startled and jumped straight up. The chair creaked unhappily when he landed back on it.

“Brucedad,” Cass complained.

He huffed and held his hands up. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to startle anyone.”

Danny hunched a little more into his hoodie. Well. Tucker’s hoodie. It was way too big for Danny, especially after the weight he'd lost. But it was weirdly comforting. He fiddled with the sleeves.

“Cass, could we talk about it in my office?” Bruce said. His tone was calm and even. Danny sort of suspected it was for his benefit. “Danny, Damian is looking for you.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny let his heels drop off the chair, onto the carpet. “Yeah, okay. Where's he at?”

Danny found his 13 year old uncle out in the barn with his cow. Danny hopped the wooden gate to go inside and sneezed at the dust in the air from dried hay.

“Danny,” Damian acknowledged. He was brushing Batcow. “I hope that you are well this morning.”

Danny made that weird white person smile-grimace where only his lips moved. “Good morning,” he said, instead of either lying or being a bummer. “Are we going to the shelter today?”

Damian didn't pause. “Unfortunately, I have been told that it will not fit in Pennyworth’s schedule today,” he said primly. He dragged another long, precise stroke down Batcow’s fur, exactly lining up with his last stroke. Danny eyed his sure, confident motions. “Instead, I wondered if you would join me in a project in the barn. Have you any experience with wood working?”

“Nope.” Danny drifted a little closer. “Do you?”

“No.” Damian dropped to a crouch to take care of Batcow's hooves. “It is of no importance. We can overcome.”

“Hell yeah, Uncle D,” Danny agreed genially. Why not? He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What are we making?”

“Storage shelving, for materials intended for art therapy.” Damian made one final brisk movement and rose in a smooth motion. He hung up the tools and brushed his hands off. Danny followed Damian as he started to leave.

“Art therapy?” Danny echoed curiously. “That's neat. For ….you?” He ventured.

‘It’s for me,’ Danny thought wryly. ‘This 13 year old takes his responsibility as my Uncle seriously. He'll say it's for him, but want me there, and-’

“Of course not,” Damian scoffed. “It is for Jerry and Batcow. They have unresolved traumas.” He pulled the door shut behind them. “We will require lumber from the storage unit, as well as an assortment of power tools. I am disallowed from using them without the presence of someone who is taller than 5 feet, or older than 20.”

“That is awfully specific.” Danny eyed Damian suspiciously. “I'm not going to get in any trouble for this, right?” He followed even as Damian picked up the pace a little as they crossed the huge green lawn towards a shed.

“Tt.” Damian tapped in a code at lightning speed and then hefted open the door. “No. You will be fine.” He said flatly. He stalked into the dark space. Danny followed and sneezed at the dusty interior. “Can you lift 50 pounds?”

Danny sniggered. “Yeah, easily,” he said with confidence.

Damian hummed in the back of his throat. “Good. You shall be the beast of burden.”

That was such a wild thing to say that Danny blinked twice while processing it. Beast of burden?!? Who said that?

“... I'm not sure I like that,” Danny teased. “Have you heard that I'm the baby?” He gestured at himself. Weedy as he was, he was still noticeably larger than Damian.

“You should be proud,” Damian said in a dry tone. “to be such an accomplished baby. Here.” He pointed at a bundle of lumber. “I require this.”

Danny was a burdened beast back and forth between the shed and the barn for three trips to assemble everything that Damian thought they would need. The preteen oversaw it all with perfect aplomb, dark eyes glittering as his plan started to come together.

There was a learning curve.

“That's why they say to measure twice and cut once, huh,” Danny observed. He pursed his lips at the board that was only about half an inch too short for their purpose. They couldn't like, glue or nail on a slight extension, could they?

“We shall throw this in the woods so that no one discovers our failure.” Damian lifted one side of the poorly cut plank and dragged it to the back of the barn into an unused stall. It dragged a line through the loose straw cushioning the floor.

“He's so little,’ Danny thought hysterically. He could not laugh at Damian. He absolutely could not. The little guy took himself so seriously. Danny was actually shaking with the effort not to laugh or coo.

Damian seemed to have no idea. “For the moment I will store it out of sight here.” He let the plank fall to the ground from an inch or so and then shut the stall door. Danny watched with his head cocked to the side and a hand pressed over his lips to hide his grin.

“We have two more excess planks.” Damian went back to business.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #red mama bat

1K notes · View notes

suspiciouslackofclowns · 2 months ago

Text

The honeymoon phase in which Billy, notorious for his temper, somehow never gets mad at Steve, lasts far longer than anyone expected.

He’s very particular about his things, and likes to keep as strict of a schedule as he can — won’t eat dinner an hour early and doesn’t like being over ten minutes late to things — and to top it off, he’s possessive.

Not you can’t talk to anyone that isn’t me possessive, but more like please tell me where you’re going and what you’re doing so I know you didn’t get murdered possessive.

And Steve has the tendency to accidentally break some of Billy’s internalized, largely unspoken rules.

He’ll use something and forget to put it back, and Billy will try to keep his patience in check while Steve attempts to recall where he last saw the item in question. Steve prefers to be fashionably late, or at least use that as an excuse for why they haven’t left for a party until an hour and a half after it’s started.

Sometimes Billy will pregame or, more often than not, pace in front of the door with the keys in his hand. An angry red creeping up his neck.

Steve once went to Robin’s after work to help her move an art project into her mom’s car, and wound up shooting the shit for too long. At nearly the four hour mark, the Camaro pulls up to the curb, and the window rolls down.

He doesn’t lecture Steve, or even get out of the car, he just looks at him. The sunglasses hide his expression enough to make Steve just a little bit more nervous as he trots up to the window and leans down.

Especially when the blond’s jaw is clenched.

“I’m sorry, I’ll uh… I’ll call next time,” he says.

Billy nods once and Steve knocks on the door panel before the car pulls down the street.

It becomes a sort of inside joke, something that the kids and Robin poke fun at him for, that starts to make Steve a bit paranoid.

What will he do to piss Billy off so bad that he finally loses it?

Funnily enough, he starts trying harder to remember. To show up earlier, to call if he decides he isn’t coming straight home.

To not completely rearrange Billy’s hair products in the cabinet when he’s looking for hairspray.

He isn’t perfect but he’s trying.

The night that everyone has been waiting for finally arrives when they’re hosting one evening, and Steve breaks the cassette player.

With Billy’s Mötley Crüe tape stuck inside.

He scrambles to snag the cord from the outlet when it starts to make a whirring sound, an unnatural smell of heat rising from it like it might combust.

When Steve manages to unplug it, he also knocks the whole thing onto the ground with a crash.

The room is engulfed in total silence. Everyone is staring at him when he looks over his shoulder, some completely stunned while others, namely Robin, have huge shit-eating grins on their faces.

Billy comes into the room not a moment later, eyebrows slightly raised as he sips his newly-retrieved beer, eyeing the bits of broken plastic scattered on the floor at Steve’s feet.

The brunet makes a face. Can’t make himself keep looking at his boyfriend when his jaw clenches and his brows pinch together.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts. Kneels down to set the player upright, though even just touching it feels like he’s making things worse. “Maybe we can take it to Radio Shack and—“

“It’s busted,” Billy dismisses, voice even. He takes another swig and shakes his head. “Which tape?”

Another heavy beat of silence falls over the room as Steve stands up, wringing his hands together as he processes the question.

“Shout At The Devil,” Steve says.

Billy sighs. Rubs his free hand over his face and turns back into the kitchen, disappearing from the room entirely.

Meanwhile Steve’s heart is practically thundering in his ears.

“He’s gonna rip you a new one,” Robin whispers.

“And it’s gonna be bad,” Max adds.

Steve tenses up when Billy returns with his record player in his arms, shouldering through and setting it down, plugging it in. Then, he produces the very same album on vinyl.

“Sound’s better anyway,” he grumbles. Stands up. Looks at his work with approval before he glances at Steve, at which point he quirks a brow. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

The brunet presses his lips together and shrugs. Hot shame creeping up the back of his neck.

The simple fact that Billy didn’t so much as yell at him when he clearly wants to has Steve feeling… some type of way. Like maybe he isn’t getting what he deserves.

And that alone makes him feel shitty. Makes him feel like he’s forcing his partner to walk in eggshells just to not get mad at him.

“Maybe we should… have different stuff?” Steve suggests timidly. “Like, I could move my things into the other bathroom so we don’t have to share anymore, and stuff like that. I’ll— I can still, y’know, replace the cassette and the player since I—“

“Stevie,” Billy interrupts.

His voice is soft, matching his expression as he steps closer. Reaches out to rub up and down Steve’s arm.

It nearly makes the brunet’s lip wobble.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s this comin’ from? I like sharing with you,” Billy says. “I don’t love when things get broken or misplaced, but that doesn’t mean I want us to live with separate everything.”

Steve manages a nod.

“Okay,” he rasps.

Billy immediately closes in on him, reaching up with his free hand to brush his fingers against his cheek.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Billy coos.

“You didn’t yell at me.”

