gradientdescent (@gradientdescnt) · DIRTY

gradientdescent

@gradientdescnt

Author Jack Stein / artist / gardening nerd between March and August 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ Art tagged #embroidery Art & writing NSFW / be 18+ please

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gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Jul 8

In between writing sprints I’ve been putting the finishing touches on the Egon Schiele embroidery

Photo of an embroidered image of an Egon Schiele drawing of a man with his hands draped around his head. It’s mostly black outlines with just a touch of pinkish thread highlighting parts of his body

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Jun 12

I think it’s fascinating how cucurbits invert the ways we would usually describe the male and female reproductive roles. And by ‘fascinating’ obviously I mean ‘hot’. …Y’all are never gonna be able to look at my garden photos the same way again, huh.

The plant drapes in lush curtains, sprawled greedily from the root to blanket the trellis, the fence, the approach to the porch. Massive leaves the size of dinner plates form a dense canopy that whisper soft promises of relief from the wet, heavy heat that already settles over the garden even before the sun fully crests the mountains. Nestled throughout the rustling mass of vines and leaves,
white flowers more delicate than the finest chiffon wink open. They're delicate, ruffled, tissue-thin blossoms that bruise at the gentlest touch. Some of them crown a glossy bulb at their base which, on the long, patient timescale of plants, swells and engorges. Others are only a swirl of petals, a delicate chasm of translucent lace. It's a deep, silky well that begs to be tasted. Bury your face in me, it whispers. Take me on your tongue. Burrow into me as deep as you can. Swallow me. Ravage me. Ruin me. Only promise that
when you go, you'll leave with my come on your thighs.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Jun 10

The bigger the number gets, the more the name of the folder mocks me

Screenshot of a scrivener project. A red arrow points from the word count (6669) to the project title (“Smut One-Offs”) with “LOLOLOL” written above it. The text shown in the workspace reads:

Rigging a power cable for the tablet kept Davis occupied for a good three or four days. He rediscovered a long-neglected pleasure: tinkering with shit. Taking it apart. Reverse-engineering its function using just his brain and a multimeter.
The tablet wasn’t the only thing he had to reverse-engineer. What he found on deck five wasn’t just a soldering station. It was a fully kitted-out workshop, but one equipped exclusively with alien tools. Pretty easy to suss out the function of the various cutters, welders, and fabricators. What interested him more, though, were their interfaces.
Everything in the workshop was too high to reach easily, and all the manual controls felt heavy and stiff and took way more effort than they should to move. Davis rotated a cutting tool over and over, trying to puzzle out the shape of the hand that the grip was made to fit. He studied the manual controls for the 3-d laser sculptor and considered how tall the user must be to reach all four levers plus the two floor pedals.
Some of the machines had an input device not dissimilar to a keyboard, but two-tiered like a pipe organ and labeled with symbols he’d never seen before in his life. The keys didn’t simply depress, but articulated a full 360 degrees each, and at first he couldn’t imagine the dexterity it would take to type on this thing until he remembered the sensation like snakes writhing up and down his wet slit, and then he could imagine it quite clearly in fact.
He wished he knew jack shit about linguistics. Some clever xenosociologist probably could have written a thesis on the culture from that keyboard alone. Davis could only draw more direct conclusions.
Average height three meters, minimum.
Four of something not quite like hands.
Base physical strength well above his.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Jun 8

What if I got really sidetracked writing science fiction monsterfucker smut instead of doing ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING ELSE I’M SUPPOSED TO BE DOING this week

It became a regular ritual, one they never acknowledged out loud when the lights were on. But every few days, the med bay went dark, the door slid open, he covered his eyes and his heart quickened at the touch of foreign appendages gliding across his skin.
They touched him patiently, thoroughly, snaking across his flesh as if they were mapping his nerves one twitch of his cock at a time. They touched him like this was the only place in the galaxy they wanted to be, like they would stay there between his legs forever if they could, like they savored every shiver and moan they coaxed out of him like a hard-earned prize.
Every night they let some tiny new part of themselves slip out. A little bit more of their body brushed against his. Bit by bit, he expanded the picture of them in his mind built only on touch.
Their paw or their hand or maybe their claw splayed open his thighs.
Their tongue or their finger or maybe their tentacle parted his cheeks and
lapped at his hole.
Their arms or their claspers or maybe their pedipalps closed around his
waist.
He writhed into them blindly night after night, gasping and shuddering and
coming over and over at the hands of a lover so alien he couldn't begin to envision their form.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 20

