#but that's really hard to find! hardly any brands make them and i like these at least

[autumnrory]

ugh taylor's boots are like the thigh high ones i tried but they were more vinyl-y and they squeaked so much i couldn't even consider keeping them and i still want some but it's so hard to find ANY tall boots be it up to the knee or past that that fit my calves

[gurugirl]

The Big Tease | bfd!harry

*photo is for t-shirt placement visual only. please picture who you like as reader.

best friend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Summary: based loosely on this request - Harry comes to your place to make sure you're taking care of yourself and you find that as hard as you try to tease him, he's not giving in to you and then some high emotions are exposed.

Word Count: 7.8k words

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, angst, age gap, cheating

bfd!harry masterlist

You tried not to feel guilty about what you were doing with a married man. Your best friend’s dad. It was hard when it came to keeping it a secret from everyone. Keeping it a secret from Fae.

“Where’d you get this?” Fae brushed her fingers over the pretty little bracelet Mr. Styles gave you a few nights before. It was gold with three round light-colored opals in the center and two round-cut tiny diamonds on either side. It was dainty and sweet and you knew it was expensive after googling the brand and finding the exact item available online and in high-end shops nearby.

“Ahh… my mom and dad got it for me a while ago. Just haven’t worn it in a long time. Forgot it about,” you lied with a shrug. Lying to her made you nauseous.

“Really? How could you forget about this? It’s gorgeous! Looks really pretty on you too,” she complimented and you frowned as you looked down at it.

You hated lying to your best friend. But what could you do? You certainly wouldn’t admit to your affair with her father. And of course, you weren’t quite feeling guilty enough to put an end to it either. Mr. Styles was the best you’d ever had and you were completely smitten with him.

When you two finally made it back to your apartment after shopping and eating and stopping at the ice cream shop for a treat you’d also forgotten all the lovely flowers you had sitting around your living room and kitchen.

It had also become a thing where you’d get the most exquisite bouquets delivered to you every Monday morning. Peonies, roses, phalaenopsis orchids, and gardenias all stuffed with hardly any filler. You knew the bouquets he was sending you were hundreds of dollars a pop. But they were breathtaking.

You quickly assessed in your mind whether or not you’d removed the cards from them which would have given everything away should Fae see. Unlocking your door and letting yourself in first you quickly glanced around and the freshest bouquet clearly still had its card poking out of it. You made a beeline across the room as Fae closed your door behind her and plucked the tiny card out, crumpling it in your hand, and then bent down next to the table to pretend you were doing something else.

“Those are so pretty, Y/n. Oh my god. Do you have a flower service or something?”

You had three bouquets placed around your living room. One was clearly old and some of the flowers were drooping, losing their vibrant colors, while the newer ones were full of soft pinks and purples, crisp white and cream…

“Yes. I decided to start treating myself to nice flowers every week.” You smiled. Another lie. You couldn’t afford a weekly delivery of these kinds of flowers and if Fae bothered to research how expensive bouquets like this were she’d have questioned you further. But luckily she didn’t.

The bracelet, the flowers, your glow… all things she noticed, could have been an indicator of a lover but as far as you could tell she hadn’t connected the dots. Or at least she didn’t voice it to you.

Of course, everything could be explained. But she was your best friend. If you weren’t more vigilant, she’d be catching on soon, you were sure.

.           .           .

The following day after a morning shift at the restaurant you arrived home and collapsed on your couch. It was exhausting. The restaurant was only open for breakfast and brunch on the weekend (where normally it’s only a dinner spot the rest of the week) and it was slammed. Mimosas, eggs benedict, fancy French tarts, and pastries, huge parties of people, music, guests nursing hangovers… The restaurant was well known for its weekend breakfast and brunch with bottomless mimosas and Bloody Marys. The clientele were usually upper-class folks who didn’t mind spending $35 for their mimosa and then only ordering 2 when they could have had as many as they wanted. A local creamery provided butter, yogurt, and milk for your special breakfast dishes, and a bowl of fancy yogurt and some in-house granola was $15. The cheapest food item on the breakfast menu. The cheapest item on the menu was a cup of black coffee, refillable. Unless you ordered the free tap water.

You got lucky to eat anything while you served breakfast. It was typically too busy to take a bite of anything. But the tips were excellent because everyone was usually in a great mood.

You were startled awake by your phone vibrating in your back pocket. You’d fallen asleep without even realizing you’d closed your eyes.

Pulling the phone out from under your body you realized it was Harry calling you (he normally didn’t call unless it was prearranged).

“Hello?” You sat up as you answered.

“Baby! I was worried. Are you okay? I didn’t hear back from you.”

Harry had a thing where he wanted you to text him when you got home from work to let him know you made it safely, even if it was a morning shift. He was always so worried about you but you kind of loved it.