“I know, that’s why I’m confused.”

Billy chuckles, and Steve bites his lip.

“You never yell at me. You never get mad at me when you’re supposed to, and—“

“Stevie,” Billy whispers. He’s smiling, still lovingly caressing Steve’s cheek. “I’m mad as fuck right now. You wrecked a $200 cassette player beyond repair, of course I’m mad.”

Steve swallows thickly. Furrows his brows.

“Then why are you being so calm?”

“Well, is yelling at you gonna fix it? Or magically make a new one appear for free?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.” He leans in to press a kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose. “Also ‘cause I love you, and I don’t wanna yell at people I love.”

From the sofa, Max blows a raspberry with her lips.

“You yell at me all the time,” she huffs.

“You aren’t my future husband,” Billy retorts. Steve snickers, and Billy’s smile widens as he pushes a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. “Besides, when I supposed to get mad at you?”

“Dunno,” Steve says. “Whenever I fuck something up?”

Again, Billy chuckles, and shakes his head.

“Did you get pissed when I broke the vacuum cleaner trying to clean that shag rug we wound up throwing out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Steve shrugs and gestures lamely with his hand.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Whose fault was it, then, if not mine?”

The brunet chews his lip for a moment.

“Well, it was an accident—“

“Ah, see?” Billy muses. “It’s hard to get mad at you for being innocent.” He ropes Steve closer, interlocking his fingers over the small of his back. “If you were doing shit on purpose, or didn’t care, that’d be a different story.”

Steve nods. Drapes his arms around Billy’s neck.

“I’m really sorry about the cassette player,” he says. “I know you saved up for it.”

Lips brush against his, and he can practically taste Billy’s smile.

“It’s okay, pretty boy. I’d rather listen to records with you than cassettes by myself.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he might cry, but then Billy is kissing him again. There’s a collective groan from their spectators, but Steve ignores them in favor of cradling his partner closer.

Because it was never a honeymoon phase to begin with.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #adhd x autism boyfriends #ficlet #my writing #unedited

212 notes · View notes

saintsroww · 5 months ago

Text

TITLE. All I Have IN SHORT. clingy!jinx X reader "I Can't lose you too." | made with WLW in mind. CROSSOVER. Arcane: League of Legends X Cyberpunk 2077 WC. 1,555 CR. official art [ Arcane: League of Legends ] this is the outside of jinx's place that i tried my best to describe lmao TALKING. first ever fanfic. send any healthy criticism, i'd love that! at first it was ripperdoc!jinx but i had no idea where i was going with this tbh so i just went with clingy jinx lmao. and apparently jackie died differently in this teehee. might seem ooc, yikes. did I eat with this one yall? lmk :( PROJECT BEGUN. 11/30/2024 this took me awhile HAH! ACT. iii

Night City was bustling with people cheering and yelling, the disruptive revving of car engines speeding down the wide streets, the cool night air whispering past your skin, your hands comfortably resting in the pockets of your pants, your right hand holding onto your keys hidden inside the pocket, and your head slightly lowered as you stride past other people on the packed sidewalk. Your knuckles carry a faint throbbing ache that you're awfully familiar with. The night sky makes the ads displayed practically on every building look more vibrant than in the daytime. Your heart felt heavy, burdened by an overwhelming wave of sorrow and distress, while your composure dangled precariously, clinging on by the slightest thread.

You slip past multiple distracted spectators watching the race in Little China, occasionally bumping into others as you make your way through the other side of the crowd. Headlights whipping by, the smell of body sweat and alcohol invaded your nostrils. Your left-hand rises from your pocket to push a bystander to the side, finally making it out of the crowd to the other side, your main focus on reaching out to someone you held dear after a hot minute of your absence.

The street life drained you in ways you knew you'd be in if it meant you'd stay afloat in Night City. As the days went by including you sending little to no messages to Jinx, backstabbers were left sniffling the ground you walk after you're done with them, biz dealing with individuals where you can't always put your guard down, foolish gangoons pushing their luck with you. Being protective of what's rightfully yours, or taking from the more fortunate, getting to the top meant having every advantage you could get, and then you'll have a better chance to get far in this line of dangerous work.

After another minute of walking alone, the sounds of the people's voices faded as you made a right turn, chip bags, bottles, garbage bags, and papers lightly blown about, all this junk on the ground was a normal sighting in this inescapable city. As you walked further into a narrow alleyway, you stood in front of a gate that stopped you from moving forward, cyberpunk lighting coming from the street lamp behind it brought the otherwise dreary alleyway into.. something somewhat lively, and homey. You can give it that.

At the end of the alleyway were colorful chalk drawings of angry cartoonish monkeys and smack dab in the middle of the wall was a portrait of a little girl beautifully drawn by You and Jinx's hands on the brick wall. Pink wires as the background, and the two words "POW POW!" written above her head were drawn in a sprite shadow font. A soft smile touched your lips, the drawing carried a heavier purpose of memorabilia after little Isha's passing, and the relationship you three shared, you and Jinx cherished it. Pulling your right hand out from its pocket, multiple keys held together by a ring jingled from your hand movements, eyes scanning over all of them to land on a basic, silver key.

Holding it between your thumb and index finger, you insert the key into the slot and steadily turn it to unlock the gate. Shoving the keys back into your right pocket, you push it open with your forearm, stepping through the gate door, you close it behind you and quickly move toward the steps, the soles of your worn-out shoes softly thud against the concrete as you walk up the short set of stairs. You halt all your movement when you stand right in front of the entrance to Jinx's place. Rock music booming in the confines of the room's four walls was muffled by the metal door firmly standing in your way.

Letting out a barely audible breath, anticipating the argument you're going to walk yourself into. You swiftly repeat your actions by unlocking the door to her place. As you step through the threshold of the doorframe, slamming the door behind your back, your eyes are immediately met with a woman's slender figure in the middle of the room, aiming a gun your way that'd gradually lower to her left side as your recognizable appearance instantly brought her eyebrows to rest from its tight frown, her wide stare softened faintly. Her expression gradually faded into something resembling ease and a drip of irritation. The lightly worn-out leather chair behind her spun, showing the urgency and haste in her movement when met with anything that could quickly lead to life or death.

"Ah, Y/N." Drawing your name out with false unenthusiasm and unrestrained annoyance that had an underlying sense of harmlessness to it. "Popping in after ghosting me for three days?" Her voice was raspy, her upper lip subtly curling upwards. Violet-red eyes holding you in your place, her head tilting a little to the side, her jagged side bang obscuring her right eye, making her dark eyebags more notable because of the pink lighting in the room. She placed the gun in her left hand on the metal table beside her, turning down the rock music playing through the phone with the same hand without delay. Her hands clasped together behind her back as she sauntered over to you, stopping her movement when she was just a foot away from you, her head leaning in a tad bit, her right hand rising to roughly press her index finger against your chest.

"Why were you gone for so long? You know I don't like it when you're gone for that long." It was heavy, the unblinking stare and the want simmering in her heart urging her to close the gap between the both of you.

"Fixer hooked me up with a job that included insane amounts of eddies but- a lot went wrong. And I…" You held it together in the first half of your sentence but you couldn't hold it together forever. Every single second you were left alone with your thoughts the morning after the job was finished, losing Jackie that night, the man who earnestly stood by you since you started doing biz, a man you trusted, the gunfight following as soon as the brief, intense, and loud burst of noise of a pistol going off, the bullet hole left in his forehead, blood seeping from it. He was gone, in such a short time-frame. You'd spent time outside of work with him, fought together, and saved each other from sticky situations- This loss on top of Isha's was a pierce to your solid heart harder than you prepared for.

Just speaking on anything relating to losing someone important to you, first Isha, now Jackie.. You had to see Jinx, after going through that, you couldn't sit alone in your apartment that felt so void without anyone occupying it other than you, and being alone with your thoughts wasn't ideal. "Ahh… I just can't lose you too, Jinx. I'd rather it'd be me in harm's way, y'know?" Your eyes heat up. Darting, staring anywhere but at the woman standing right in front of you. Your bottom lip curls in for your upper teeth to bite down on it for a moment. Tears threaten to spill out.

She's all you have left.

A palm, warm to the touch, cups one side of your face, tenderly ushering you to look at her, tugging you out of the deep pit that is the fear consuming you. Her eyes meet yours head-on, a weak, close-lipped smile adorning her lips, her bottom lip vaguely trembling, her face expressing the same pain you held, understanding well how you feel at this very moment. Her thumb moves in smooth, circular motions upon your cheekbone. You gently grasp Jinx's upper arm, the arm using the same hand that tenderly strokes your cheek.

Neither of you could stall it any longer; both of you sought solace in the only person left willing to offer an hour of reprieve: each other. It was Jinx who moved first, ending the last shred of space left between you two to wrap her arms around you into a hug. Her nails digging into the back part of your shirt, Jinx's nostrils flare when she deeply inhales the scent of your vanilla fragrance with a hint of sweat, nestling her face further into your neck. "Just… Don't do that again, Y/N…" She spoke in a hushed tone, her lips slightly parted as the tension in her body melted from the comfort of your body heat.