Something new every morning

Photo of a cluster of coral trumpet vine blooms

Photo of a classic crimson-red poppy

Photo of a pink poppy, not quite in full bloom, with delicately ruffled white edges

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 16

I do it all for you, little girl

Photo of a long haired grey cat sitting atop a black brick fence and rubbing her head into the brick. She’s in an urban neighborhood, framed by a garden bed full of beets and corn and peas.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 15

just LOOK at them

Photo of a glossy reddish-orange poppy

Photo of a brilliant pink poppy with a pale white center

Photo of a delicate pink poppy with white ruffled edges

Photo of a small, bright yellow poppy with a dark orange center

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 15

The poppy situation here today is incredible

Photo of a messy patch of poppies, all different types, in red pink and yellow

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 14

Writing a story with a police detective as the main character but he’s the laziest, wettest, most pathetic excuse for law enforcement you’ve ever seen

Gary was quite committed to his job—or rather, he was committed to the goal of making his job as easy as possible. To this end he went to great lengths to
end up responsible only for tasks he knew he could complete successfully.
He developed a finely-honed sense for when to show up a little bit early or a little bit late to meetings. He strategically accumulated goodwill (and occasionally some very light blackmail) among the dispatch team. With his supervisors, he walked the razor-thin line between camaraderie and brown- nosing like a tightrope walker without a safety net. With his peers, he cultivated an ability to push off work to other people whilst leaving them
feeling as if he'd done them a favor that would have made Tom Sawyer jealous. Over his career he'd spent thousands of dollars on donuts, tacos, and kolaches. He knew the dietary restrictions and favorite donut of every person in the station from the Chief of Police to the janitor. His address book contained every employee's birthday, their children's birthdays, and their wedding anniversary. More than one marriage had been saved (or, at least, its demise delayed another year) when Gary conveniently showed up to provide a fellow
officer with the anniversary flowers he'd forgotten to buy for his own wife.

That's not to say this unique approach to his career went unnoticed by his peers. Far from it: Gary had a reputation as the absolute laziest son of a bitch the department had seen in nigh on three decades. Behind his back, his peers frequently spoke of him in various tones of derision. The hard workers thought he was indolent. The clever ones assumed he was stupid. The macho crowd
called him a coward. But on paper, he had a 100% case resolution rate, and an average caseload only slightly below the median. Promotion to sergeant had been a grudging recognition of consistent performance as a detective in resolving a long series of cases in which the perpetrator turned out to be exactly who you'd expect it to be. Sgt Gary had never failed to close a case, and this was in large part attributable to his instinct for knowing when to steer clear from an unsolvable
mystery and stick to what he knew.
In 20 years his instincts had never told him so clearly to stay the hell away
from a case as the one that came in today.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 12

Oh wow this one just keeps getting better

Jung went to work designing dozens of molecular variations of UK-5099. To test the compounds, Lowry's lab team applied them to freshly snipped human skin discarded by plastic-surgery clinics — a perk of being in L.A. "We started with belly skin from tummy tucks, which you can get by the yard," says Lowry, though only at certain times of year. "Sometimes the supplier would tell us, 'It's going to be a while, because we're entering summer and nobody wants scarring during bikini season." They soon found that skin removed during face-lifts worked better anyway.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 12

often I will screenshot a headline or a paragraph describing something real in such an offputting way that I cannot help but put it in my horror inspo folder

Most blockbuster drugs come out of large pharmaceutical companies, backed by years of research and armies of scien- tists. PP405 started with three UCLA professors, a few lucky encounters on campus, and some leftover flesh donated by cosmetic-surgery patients.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 12

Got some real stars in the front yard today

Photo of a brilliant pink poppy with a yellow center

Photo of a pink poppy with a yellow center against an urban neighborhood backdrop

Photo of a cluster of pink poppies with yellow centers in the middle of a small, messy urban yard

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 10

Look who’s decided to join the party today

Photo of a ruffly electric pink poppy with a bright yellow center

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 8

I scattered mixed flower seed in the spring and somehow I think more of it ended up taking root in the sidewalk than in the yard

Photo of three or four different types of flowers poking up through a messy brick sidewalk

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 7

good ol’ nature is a better decorator than I could ever be on purpose

Photo of a small house, grey with bright turquoise trim. A bunch of potted plants sit on the porch railings, and virginia creeper is creeping its way across the eaves very aesthetically

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 5

If you’re wondering how the radish story ends:

Photo of a black and white plate with two beef tacos on top of it. The tacos are garnished with cheese and slices of salmon-pink radish pickles.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 4

We’ve hit the best 2 weeks of spring, in which there’s a handful of fresh peas waiting for me basically every day. I am eating GOOD right now.