“I’m fine. Sorry! I fell asleep as soon as I sat down on the couch. God, I’m so exhausted. Fae was here late last night and then I had the breakfast shift so I only had like four hours of sleep…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I was just worried. I texted you and then never heard back. Just started to panic. Have you eaten?”

You smiled and his soft deep voice made you feel so comfortable and safe, “I haven’t eaten yet. I had a bit at work but just passed out as soon as I got here.”

“So you’ve only had something to eat at work? It’s already dinnertime, Y/n.”

Harry did have a tendency to sort of scold you like he was your dad. Maybe it was ingrained in him in some ways. To try and take care of you and remind you to do things like eat.

“Geez, Dad. I’ll get right on it,” you teased.

Harry was silent for a moment, which had you worried. Perhaps calling him ‘dad’ had been unwise.

But then suddenly his voice broke through the line, “I’m coming over. I have a feeling you don’t have any groceries and I’m gonna make you dinner. Something to eat.”

You scoffed, “I mean… I have food here. I will eat. You don’t have–“

“I’ll be there within an hour,” he interrupted and you nodded to yourself.

“O… Okay. Um… yeah. In an hour.”

.           .           .

You quickly showered and tossed your dirty clothes into your clothes hamper so they weren’t strewn about your bedroom floor. You tidied up and kept yourself busy until he finally arrived. You were getting all worked up knowing he was coming over.

You didn’t know what he had been telling Mrs. Styles about why he was leaving or when he’d stay with you overnight, or spend hours in your bed every week. Though there were times he could only come over quickly, most of the time he stayed with you long enough that he’d need a good cover story. You kind of hoped you could have him for the night.

When he knocked at your door and you opened it up for him you saw he had his hands full. One arm around a sack of groceries and in his other hand the bag he normally packed for when he was staying the night.

You smiled when you saw his handsome face and ushered him into your small apartment. He leaned in to kiss you quickly, “Just showered?” He asked.

“Well yeah,” you spoke as you closed the door and followed behind him to your kitchen, “I didn’t have the chance earlier because I fell asleep as you know,” you laughed.

“Mmhmm…” he grunted affirmatively as he began to remove the grocery items from the bag one by one.

You saw tomatoes, fresh basil, flour, mushrooms, cheese…

“What are you making?” You picked up the container of buffalo mozzarella and then looked at Harry.

“Margherita pizza. One of my favorite little recipes my mom used to make.”

You placed the container down, pulled his arm to drag him toward you, and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him.

He immediately paused what he was doing and wrapped his arms around you, deepening the kiss and then giving you a taste of his tongue.

But then he pulled away with his signature teasing smirk and went back to his task.

“You brought your bag. Gonna stay the night with me?”

He nodded as he folded the paper bag up neatly and then looked at you, “If that’s okay. Have to leave early, though.”

If that’s okay.

You laughed to yourself and nodded, “Of course, it’s okay, Harry. God, what I wouldn’t give to have you with me every–“ You stopped what you saying when you realized how suddenly serious that thought was. You did want him every night. You wanted him to yourself but you hadn’t discussed that with him before.

Harry placed the neatly folded paper bag down on your little counter and then pulled you back toward him with his hands on your hips, “Yeah? Every…? What? Every night? Want me every night, baby?” That same sneaky, devious smirk on his face had you melting and warm.

“I just meant, you’re always welcome,” you slid your hands up his chest and bit your lip. You were a little embarrassed that you admitted that but it was obviously too late now.

“I’m always welcome or you want me every night? Which is it?” He gripped you harder so you couldn’t escape his questions, his gaze.

You puffed a breath out through your lips with a laugh, “Both.”

He loosened his grip and brought a hand to your face, his eyes fixed to yours, “Both. I’d much prefer to be here with you every night too. Would if I could.” The thumb that trailed over your cheekbone and to your temple was soft and loving. You knew he meant what he said.

Harry’s pizza was superb. Your oven wasn’t quite right, he kept saying as he baked it but to you, it was the best thing that had ever come out of that cheap appliance.

“Usually like to make this in a brick oven. The one I’ve got in my backyard, but this will do in a pinch I suppose.”

Your mouth was full as you nodded, “So good.”

Harry laughed at your stuffed cheeks and the way you were gobbling down what he’d made.

“Aren’t you going to eat more?” You asked him finally when you’d swallowed your bite. He’d only had one slice.

“Already had dinner. But I wanted to feed you. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

For some reason with a tummy full of Harry’s pizza and the kind gesture of his cooking to help take care of you had you reeling and needing more than just food.

Of course, it would have been impolite to just abandon cleanup but you were suddenly aware of how his sleeves were pushed up his forearms and how his dimples were extra deep accompanying his attractive smile. And his hair looked too tidy, you needed to get your hands in it. Needed to get him out of his clothes. Get those long fingers around your neck and touching your body immediately.