"It was like.. I had no one when you were gone. You didn't even send me a message."

You couldn't bring yourself to respond, skeptical that your voice would shatter if you were to utter another word again. Your arms are wounded around her waist leaving Jinx's mind empty of anything negative leaving only tranquility you unknowingly bring to her already deteriorating soul. Choosing to gently nod your head as an alternative, your right hand slithering up to lay upon the shaved side of Jinx's head, your other hand moving up to plant itself on the small of her back. "Ha… 'msorry." Your voice was feeble, your breath tickling Jinx's nape.

"Heh, deep down, you're still a softie." A full smile graced her lips, her hold on you unyielding.

#saintsroww #arcane #jinx #jinx arcane #fanfic #fanfiction #league of legends #crossover #jinx my beloved #jinx fanfic #light angst #jinx x reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n

274 notes · View notes

officialundertakersmoocher · 10 months ago

Note

may i pls request a scenario with violet and afab reader where he’s drawing them nude and then smut ensues?

An Artistic Craving

yall i am so sorry for the extended break, and I hope this meets your expectations 😭

Warnings: NSFW, Nudity, +18, Slightly OOC

• • •

"Stay still, okay?"

"But, Vi, it's so embarrassing..." You attempt to cover your assets which have been shamefully exposed to his eyes in the dimly lit study room.

"Don't think of it that way... It's just a study." You tried not to ask many questions, after all, he was more versed in the arts than you were.

It was lucky that you two happened to catch this moment alone, unchaperoned. Vi, actually very uncharacteristically, was the one to insist that he needed you as a model to finish this study to complete a project he was working on for his upcoming art exam.

After all, you two had been seeing each other for a long time now and were not only comfortable enough to do such a thing, but you also just happened to owe him a favor.

This is how you ended up in such a position for your lover, spewn on a dark purple couch in a private study room near the Purple House dorms. You knew that Gregory was too shy to say so, but there are many books on campus filled with similar references free for his use. He just wanted to spend time with you in an intimate setting such as this one.

You caught him stealing glances at you every once in a while, and he could sense your growing discomfort from staying still for so long.

He left his sketchbook behind momentarily to kneel down beside you and suddenly the room felt more quiet. Your eyes locked as he gently adjusts the position of your hand, placing it under your head in a graceful fashion.

He tilts his head and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face as if to get a better view.

He tried to back away to retreat to his seat, but was caught by your hand pulling him back. He sat confused for a moment but could tell your eyes were asking him to stay.

You move yourself upwards to face him and pull him into a kiss. His lips are soft and welcoming and he eventually moves to grab your waist.

You slowly move him onto the couch with you, straddling his waist. He begins to become shy from this now suddenly risqué moment and pulls away from your lips.

"Love, I don't know if we should..." You could feel the deep heat resonating from his cheeks, so you asked him softly, "Would you like me to stop...?"

"Please no..."

You just barely hear him mutter this, but his hot breath on your neck shows you how desperate he has become.

Before you know it, there are clothes being dragged away and thrown about the room, never finding the motivation to tear your lips apart from one another. You both are stuck in an agonizing dance, waiting for the moment that you both can be as close as you desire.

The room has reached a stillness as the dim candlelight bounces off of skin, and hot breath stills in the air. You are both frozen in time, taking in the moment for the first time now, and as you do, you notice that you've never really seen your lover in such a passionate way as this.

In this position, he's kneeling his body over yours and bowing his head in a shy manor. From the silence you hear him speak softly, asking, "Is this what you want, for sure?" And you have seemingly been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the lingering question prodding in-between your thighs. You suddenly feel a harsh flush invading your cheeks and a needy wetness in the very same place that he finds his attention.

You turn your head to avoid the embarrassment of facing him as you answer his looming question.

Your voice shakes more than you intended it to, more out of anticipation than anything else. "Yes, of course, p-please keep going, my love-"

However, he catches you off guard by lowing his head down to your thighs. His proximity meant you could feel his breath tickle your skin and it invigorated you.

He softly grazed your folds with his fingers, and slowly exploring your body until he reached the most sensitive parts of you. The moment he grazed your clit, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, which is exactly what pushed him to continue despite feeling his own uncertainty.

He follows the sounds of your sweet moans, touching you and exploring your body in ways that neither of you have experienced before. Before long you find yourself growing more in need of his touch, pulling his hands and guiding him to kiss you. You both are grasping for each others touch and cursing into the silence of this empty room when the tension reaches an all-time high. You find yourself guiding his cock lower as a sign that you are ready (or maybe as a sign that you can't wait much longer now).

He follows your lead, pushing himself slowly across your folds, letting out a sigh as he feels the warmth of your pussy against his skin. He has one hand behind your head as a comforting act as he slowly guides himself between your thighs. He watches your expression change to a grimace of pain, almost stopping himself, but instead he caresses your face in an attempt to sooth your pain. You start to adjust yourself and whisper for him to keep going, and after a few moments the pain starts to replace itself with great pleasure.

You can't help the moans that escape your lips as you grasp onto him, likely leaving scratch marks on his upper back.

However, he doesn't mind this one bit. He can only focus on this heavenly feeling that seemed to blur his vision and tingle at his senses. The pleasure became overwhelming before you could comprehend it and it feels like heaven.

The sounds that filled the room should have alerted the others of the acts you both were sharing tonight, and maybe, just maybe, you should have been more worried, but neither of you could have the gut to care. Not tonight, not when it just feels so good and your vision had started bleeding white as your bodies worked in tandem with one another.

It felt like hours before you had found yourselves cuddling under a stray blanket, skin-to-skin and feeling on top of the world. There was peace settled in the air and you held each other and shared this perfect moment.

"Did you enjoy it?" Violet asked timidly while he stroked stray pieces of hair out of your face.

"Oh course, Darling. I've never felt closer to you than how we were tonight." You looked at him so softly and left a soft peck on his lips.

"Well, thats good, because... I didn't really get to finish my painting. We may have to do this again tomorrow night..." He wouldn't meet your eyes, but you knew that if you could see them, they would have a glint of excitement in them that you only see when he looks at you.

"Well, I suppose we would have to then- For your studies, of course."

• Epilogue • Tea Time •

"So, It couldn't have been just me who heard some oddly bizarre noises coming from the art studio on the west end last night..." Edgar mused to the other prefects as he took a mischievous sip.

"Oh, how I wonder what that could have possibly been coming from..." The sound of a breaking pencil could be heard only if he listened so intently.

"Oh, I heard it, alright." Greenhill pipped in, sounding more than mildly annoyed as he completed his afternoon stretch. "Some people really need to be more considerate of the fact that some of us need to study at such late hours."

"Well, maybe some people should consider that not everyone wants to hear the sound of your 2 hour long training routine at 12am either..." Bluewer rolled his eyes, obviously not knowing what the others were exactly referring to.

"Well, In just thinking that maybe when the professors discover a certain pair of undergarments left in said art studio on the west end, they may have to cancel class this morning. If you know what I mean..." Edgar takes an extended sip of his tea and watched as Gregory excuses himself, dropping his sketchbook and seemingly headed towards the west end.

"Well, that answers that." Edgar mutters with a smirk.

485 notes · View notes

hopelesslygaysstuff · 7 months ago

Text

October 13 - Roleplay

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda paints you, and you find yourself enjoying your new role as a princess.

content warnings: cunnilingus

word count: 1.4k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

“Be a good muse for me,” Wanda murmurs, and you stifle a giggle.

At first, the thought of roleplay had sounded silly to you. I mean, honestly, why would you want to play pretend? But, Wanda had convinced you to be her muse. She had an art project to finish and needed a figure to paint. So, thus began your first introduction to roleplay.

You stayed still, a sheet draped over your body as you remembered your role. A princess, stuck in a castle with only the painter for company while she waited for someone to rescue her with a true love's kiss.

Sure, it was cliche and sappy. But that’s what you loved about it. It really played into the ridiculousness of the situation, and it definitely eased your worries of feeling silly.

“Is this pose alright?” You asked, sitting casually in your chair. Throwing a leg over the arm of the chair, you make sure that the sheet is covering your nude center before smirking at Wanda.

Her green eyes are wide and hungry, locked on the sheet hiding your supple curves.

“Perhaps you could move the sheet a bit, my princess.”

”How so?” You’re teasing her, your words light as mischievous as she glances up towards your face.

Wanda purses her lips slightly, setting down her paintbrush as she slowly stands. Her steps are sure, a few strands of her auburn hair escaping her bun and framing her face perfectly. A spare pencil holds her hair together, and you long to remove it.

Long fingers gently touch the fabric draping over your shoulder. Green eyes meet yours, and you shudder.

“May I?”

Mutely, you nod. Her fingers are warm and tantalizingly close, sure with their movements as they maneuver the fabric over your body. Wanda lays the fabric over one shoulder, leaving the other bare with a hint of collarbone peaking out. The sheet is soft against your chest, but thin enough to show your nipples poking through when she adjusts the fabric.