Photo of a pale skinned hand holding a bunch of bright green, freshly picked pea pods

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· May 2

nobody’s allowed to be mean to Wyll in this house

Photograph of a framed embroidery of Wyll Ravengard from Baldur’s Gate 3. His head is tilted to the side and a tear runs down his cheek. Three rows of Infernal text encircle his head like a halo.

Close up photo of the embroidery of Wyll Ravengard showing the detail of his face, worked in monochrome thread

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 28

how am I meant to function under these conditions

Photo of a pink-skinned (well, ‘white’, but SO pale it crosses over into pink) person wearing an incredibly gaudy hawaiian shirt. They are sitting on a couch with a keyboard visible in their lap but a large tabby cat prevents them from effectively reaching the keys.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 28

believe it or not I AM actually still writing over here, it’s not all flowers & garden vegetables. Sometimes it’s also humiliating fisting scenes and character dialog that made me want to die a little after writing it.

"The first one's on the house." There's a coiling heat in the pit of Pocket's stomach that gets hotter and hotter as Lash's finger works in and out. "But if I'm gonna give you the rest, you gotta tell me something else you want. One
item from the ol' pound town bucket list, one finger in the dinger."
This is too much on all counts. Pocket groans. "Oh my god, do we have to
do this?"
"Of course not. You wanna stop, all you gotta do is say so. But you're not
gonna, are you?"
Pocket groans again, this time louder. "I thought you said you were a
gentleman." "Is THAT what you want?" Lash is kneading them relentlessly from the inside out, and as aggravating, as infuriating as his needling is, Pocket's cock won't stop throbbing. In the long moment before they bring themself to respond, they bury their face in the mattress again, and in spite of themself they
start to rock their hips back into his hands.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 27

It’s an excellent morning to sit on the porch eating a slice of cheese while writing porn (picture unrelated)

Photo of a white passion flower with a ring of feathery blue bits on the inside

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 25

From the depths of my drafts:

"Is that what he told you my name was?" Her voice in their ear is reminiscent of a screeching hawk. Appropriate, since they, like the hawk's
hapless prey, have frozen in shock.
Pocket blinks. "Um..."
"You must not be so serious about this one after all, Jakie, if you didn't even
tell him the name your own father gave you, god rest his soul."
Pocket blinks again. They open their mouth but find themself at a loss as to which part of that statement to respond to. She's packed at least three relationship-ending missiles into the one sentence. Actually, maybe "missiles" isn't the right word. These are land mines, carefully calibrated to go off two hours later after she’s vacated the premises.
“MOM.”
Pocket closes their mouth again without a word.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 25

A hole, suspiciously the exact size and shape of a certain cat’s butt, has mysteriously appeared in the middle of the goldenrod

Photo of a vigorous cluster of goldenrod. In the center is a distinct impression where a cat has snuck inside and carved herself out a hiding spot. Along the edge of the cluster of goldenrod are two kitchy lawn ornaments, a turquoise-blue mushroom and a glass pineapple.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 24

SOON

Photo of a pea plants and one not-quite-ripe pea pod hanging from the vine

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 24

Testing, testing

Photo of one soggy kitty cat

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 24

which I guess you can’t see because bsky is still screwing up image display. woooooooooooo.

Photo of a soaking wet black tabby cat facing the camera and giving some kind of side-eye.

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 24

I think the PetSmart fucked up and gave me some weird subspecies of otter instead of a cat

Photo of a cat who would be described as a standard-issue black tabby, except that she is soaking wet and not at all mad about it

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 23

Too soon to tell what the root situation down there is like, but on the surface the beets are looking pretty dang good

Photo of a raised garden bed with two patches of soil full of leafy beets

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 23

We’re a mere week or two away from the garden becoming an all you can eat pea buffet

Photo of pea plants climbing up a trellis

gradientdescent@gradientdescnt· Apr 21

the wildflower mix I dumped in my yard continues to surprise and delight

Photo of a single brilliant yellow flower growing in a scrubby yard