You set your plate down on the small kitchen table you were both sitting at and slid your hand up his thigh, “Oh is that why you came over here? The only reason?” You grinned and he leaned back into his chair and looked at you, keeping his own grin in check.

“Need to make sure my girl is healthy. Has everything she needs.”

“Yeah? And sometimes I need more than just food too, Mr. Styles.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs slightly as you continued moving your hand upward, “Oh I know, sweet girl. You need a lot of things, don’t you?”

You nodded, “What about you? Do you need things too? From me? Anything I can help you with?”

Now his grin was breaking out over his face but it was cheeky, playful, “Of course I do.”

But he wasn’t giving in to your little game. He liked having you be the one to ask for it. You didn’t know why but he loved hearing you beg him. You always resisted begging. At first anyway. Sometimes he’d give in without you needing to.

“And what do you need from me?” You stopped short of putting your fingers over where you knew he was tucked under his pants. The obvious natural bulge he sported giving away where he normally liked to position himself.

“Whatever you’re willing to give me, love. But I’m here because you needed to eat first and foremost. And you needed some groceries.”

You laughed and skipped over his lovely cock and put your hand up to his chest, scooting your chair in a little closer, “I’ll give you anything you want, sir. All you have to do is ask.”

Harry smiled and licked his lips slowly, “I’m as content as I can be here with you right now. Could sit here all night listening to you talk. S’that what you want? Want to touch my chest,” he flitted his eyes down to where your hand was before looking back into your eyes, “and my thighs, and chat all night about my pizza making skills and your lack of healthy food?”

You folded your lips into your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. He was playing a game of chicken with you. You really wanted to win this time.

“Well, that does sound really nice. You’ve filled me up so good with your yummy pizza. Guess I don’t need anything more than stimulating conversation with you if that’s all you’re interested in.”

Harry swallowed and breathed a laugh out of his nose, “Fine. Pizza and conversation it is.”

You wanted to huff in frustration. He still had his arms crossed over his chest, just under where your fingers were toying with the buttons on his shirt. He wasn’t giving in. But you had a thought.

“I’ll be right back.”

You hopped up from the chair and pranced to your bedroom. If he wanted to tease so would you. Stripping off your sweats you dug out your thin white Hey Lover t-shirt and tied it up just under the center of your breasts, and black cheeky boy short panties. You’d pretend you were only getting comfy since it was already late in the evening. He’d know what you were up to but you could play it off like you just wanted to get into your comfy house clothes.

When you got back to the kitchen Harry was already cleaning up.

“Hey, let’s do that later. Wanna sit and talk a bit.”

Harry tsked you, his back still turned as he wrapped up the rest of the pizza in foil, “I worked hard on this. Don’t want it to go bad. You can go sit–“ when he finally turned his full gaze back to you he stopped mid-sentence. You saw his jaw clench and his nostrils flair.

Not fair. That was not fair of you.

You knew your top especially was going to drive him mad. It was thin and your nipples were poking through the material and he could certainly see the shadow of the deeper color of your areolas popping through.

And he did. You noted where his eyes roamed, pausing over your tits for a good few seconds before licking his lips and turning back around to finish his job.

“Go sit.” He said without a single note of sweetness or desire.

You smiled to yourself as you walked into the living room and sat on your couch. Putting on a little music you selected a good little playlist that you knew he’d like.

Trying to act as unbothered as you possibly could you found a comfortable position on the couch and leaned into your cushions as you waited for Mr. Styles to join you.

It wasn’t long before he was casually strolling into the living room and sitting on the couch, leaving a few feet between you two. He draped an ankle over his knee and sat back, looking totally cool and unbothered.

You stretched and gathered your hair into your hands to expose your neck as you spoke, “So, how was your day today, Mr. Styles? You already know all about mine.”

Harry nodded slowly as he looked at you, keeping his eyes on your face, “Normal. Woke up and worked out, read an article, and played some golf with a colleague. That’s it really. Now here I am feeding you and entertaining you with conversation,” he grinned and you saw his eyes quickly take in your neck.

You smiled and sighed, “Sounds nice. I’ve played golf a few times. I’m terrible at it, though. Once a guy who took me tried to straighten out my stance but it did no good. No matter how many times he helped me adjust my grip or pushed my legs to spread them out properly it just didn’t work,” you chuckled. It was true. You’d gone with a guy a couple of years back on a date. He was flirting with you when he tried showing you the proper way to stand and hold the club but it turned into making out in the golf cart and a quick fuck in his car before he dropped you at home.

“S’that so? He probably wasn’t a good player either if he couldn’t give you any tips to help you improve your game.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I think he was more interested in getting my clothes off than anything,” you kept your eyes on his to asses but there was nothing there that indicated jealousy.