A small smile creeps onto Wanda’s lips, and you imagine that you’re a princess, desperate for attention and starved of any touch or affection. Suddenly, the urge to crash your lips against hers rages within you, and you feel yourself truly lean into the roleplay for the first time.

”Do you paint women often?”

Wanda looks up from where she was placing the fabric over your lap, her freckles standing out in the dim lighting from candles around the room. It’s easy to imagine that you’re up in a high cobblestone tower, the solitude surrounding you as you cling to your guest like a lifeline.

“I do, but none have been quite as exquisite as you, princess,” she whispers as if sharing a secret with you. It makes you lean in, your hands clutching the fabric tightly.

Looking back down, Wanda’s hands softly cover yours. She pries your fingers off the fabric, another hand gently pressing against your sternum until you’re seated against the back of the chair.

”It’s very important that you don’t move too much during this process, Your Highness,” she explains, a small smile playing on her lips at your reluctance to sit back. Her hands are warm, even through the cloth, and your skin burns from her touch.

Her hands leave, and you feel oddly… empty.

“Do you really have to sit all the way over there?” You ask, watching Wanda’s head tilt in thought as she looks between you and her easel.

“Well,” she muses, moving her easel closer. You can smell her vanilla perfume, and you grow dizzy with need and anticipation. “I suppose being closer would help with the details. Excellent idea, princess.”

Her hand pats your knee, and you breathe in deeply. God, how were you this aroused already?

”Remember, stay still for me.” Wanda begins painting, her warm green eyes glancing between you and the easel. The sound of her paintbrush on the canvas fills the room, and you find yourself longing to feel the touch of it against your skin instead. Anything to settle the sudden energy simmering in your muscles.

Your mind wanders, immersing itself into this false world you’re acting in. A sort of haze takes over your mind as you begin to dive deeper into the roleplay.

Imagining the loneliness of a princess who awaits her true love, feelings of despair and desperation well up. A warm ball of hope and excitement joins it, beating solidly in time with your heart as you gaze at Wanda.

A new guest. A beautiful one at that, once that actually touched you. It had been far too long since you’d had the company of another.

Wanda scoots her chair closer to you, angling the easel slightly towards you. Her knee touches your thigh, and you suddenly feel dizzy with need. It’s excruciating, trying to remain still while her body heat presses against you and her eyes take in your figure like you’re the most important piece she has to create.

Fuck waiting for true love, you’re pretty sure you’ve already found it. It shows in the small glances Wanda sends your way, in the fluid movements of her hand as she paints you onto her canvas, forever immortalized in careful strokes of a brush.

You lick your lips, desire taking over your body. You watch Wanda glance towards your mouth, her hand hesitating before painting the next stroke. Biting your lip, you smile slightly at the shaky breath Wanda takes.

“You seem distracted, am I boring you?”

Wanda’s eyes snap to yours, surprise coloring her features for a moment before she smirks. She sets the paintbrush down, removing her apron slowly as her knee presses steadily against your thigh.

“Of course not, princess. I just find myself longing to partake in a different art form.” She leans closer, her chair now directly next to yours. You could feel her warm breath hitting your cheek, and somehow manage to keep your composure.

“Oh?” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat while Wanda moves closer to you. “And what would that art form be?”

Her breath hits your ear, and you feel her lips against your cheek. Your skin is tingling with energy, and you’ve never felt more alive. You can feel the roleplay haze taking over, the idea of a beautiful woman finally touching you after years of isolation nearly sending you over the edge.

“Let me show you.”

Her hand reaches for the fabric draped over your body, caressing your skin through it as you pant and squirm in your chair. Your fingers grip the armrests, your eyes pleading with Wanda for more.

She’s silent, her eyes hungrily roaming your body as she begins to slowly pull the sheet off. It feels almost reverent, the way her fingers graze your hot skin and how dark her eyes are when she looks at you.

Pulling you up from the chair, Wanda ignores the sheet as it falls around your feet, her lips connecting with yours in a frenzy of passion and need. You moan into her mouth, your hands gripping onto her shirt and bunching it up around her waist.

“Bed,” she commands, her voice soft and firm.

You obey, your mind filling with a vanilla-scented haze as you feel your senses become fuzzy. Wanda is everywhere, the smell of her perfume filling your nose as her hands run over your body. You can feel her hair as it drags along your chest and stomach while she kisses her way down your body.

Gasping, you feel Wanda’s mouth on you, licking up your arousal. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, your hips thrusting against her lips as she builds you up. Her fingers dig into your waist, your hands in her hair as you chant her name.

With a cry, your back arches, and your orgasm rises rapidly. Raising her head for a brief moment, Wanda smiles and says, “Cum for me princess.”

Your brain registers her command at the same time that her lips wrap around your clit and suck, pleasure exploding throughout your body as you throb. The feeling is intense, your mind fracturing slightly as you unravel beneath Wanda, her name flowing from your lips in short gasps.

Somewhere, you think you can hear your name being called, and you blink as soft fingers stroke your face, grounding you. Green eyes meet yours, a smile on Wanda’s glistening lips. She kisses you, and you respond eagerly for a moment before she pulls back again, her fingers reaching down to circle your hard clit. You shudder, and her smile widens.

“Lay back, darling,” Wanda says, her eyes sparkling. “I’m going to make my princess cum again.”

316 notes · View notes

zoppa682 · 6 months ago

Text

For any nonhumans struggling with species dysphoria, I want to help you all as much as I can. I've been experiencing it all week. It can be quite exhausting and put you in a lot of distress, in my case. X(

Here are some tips I'd recommend to help:

1. Mimic the diet of your kintype/theriotype. You are a shark? Eat seafood. A dragon? Maybe try to burn some food a little (or turn it black like my own preference if you want). You kin a character from [Insert source]? Try recreating foods/dishes from their world or dimension.

2. Listen to relatable music. I'd recommend making a playlist of any songs that feel species affirming/euphoric, or even echo that dysphoria further, therefore turning it relatable. (Few of my favorites are Bones by Imagine Dragons, Control by Halsey, Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA, Momento Mori by Fish in a Birdcage, among other songs that feel therian coded to me).

3. Do vocals. Howling, barking, screeching, or roaring are very relieving if you are in the correct space to do them! If you are in a quite space or do not want to out yourself to anyone, try purring, growling, hissing, or other unnoticeable sounds. You have an object kintype? Mimic the sounds of the object, like beeping, clicking, etc. (I personally make microwave sounds just because it is fun). Recite voice lines of your kintype from the source they are in. Mimic their voice and volume to match.

4. Move and physically act like your kintype/theriotype. Quadrobics, mimic the flapping of wings, walk bidepedally, whatever you do, turn your mannerisms and motion to reflect your kintype/theriotype.

5. Dress like your kintype/theriotype. Is your kintype a character? Cosplay them, or mimic their clothing style, clothing color, hairstyle, etc. If they have tattoos, scars, or patterns on their body, copy them on your physical form with paint or pens. (PLEASE USE NON TOXIC MATERIALS. STUFF SAFE FOR YOUR HUMAN SKIN.) Are you a species of animal(s)? Dress in your species' colors, or, once again, paint or color yourself like it/them. Are you perhaps any other form of creature or object? You can use the same tips as the others, and another idea that works for all is that you can buy costume pieces of your kintype/theriotype. Masks, headbands, just normal clothing in general, the options really are infinite.

6. Express your dysphoria through artwork. I love doing art when I am heavily species dysphoric. Drawing, crafting masks, origami, painting, collages, all are forms of art. If you are skilled in music, then you could even create some songs of your own!

7. Go out and explore nature. This one is mainly targeted towards therians, whose types are grounded on the life on earth rather than other dimensions or universes, but just like the other methods, it can be universally used by any types of nonhumans. Collecting things is my favorite way of exploring nature. Collect rocks, shells, sticks, leaves, bugs, plants, anything that makes you feel more comfortable in your own (unfortunate) physical body. Stay grounded in the world around you and you may find the dysphoria slips away. Hiking and going on short walks can also help, building a den, smelling the scents of the outdoors. All great ideas that I personally recommend.

8. Write about your feelings. Whether you are good at expressing yourself through poetry, you keep a diary/journal, or you can project onto OCs for new backstory lore like I do, writing can truly help with any dysphoria. Not only that, but it is sometimes refreshing to come back later and read about what you were feeling before. It can serve as a great reminder that you are a powerful being and you will always overcome the feelings if you try.

9. Research about your kintype/theriotype. It does not matter if you are an animal, concept, or object from earth, a being from fantasy, or a character from the greatest book or show, you learn something new every day. So why not learn about yourself? Read books or watch animal documentaries of your theriotype(s), same thing for you otherkins and your fantasy species. Fictionkins can look up facts about themself as a character, their book, show, game, etc.

10. Talk and interact with other alterhumans/nonhumans. Remember, we are a community, and while you are experiencing horrible episodes of species dysphoria, there are many other beings going through the exact same thing at the exact same time. So why not talk to them about it? Share your experiences, help eachother cope, you may even connect with more individuals that way, building more relationships with others and meeting new beings.

11. Past life meditation. If you are a nonhuman who has a past life/lives, you may find comfort in meditation, where you can truly tap into what you once were, and still are in this life as well. Look to the forgotten, and turn in to remembered. Open up your past and live over again.

12. Listen to sounds. Nature sounds, voices of other characters you know from your world, vocals or sound effects of your kintype. These are all good options to turn to if you want to feel at ease with yourself.

13. Let your emotions out. Sometimes this is all you really need to do when species dysphoria hits hard. Cry, bite things, claw at pillows, LET IT OUT. There is absolutely no problem in being yourself and expressing your heavy emotions in your own, unique, nonhuman way. You may find you feel much better after.

That's all I've got, but I hope whoever/whatever reads this far has an amazing day/night. You are an amazing being, thank you for embracing yourself and living authentically. <3

#therian #therian community #therianthropy #alterhumanity #alterhuman #alterhuman community #fictionkin #objectkin #conceptkin #nonhuman #species dysphoria #otherkin #otherkin community #otherkinity

436 notes · View notes

certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 11 months ago

Text

kiss kiss fall in love | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

your hormones have peeked at your five month mark. your belly started to properly show now and your tastebuds were only slightly concerning. at least the morning sickness was gone, top two worst things about pregnancy, second having to give birth.

you lounged on the couch as you watched your daughter and husband playing on the floor, bits of their hair covered their faces in a curtain. spencer was already teaching her the ways of chess, she asked him many questions.

“how come the queen isn’t wearing a gold crown? she’s special.” holding a black chess piece in her small palm. you chuckled at the childish question.

“well she is wearing a crown, but if you want we can paint it gold. she is the most important piece of the game.” spencer agreed with annabeth, ruffling her locks. he stood from the ground, made a quick stop to kiss your cheek and went into the hallway to comeback with the craft supplies box. he pulled out the paint pens, “why don’t you decorate all of them how you want? it’ll be our special set.”

annabeth went quick to work on coloring over the pieces, some covered in swirled and dots while others had hearts or stars. she even drew a couple of happy expressions, then one sad one, “because he’s just a pawn.” you and spencer chuckled at her reasoning.

you rubbed your palm along your swollen stomach, old stretch marks reappearing at the bottom. your cotton shorts and simple tank feeling suffocating even with minimal fabric. “oh!” a tiny yelp from your lips, eyes widening and mouth pursing.

spencer snapped his head your way, “what’s wrong?” hurrying over to you. annabeth stopped her work to watch both of you with her big eyes. you let a smile ease onto your face, “the baby kicked.”

annabeth scrambled over, “can i feel?” tucking her hands into her chest for restraint. “of course, sweets. here,” holding a palm out for her tiny hand to sit and you guided it over to where the kick happened.

“try speaking to them. they like hearing our voices,” whispering to your daughter when the baby didn’t kick right away. little annabeth leaned in close, her lips grazing your ticklish skin, “i can’t wait to meet you. i’m gonna be the best big sister to you.”

it took a moment but then another kick appeared, “kick! i felt a kick!” she squealed, giving a little jump to her body. she looked to spencer, “daddy! daddy feel the baby!” reaching for his hand like you did earlier.

spencer cooed and gasped with annabeth when another kick appeared. “hi little one,” spencer whispered close, “i’m your daddy and your big sister is next to me. we can’t wait to meet you.” another strong kick followed.

“okay, how about we give mommy a rest. cause my organs aren’t feeling happy about being a soccer ball.” ruffling at your daughter hair. annabeth pressed a kiss goodbye to the growing baby and went back to her art project.

spencer joined you on the couch, arm thrown behind your head and resting on your shoulders while you leaned into him. “how are you feeling? need anything?” his rich voice caressing your ear and making your heart race.

you turned to him with a bright smile, “i do actually. i need a thousand kisses from you. haven’t been given my usually attention.” pouting exaggerated.

spencer looked surprised, “a thousand? man i must be really behind.” clicking his teeth. you nodded, “you have mister. better get started.” puckering up with your eyes closed.

spencer’s light giggles filled your soul and then his lips on yours caused a craving. “more,” a quiet demand.

a fast peck, “oh this is gonna take awhile.”

a lingering drawl, “we’re getting somewhere.”

another fast kiss, but you could tell spencer didn’t move far away. his breath tingled your wet lips, “i’m gonna have to call hotch to babysit if you want all those kisses.” a fifth kiss before his weight left the couch and his footsteps disappeared. you thought it was a little funny he was gonna call his boss on an off day so your child and his could have that playdate that’s been in the works.

“bethie,” calling for your daughter with outstretched arms. she worked her way beside you on the couch an wrapped her arms in a side hug, here genetic reid puppy eyes glaring upon you. “would you be okay to have a playdate with jack today?” smoothing a hand over the crown of her head.

“really?” eyes wide with excitement. you nodded, “you have to be a good girl for mr and mrs. hotchner. that’s daddy’s boss and our friend, say please and thank you. and also make sure you’re cleaning up after yourself.”

spencer walked back into the living room, “the hotchners are on their way. and they happily agreed to bethie joining them on their trip to the aquarium.” scooping annabeth up, both of them yelling “aquarium! aquarium!”

“i wanna see the stingrays!” annabeth declared to jack when him and hotch appeared at your door fifteen minutes later. the three of you watched the two chat while you packed her little backpack of supplies, you handed it off to hotch with a grateful smile.

“thank you for accepting on short notice. i just really want to be alone with my husband, im deprived of attention. i’m wilting like a flower.” sighing and aching as you talked to hotch.

the older man smiled and lightly chuckled, you’re one of the few to crack that stone facade spencer says. “jack’s been missing her anyway, he was trying for a sleepover as well tonight.” you raised your brows, “we’ll see how the afternoon goes.”

once you were completely alone, you dragged spencer behind you into your shared bedroom. “more kisses please,” sitting at the foot of the bed.

spencer moved to stand in the space between your spread legs, his hands cupping at your cheeks like you were fine china. your wandering fingers slid under his plain t-shirt, sitting in his waistband and rubbing against his slim stomach. “don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy. i will start getting angry.”

spencer bent in and let his plush lips mesh with yours, his nose tickling at your cheek when he changed angles to broaden the intimate act. a hum sounded from your throat as you opened your mouth wider and let your tongue wonder, desperately needing a french kiss. a moan echoed in the room as spencer moved from your lips to your jaw, further down onto your neck.

“this- this is nice,” letting a hand sink into the ends of his hair. your nails scratching at his scalp as your eyes fluttered and pulse spiked.

“i love you so much,” lips causing a shiver to erupt. you sighed, “i- i love you too. so lucky for- for marrying you.” your hands starting to mess with spencer’s belt and zipper.

“gonna show you how loved you are.”

#erin writes spencer #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x pregnant!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dad!spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

920 notes · View notes

taro-bae · 9 months ago

Text

°☆| Blow Your Mind~○°☆

Summary: how they react to a dancer S/O

Characters: (TWST) Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Cater

Reader gender not specified, could be yuu

Some scenarios have specified dance styles (e.g contemporary for Vil), no warnings

|Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is sheltered, his mother definitely taught him that foolish hobbies are a waste of time. The only form of dance he knows about is ballet, a more elegant and traditional form of dance. So if he finds out you are a hip hop, jazz, contemporary or another style oriented dancer he will be suprised. He won't be able to take his eyes off you. However if you are a dancer in a more 'explicit' style, Riddle will be a flustered mess, blushing while trying to maintain a respectful composure but inside he is panicking.

Riddle enters the room wondering what the music is and decides to check so no students are breaking the rules. He stops in his tracks when he sees you moving to the music. He watches you silently, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. Once you finish the combo he speaks up-

"That's a rather...vulgar...song."

You are not suprised by his comment, he's always reserved, well-mannered and with a strict definition on what is classified as appropriate.

"But I have to admit, my dear, your dancing is quite...endearing."

He will be interested about your training and why you chose dance as a hobby. He wasn't allowed to have such hobbies so indulge him a bit.

|Kalim Al Asim

This angel of a boy is your number one supporter. Once he finds out you are a dancer he is going to be all over you, and he will ask you to dance with him at any party he hosts. Every single time. He will play music and expect you to join him in a dance, he loves it.

"Y/N! Baby, I did not know you could dance like that!" He exclaims with his signature grin his eyes wide taking in every move. He doesn't waste a second joining you. He doesn't care what music or style it is. He WILL join in. Get ready for a lot of questions. He wants to know how long you've been dancing for, what your favourite style is and so on so forth.

He can't keep his hands to himself. If he's dancing with you he will be all over you. No shame if you're in public, at a party or alone, his body will make contact with yours. How can he not, he loves you so much and he wants to share these moments with you. He has to show you off and tell everyone how good you are. The whole of NRC will know within a day.

At parties and events Kalim will hold onto your hand pulling you towards the dance floor with a excited "y/n, come dance with me! I want everyone to see how good you are!". He's so proud of you!

|Jamil Viper

He won't show it but you captivated his heart. Jamil has a passion for dance, he himself is a breakdance dancer mostly because Kalim would drag him into it. When he sees you dancing, weather it is at a party of Kalims or a dance room, he is analysing your technique, how your body moves, the articulation, the projection, everything to the smallest detail.

Jamil stands near the door frame arms crossed infront of his chest, remaining stoic as he watched. The more he watches you, a smirk grows on his lips. Once you finish or acknowledge his presense he approaches standing infront of you. He feels rather competitive and intrigued.

"Care to dance with me? Come on, show me what you've got." His intense gaze directed right at your eyes watching your every reaction, picking up how you're breathing and starting to blush. He snakes (no pun intended) his arm around your waist pulling closer to him.

"Indulge me a little". He breathes out his voice low and satisfied. He loves the fact that you are a dancer. He totally doesn't dream spending hours in a space, just you and him, coming up with choreographies together, your bodies pressed up against each other. Make his dream come true...

|Vil Schoenheit

Vil is an appreciator of the arts. Dance is a beautiful form of art and performance, not only with expressions but with the whole body in ways that are difficult and requires hours of work. So imagine if Vil comes across you doing a contemporary routine.

He walked into the Pomefiore dance studio seeing you performing your contemporary routine. He stands observing and judging, how you project through your body, your facial expressions, and flexibility when you execute a skill or floorwork sequence.

"Not bad. You move flawlessly, darling. You're full of suprises. We should have recruited you into the SDC group." He says impressed. He can't help himself but add some corrections or points that he noted on how you can improve your performance.

His heart is swelling with pride that his partner is a professional dancer, he is ready to support and promote you even if you say it's just a hobby. He won't let your abilities go to waste. He would occasionally ask you some questions on what you do for stretches or fitness activities to maintain your flexibility and strength. He will he be very invested in your hobbies helping you improve in any way he can.

|Cater Diamond

Oh, honey...get ready for a personal photo shoot. If cater catches you dancing he will whip out his phone faster than ever recording everything. He is not going to leave you alone after that, and yes he's posting it on Magicam with #mylittledancer in the caption. Now it is your responsibility to teach him how to do some popular dance trends , he'll be asking you to film some videos with him wanting to showcase your talent and skill to the entire wonderland!

So when he sees you dancing, especially if you were filming yourself for a post he will be ecstatic. He walks into your room seeing you practising a combo taking out his phone and cheering on you. Congratulations, you gained yourself a cheerleader!

"Oh my sevens! Get it, baby!" He cheers with an occasional 'woo'. "Can you show me another dance, honey? You looked totes adorable when you did that move~". If you offer to teach him a combo he will not say no.

"You're such a good dancer, baby. I'm so lucky to have snatched such a talented cutie for myself~♪"

He's posting photos and videos of you dancing or doing some cool skills the hashtags showing how much he's infatuated with you #mypartnerithebest #dancingqueen #mycutedancemachine

It's a little short but let me know if I should write anymore characters

xoxo ♡

315 notes · View notes

piracytheorist · 8 months ago

Text

Twilight Eyes Project: "Operation Strix" (part 2)

(part 1 here)

As Twilight tries, very unsuccessfully, to convince Anya to study for the entrance exam, we get Twilight eyes.

He still approaches it from a spy point of view. It's interesting that up to now he's only used his "Loid eyes" once for Anya, to try to make her stop crying by luring her with peanuts. It's probably a combination of him not knowing how kids work and of his own distancing from his emotions and childhood memories, that makes him think acting cold and calculating with a child will work.

It's interesting, however, to see how even with "Twilight eyes", he can still subtly express emotions.

Investigative eyes in the manga, full-face Twilight eyes in the anime.

I assume this was a choice in the anime, since in the manga there's a small panel of his face as he first notices the barricade was moved, then a panel of the trace the barricade left on the floor, then a focus on his eyes. Instead, in the anime, we see the traces on the floor at first, and then we see Twilight notice them as well and react to them. Manga can afford a narrow panel that focuses on something very specific. Anime needs to use the entire 16:9 screen almost constantly, so they utilize animation to draw our attention to the thing they want us to notice.

And something super interesting from the manga: Along the way, we'll get to see many moments that focus on his eyes, as I already mentioned, either through "sad eyes" or "investigative eyes".

Here, where his first instinct is to go find Anya, and he immediately flips back to "No, I've got to get to safety, fuck them kids"... we don't see his eyes.

Not only is the focus purposefully on a close-up that doesn't really show us his eyes (the window to the soul and all that), in the next panel his eyes are covered in shadows by his hair.

It makes a lot of sense when you realize that he actually ended up waltzing straight into enemy territory just to save Anya. The spy rule to protect his cover at all costs became a hindrance when the cost was the safety of a child. He'd been working dutifully as a spy for so long that his first plan was to ignore his instinct, but then he switched back to following his instinct anyway.

What I'm trying to say is that abandoning Anya in danger was not his true self.

Full-on, almost exaggerated Twilight eyes as he considers starting over and leaving Anya to her fate (interestingly enough, he bends to pick up Mr. Chimera in the anime).

Twilight eyes under and through the mask...

And then, interestingly enough, in his most vulnerable moment in the episode, and one of his most vulnerable moments in the entire story up to where the anime has adapted, we don't get to see his face. We see it through Nguyen's mask as he reacts to Anya crying and he realizes why it upsets him.

This vulnerable, hurt side of him is not something the audience will be allowed to see yet.

Passing onto that, the manga doesn't show his young self's eyes from up close. It's something hidden within his memories, something he doesn't want to face himself.

I'm sure it would look awkward in the anime, to only show half his face - there's different ways to portray tragedy as this in static art and in animation - so they zoomed out, censored some violence, and used animation to make the portrayal impactful.

Another interesting addition from the anime: his face, with Twilight eyes, superimposed over the image of masked Twilight leading Anya into safety, as he reminds himself what his original purpose for becoming a spy was.

Yet, we don't see his face as his internal monologue reaches that part. It's still a vulnerable part the audience won't get to see yet.

A rare case of elusive nightmare eyes as he faces Edgar and his goons...

Although the anime omits the first and shows the second with Twilight eyes, only turning into nightmare eyes when he outright threatens Karen's life.

I guess that was a choice of tension escalation.

A new expression with real eyes, as he notices Anya stayed behind.

Twilight, best spy of Westalis™, caught off-guard by a five-year-old.

Jump to Loid eyes as he tries to convince Anya he just happened to be here! What a coincidence, huh!

Two expressions in the manga as Anya tells him she wants to go back home with him...

but three in the anime.

An additional expression of surprise in the middle.

All visibly different from the "Twilight eyes", and the scene closes with a last shot of sad eyes.

After they see Anya passed her written exams, we get an outburst of emotion, wide open real eyes expressing happiness he probably doesn't realize he's experiencing.

Finally, is there a better way to force a character to show their real face than when they're asleep?

Calm, relaxed eyelids, and a hint of a blush. It's the one time he's vulnerable, open, real... and that's the reason he's mortified at the fact that he fell asleep even in Anya's presence. Can't have that!

(anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#Spy x Family #Loid Forger #sxf meta #sxf tep

137 notes · View notes

bambi-kinos · 5 months ago

Note

I don't know much about Brian Epstein other than that he was the manager and that he was gay. Do you think it made a difference for John and Paul? Better or worse? He must have known about the two of them, don't you think? This might be the craziest ask but do you think George and Ringo had "bisexual experiences" with John and or Paul too apart from that circel jerk?

A paragraph summary: Brian Epstein was a gay Jewish man born in a family established in Liverpool. He faced a lot of anti-Semitic prejudice as a child and an adult which affected his sense of self profoundly and riddled him with self doubt. He was very intelligent and astute businessman who was close to his mother, father, and younger brother Clive. He was one of those aimless people who wandered through life, mastering skills and solving problems quickly and then becoming bored once there was nothing left to do. He attended RADA, served briefly in the British army (there was still a draft at the time), and then went home to manage the family business as his father got older. He built up the Epsteins' furniture business and then moved on to the family record shop in Liverpool proper. Brian was good at keeping his ear to the ground regarding trends and realized teen clients with pocket money were his new target audience. He caught wind of The Beatles through them (the bugs had recorded a record in Germany with another musician and tried promoting it during their gigs at The Cavern, leading their fans to NEMS, Brian's record shop.) He observed them at The Cavern and eventually approached them to be their manager.

The rest as they say is history. The Beatles as a group, a sound, and an image were built and promoted by Brian Epstein. He was the one who believed in them from the start and he is the reason why we know and love them today.

When it comes to John and Paul and their specific mess: it is reasonable to assume that they clocked Brian pretty quickly and decided to go with him anyway. I can speculate that Brian paid people off if suspicion arose and that he shielded them in other ways like the written room assignments. (John and Paul did not actually room together that often on paper though the reality was probably very different.) I don't know if Brian had to go so far as to arrange "beards" or anything, Cynthia and Jane functioned well in that role and then John and Paul both have sincere sexual interest in women. It's reasonable to think Brian realized what John and Paul were to each other early on but the specifics are completely up to interpretation and speculation. It's a big opaque wall that we can project whatever we want onto.

Brian is still very opaque in many ways. Lots of rumors about him abound, some good and some bad. It's impossible to know what is true and what is not aside from Brian's brushes with law enforcement and what has been reported about him by The Beatles themselves. I think he loved his boys very much and that he did his utmost to protect them in every way he could.

That is ultimately why The Beatles (John, Paul, George, sort of Pete at the time) decided to go with him. It's hard to say if Brian being gay was a minus or a plus for them but ultimately what drew them to him was that he respected them as performers instead of treating them as money factories. That's what Allen Williams did when he dumped them in Hamburg. Allen did love them but he wouldn't respect them and they kicked him as fast as they could. What separated Brian from their other managers was that he respected their act as a unit and tried to improve their presentation instead of changing their sound or telling them to repress their personalities. He was more interested in refining and polishing and they responded to that.

I guess my take is that the homosexuality thing didn't actually loom that large for them. The boys had enough show biz experience to realize how many gay men were involved in performance arts and that Brian's assets (a good eye for costumery, adaptability, his respect for their hard work and talent) simply outweighed the gay thing. Everything else is unknown and open to projection/interpretation/fanfiction/whatever.

Wrt George and Ringo, I think they had bisexual experiences with John and Paul, yeah. I'm a subscriber to the idea that all four of them had sexual tension with one another. It's another blank space that we can project whatever we want onto it.

Considering John and George did a lot of LSD together I wouldn't be surprised if they had sex while stoned (which would add another layer of Paul's icy refusal to take the LSD until John tricked him with the rooftop thing.)

Ringo is a little bit of an enigma, all the industry gossip online says that he's really just that heterosexual but considering how beautiful Paul is and how close they all are, it's hard to think he didn't at least try out gay sex to see if he liked it or not. George is the most likely candidate for sex with Ringo, not just because "pair the spares" but because George is the only Beatle that Ringo could try out gay sex with and he wouldn't make it weird. Can you imagine John or Paul's flutters in the aftermath of having gay sex with Ringo instead of each other lmao. George is very low maintenance in comparison so I can imagine him and Ringo trying it out just to see and then coming to an amicable agreement after regardless of the outcome. And I've often wondered if Ringo and Paul started hooking up after John died.

I don't know if George or Paul could have made it work in any capacity, casual or serious. I think they were attracted to each other (Paul certainly comes off as wanting to fuck George and Ringo on the DL in the Eye of the Storm photobook) but whether or not either of them could have actually coped with that is a big question mark. I'm not sure they could without a lot of growing up from either of them.

I also think that John's "Greek island" fantasy also included orgies but that's because John is such a horny and jealous guy, putting his three best mates in a single stretch of land where they can't avoid him? You bet he wanted group sex lmao. I'm sure that included Brian to some extent.

Maybe its a good thing that it didn't work out because Paul would gone and burned John's face off over that.

#mclennon #the beatles #brian epstein #beatles polycule #starrison #mcharrison #mcstarr #lennison #talktalktalk #beatles meta #my meta

77 notes · View notes

reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

Text

Paywall-free version

On the outskirts of Austin, Texas, what began as a fringe experiment has quickly become central to the city’s efforts to reduce homelessness. To Justin Tyler Jr., it is home.

Mr. Tyler, 41, lives in Community First! Village, which aims to be a model of permanent affordable housing for people who are chronically homeless. In the fall of 2022, he joined nearly 400 residents of the village, moving into one of its typical digs: a 200-square-foot, one-room tiny house furnished with a kitchenette, a bed and a recliner.

The village is a self-contained, 51-acre community in a sparsely populated area just outside Austin. Stepping onto its grounds feels like entering another realm.

Eclectic tiny homes are clustered around shared outdoor kitchens, and neat rows of recreational vehicles and manufactured homes line looping cul-de-sacs.

There are chicken coops, two vegetable gardens, a convenience store, art and jewelry studios, a medical clinic and a chapel.

Roads run throughout, but residents mainly get around on foot or on an eight-passenger golf cart that makes regular stops around the property.

Mr. Tyler chose a home with a cobalt-blue door and a small patio in the oldest part of the village, where residents’ cactus and rock gardens created a “funky, hippie vibe” that appealed to him. He arrived in rough shape, struggling with alcoholism, his feet inflamed by gout, with severe back pain from nearly 10 years of sleeping in public parks, in vehicles and on street benches.

At first, he kept to himself. He locked his door and slept. He visited the clinic and started taking medication. After a month or so, he ventured out to meet his neighbors.

“For a while there, I just didn’t want to be seen and known,” he said. “Now I prefer it.”

Between communal meals and movie screenings, Mr. Tyler also works at the village, preparing homes for the dozen or more people who move there each month.

In the next few years, Community First is poised to grow to nearly 2,000 homes across three locations, which would make it by far the nation’s largest project of this kind, big enough to permanently house about half of Austin’s chronically homeless population.

Tiny-home villages for people who have been homeless have existed on a small scale for several decades, but have recently become a popular approach to addressing surging homelessness. Since 2019, the number of these villages across the country has nearly quadrupled, to 124 from 34, with dozens more coming, according to a census by Yetimoni Kpeebi, a researcher at Missouri State University.

Mandy Chapman Semple, a consultant who has helped cities like Houston transform their homelessness systems, said the growth of these villages reflects a need to replace inexpensive housing that was once widely available in the form of mobile home parks and single room occupancy units, and is rapidly being lost. But she said they are a highly imperfect solution.

“I think where we’re challenged is that ‘tiny home’ has taken on a spectrum of definitions,” said Chapman Semple. Many of those definitions fall short of housing standards, often lacking basic amenities like heat and indoor plumbing, which she said limits their ability to meet the needs of the population they intend to serve.

But Community First is pushing the tiny home model to a much larger scale. While most of its homes lack bathrooms and kitchens, its leaders see that as a necessary trade-off to be able to creatively and affordably house the growing number of people living on Austin’s streets. And unlike most other villages, many of which provide temporary emergency shelter in structures that can resemble tool sheds, Community First has been thoughtfully designed with homey spaces where people with some of the highest needs can stay for good. No other tiny home village has attempted to permanently house as many people.

Austin’s homelessness rate has been rapidly worsening, and the city’s response has whipped back and forth... In October [2023], the official estimate put the number of people living without shelter at 5,530, a 125 percent increase from two years earlier. Some of that rise is the result of better outreach, but officials acknowledged that more people have become homeless. City leaders vowed to build more housing, but that effort has been slowed by construction delays and resistance from residents.

Meanwhile, outside the city limits, Community First has been building fast. [Note from below the read more: It's outside city limits because the lack of zoning laws keeps more well-off Austin residents from blocking the project, as they did earlier attempts to build inside the city.] In a mere eight years, this once-modest project has grown into a sprawling community that the city is turning to as a desperately needed source of affordable housing. The village has now drawn hundreds of millions of dollars from public and private sources and given rise to similar initiatives across the country.

This rapid growth has come despite significant challenges. And some question whether a community on the outskirts of town with relaxed housing standards is a suitable way to meet the needs of people coming out of chronic homelessness. The next few years will be a test of whether these issues will be addressed or amplified as the village expands to five times its current size.

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024. Article continues below (at length!)

The community versus Community First

For Alan Graham, the expansion of Community First is just the latest stage in a long-evolving project. In the late 1990s, Mr. Graham, then a real estate developer, attended a Catholic men’s retreat that deepened his faith and inspired him to get more involved with his church. Soon after, he began delivering meals as a church volunteer to people living on Austin’s streets.

In 1998, Mr. Graham, now 67, became a founder of Mobile Loaves and Fishes, a nonprofit that has since amassed a fleet of vehicles that make daily rounds to deliver food and clothing to Austin’s homeless...

Talking to people like Mr. Johnston [a homeless Austin resident who Graham had befriended], Mr. Graham came to feel that housing alone was not enough for people who had been chronically homeless, the official term for those who have been homeless for years or repeatedly and have physical or mental disabilities, including substance-use disorders. About a third of the homeless population fits this description, and they are often estranged from family and other networks.

In 2006, Mr. Graham pitched an idea to Austin’s mayor: Create an R.V. park for people coming out of chronic homelessness. It would have about 150 homes, supportive services and easy access to public transportation. Most importantly, it would help to replace the “profound, catastrophic loss of family” he believed was at the root of the problem with a close-knit and supportive community.

The City Council voted unanimously in 2008 to lease Mr. Graham a 17-acre plot of city-owned land to make his vision a reality. Getting the council members on board, he said, turned out to be the easy part.

When residents near the intended site learned of the plan, they were outraged. They feared the development would reduce their property values and invite crime. One meeting to discuss the plan with the neighborhood grew so heated that Mr. Graham was escorted to his car by the police. Not a single one of the 52 community members in attendance voted in favor of the project.

After plans for the city-owned lot fell apart and other proposed locations faced similar resistance, Mr. Graham gave up on trying to build the development within city limits.

In 2012, he instead acquired a plot of land in a part of Travis County just northeast of Austin. It was far from public transportation and other services, but it had one big advantage: The county’s lack of zoning laws limited the power of neighbors to stop it.

Mr. Graham raised $20 million and began to build. In late 2015, Mr. Johnston left the R.V. park he had been living in and became the second person to move into the new village. It grew rapidly. In just two years, Mr. Graham bought an adjacent property, nearly doubling the village’s size to 51 acres and making room for hundreds more residents.

And then in the fall of 2022, he broke ground on the largest expansion yet: Adding two more sites to the village, expanding it by 127 acres to include nearly 2,000 homes.

“No one ever really did what they first did, and no one’s ever done what they’re about to do,” said Mark Hilbelink, the director of Sunrise Navigation Center, Austin’s largest homeless-services provider. “So there’s a little bit of excitement but also probably a little bit of trepidation about, ‘How do we do this right?’”

What it takes to make a village

Since he moved into Community First eight years ago, Mr. Johnston has found the stability that eluded him for so long. Most mornings, he wakes up early in his R.V., feeds his scruffy adopted terrier, Amos, and walks a few minutes down a quiet road to the village garden, where neat rows of carrots, leeks, beets and arugula await his attention.

Mr. Johnston worked in fast-food restaurants for most of his life, but he learned how to garden at the village. He now works full time cultivating produce for a weekly market that is free to residents.

“Once I got here, I said, This is where I’m going to spend pretty much my entire life now,” Mr. Johnston said.

Everyone at the village pays rent, which averages about $385 a month. The tiny homes that make up two-thirds of the dwellings go for slightly lower, but have no indoor plumbing; their residents use communal bathhouses and kitchens. The rest of the units are R.V.s and manufactured homes with their own bathrooms and kitchens.

Like Mr. Johnston, many residents have jobs in the village, created to offer residents flexible opportunities to earn some income. Last year, they earned a combined $1.5 million working as gardeners, landscapers, custodians, artists, jewelry makers and more, paid out by Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

Ute Dittemer, 66, faced a daily struggle for survival during a decade on the streets before moving into Community First five years ago with her husband. Now she supports herself by painting and molding figures out of clay at the village art house, augmented by her husband’s $800 monthly retirement income. A few years ago, a clay chess set she made sold for $10,000 at an auction. She used the money to buy her first car.

“I’m glad that we are not in a low-income-housing apartment complex,” she said. “We’ve got all this green out here, air to breathe.”

A small number of residents have jobs off-site, and a city bus makes hourly stops at the village 13 times a day to help people commute into town.

But about four out of five residents live on government benefits like disability or Social Security. Their incomes average $900 a month, making even tiny homes impossible to afford without help, Mr. Graham said.

“Essentially 100 percent of the people that move into this village will have to be subsidized for the rest of their lives,” he said.

For about $25,000 a year, Mr. Graham’s organization subsidizes one person’s housing at the village. (Services like primary health care and addiction counseling are provided by other organizations.) So far, that has been paid for entirely by private donations and in small part from collecting rent.

This would not be possible, Mr. Graham said, without a highly successful fund-raising operation that taps big Austin philanthropists. To build the next two expansions, Mr. Graham set a $225 million fund-raising goal, about $150 million of which has already been obtained from the Michael and Susan Dell Foundation, the founder of the Patrón Spirits Company, Hill Country Bible Church and others.

Support goes beyond monetary donations. A large land grant came from the philanthropic arm of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, and Alamo Drafthouse, an Austin-based cinema chain, donated an outdoor amphitheater for movie screenings. Top architectural firms competed for the chance to design energy-efficient tiny homes free of charge. And every week, hundreds of volunteers come to help with landscaping and gardening or to serve free meals.

Around 55 residents, including 15 children, live in the village as “missionals” — unpaid neighbors generally motivated by their Christian faith to be part of the community.

All missionals undergo a monthslong “discernment process” before they can move in. They pay to live in R.V.s and manufactured homes distinguished by an “M” in the front window. Their presence in the community is meant to guard against the pitfalls of concentrated poverty and trauma.

“Missionals are our guardian angels,” said Blair Racine, a 69-year-old resident with a white beard that hangs to his chest. “They’re people we can always call. They’re always there for us.”

After moving into the village in 2018, Mr. Racine spent two years isolated in his R.V. because of a painful eye condition. But after an effective treatment, he became so social that he was nicknamed the Mayor. Missional residents drive him to get his medication once a week, he said. To their children he is Uncle Blair.

Though the village is open to people of any religious background, it is run by Christians, and public spaces are adorned with paintings of Jesus on the cross and other biblical scenes. The application to live in the community outlines a set of “core values” that refer to God and the Bible. But Mr. Graham said there is no proselytizing and people do not have to be sober or seek treatment to live there.

Mr. Graham lives in a 399-square-foot manufactured home in the middle of the village with his wife, Tricia Graham, who works as the community’s “head of neighbor care.” He said they do not have any illusions about solving the underlying mental-health and substance-use problems many residents live with, and that is not their goal.

“This is absolutely not nirvana,” Mr. Graham said. “And we want people to understand the beauty and the complexity of what we do. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on the face of the planet than right here in the middle of this, but you’re not fixing these things.” ...

From an experiment to a model

Community First has already inspired spinoffs, with some tweaks. In 2018, Nate Schlueter, who previously worked with the village’s jobs program, opened Eden Village in his hometown, Springfield, Mo. Unlike in Community First, every home in Eden Village is identical and has its own bathroom and kitchen. Mr. Schlueter’s model has spread to 12 different cities with every village limited to 50 homes or fewer.

“Not every city is Austin, Texas,” Mr. Schlueter said. “We don’t want to build a large-scale village. And if the root cause of homelessness is a loss of family, and community is something that can duplicate that safety net to some extent, to have smaller villages to me seemed like a stronger community safety net. Everybody would know each other.”

The rapid growth of Community First has challenged that ideal. In recent years, some of the original missional residents and staff members have left, finding it harder to support the number of people moving into the village. Steven Hebbard, who lived and worked at the village since its inception, left in 2019 when he said it shifted from a “tiny-town dynamic” where he knew everyone’s name to something that felt more like a city, straining the supportive culture that helped people succeed.

Mobile Loaves and Fishes said more staff members had recently been hired to help new residents adjust, but Mr. Graham noted that there was a limit to what any housing provider could do without violating people’s privacy and autonomy.

Despite these concerns, the organization, which had been run entirely on private money, has recently drawn public support. In January 2023, Travis County gave Mobile Loaves and Fishes $35 million in American Rescue Plan Act funds to build 640 units as part of its expansion.

Then four months later came a significant surprise: The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development approved the use of federal housing vouchers, which subsidize part or all of a low-income resident’s rent, for the village’s tiny homes. This will make running the village much more financially sustainable, Mr. Graham said, and may make it a more replicable blueprint for other places.

“That’s a big deal for us, and it’s a big deal on a national basis,” Mr. Graham said. “It’s a recognition that this model, managed the way that this model is, has a role in the system.”

Usually, the government considers homes without indoor plumbing to be substandard, but, in this case, it made an exception by applying the housing standards it uses for single-room-occupancy units. The village still did not meet the required ratio of bathrooms per person, but at the request of Travis County and the City of Austin’s housing officials, who cited Austin’s “severe lack of affordable housing” that made it impossible for some homeless people with vouchers to find anywhere else to live, HUD waived its usual requirements.

In the waiver, a HUD staffer wrote that Mr. Graham told HUD officials over the phone that the proportion of in-unit bathrooms “has not been an issue.” But in conversations with The Times, other homeless-service providers in Austin and some village residents said the lack of in-unit bathrooms is one of the biggest problems people have with living there. It also makes the villages less accessible to people with certain disabilities and health issues that are relatively common among the chronically homeless....

Mr. Graham said that with a doctor’s note, people could secure an R.V. or manufactured home at the village, although those are in short supply and have a long waiting list. He said the village’s use of tiny homes allowed them to build at a fraction of the usual cost when few other options existed, and helps ensure residents aren’t isolated in their units, reinforcing the village’s communal ethos.

“If somebody wants to live in a tiny home they ought to have the choice,” Mr. Graham said, “and if they are poor we ought to respect their civil right to live in that place and be subsidized to live there.” But he conceded that for some people, “this might not be the model.”

“Nobody can be everything for everyone,” he said.

By the spring of 2025, Mr. Graham hopes to begin moving people into the next phase of the village, across the street from the current property. The darker visions some once predicted of an impoverished community on the outskirts of town overtaken by drugs and violence have not come to pass. Instead, the village has permanently housed hundreds of people and earned the approval and financial backing of the city, the county and the federal government. But for the model to truly meet the scale of the challenge in Austin and beyond, Chapman Semple said, the compromises that led to Community First in its current incarnation will have to be reckoned with.

“We can build smaller villages that can be fully integrated into the community, that can have access to amenities within the community that we all need to live, including jobs and groceries,” Chapman Semple said. “If it’s a wonderful model then we should be embracing and fighting for its inclusion within our community.”

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024

401 notes · View notes