You had to amp it up. Do something to make him lose it. Wanted to watch him thicken up in his pants.

Dropping your hair you tucked your legs under yourself and turned to face Harry. You knew he was trying his hardest not to let his eyes drop below your neck. He knew he’d be fucked if he took in the way the soft cotton stretched over your breasts.

“Anyway. Are you any good?” You allowed your own eyes to take him in fully. His composure was sure to falter at some point.

“Yeah. I’m all right. I can hold my own.”

His short answer was not exactly what you were hoping for but you didn’t let it deter you. For some reason, his standoffish behavior was getting you even more worked up.

“Bet you can hold your own. You’re just so naturally good at everything you do,” you moved your finger over your tummy, keeping your eyes on his, “I know first-hand.”

Harry raised his brows and the movement of your hand over your torso and then down toward the top of your panties had him dropping his sight to where you were softly ghosting your fingers along the elastic band. You tugged at the knot on your shirt before moving your hand back up toward your chest, your thumb pressed between your thin cotton t-shirt-covered tits.

He watched your fingers and then looked back up at you, “Do you? And what do you know of my skills?” He smiled softly. Still appearing totally unbothered.

You sighed and tilted your head, keeping your eyes on his before stretching your arms over your head and allowing your shirt to lift the tiniest bit, revealing the bottom of your breasts. You only put your arms down once you were satisfied that Mr. Styles had gotten a good look, “Well, for example, you just made me a pizza that was to die for. Also, you recently got promoted at work and now you’re some big shot,” you unfolded a leg from underneath your bum and stretched it out, pressing your bare foot onto Harry’s thigh, “And I’ve seen you work out,” you nudged his muscled thigh, “You put men half your age to shame. You’re so athletic…” you began to pull your foot away but Harry gripped your ankle and pulled your leg to drape over his thigh making you smile in triumph.  Though you’d not yet won this round, he was clearly giving in to you bit by bit.

“Hmmm…” Harry nodded and hummed quietly. He kept his hand on your shin and his eyes a safe distance from anything below your chin, “I know I’m good at a lot of things. Can make you dribble all over your chin by just pulling my pants down,” he licked his lips, “Feel like that’s a great skill of mine. What else…��� his hand began to brush over your leg softly and you scoffed at him but of course, he was right. You both knew it. He made you drool and whiney and hot. He didn’t even have to do anything.

“That was one time. And you had your fingers in my mouth. It wasn’t because of your cock,” you lied. Well, his fingers in your mouth did have you drool down your chin and when he pulled his pants down, he teasingly pointed out how your chin was shiny and you’d dripped saliva down your neck and to your chest.

“No? Hmmm… but you were so desperate to get it in your mouth that you tried grabbing me and when I told you to be patient you whined and drooled all over the floor. You can pretend all you want, little girl. I see what you’re trying to do.”

You watched as his hand traveled up your leg and past your knee to your thigh, “Wearing this little getup… trying to seduce me. So desperate for me. But you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than this, Y/n. You can lie to yourself and pretend you're not bothered and change the subject and show me your pretty tits all you want. S’not gonna change the fact that you’re gonna wind up a messy little puddle begging me for anything I’ll give you. Isn’t that right?”

Your mouth dropped open in faux shock. He was right. But you weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Styles. I know you like having your ego stroked. So go ahead and keep telling yourself that you’ve got the upper hand. We both know you’re already folding. I can sit here all night and chat with you like this if you want. Doesn’t bother me one bit.” You folded your arms across your chest with a grin.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head. You were fun. He loved these moments with you. Loved giving you a hard time. Loved when you gave him a hard time. He softly pinched the inside of your thigh and you laughed, attempting to pull your leg away but he held you in place, large palms keeping your leg over him, fingers digging into your skin.

“Darling, you forget who you’re dealing with. I’m not the one resorting to skimpy clothes and trying to hide how turned-on I am. I see you trying to keep your legs pressed together. Hiding something,” he jutted his chin toward you and looked over the spot between your legs where he knew your panties covered up a tiny secret.

You wore black panties on purpose. Any wetness would be easier to hide, but keeping your legs pressed together could ensure he didn’t see the wet patch that had begun to spread. However, the way he was holding your leg over his lap made it quite difficult for you to not open your thighs a little.

“You just love to imagine that you’ve got me all bothered. But you’re wrong. I’m totally fine.”

Harry smiled and pulled at your leg further, causing a small yelp to slip out from your mouth followed by a tiny bit of laughter at the way you lost balance when you were pulled toward him, your other leg being tugged at to drape over his thigh.

“Good. Then we can just sit here and talk about the weather and maybe politics if you’re into that. Or is there another topic you had in mind since you’re so keen on just sitting chatting all night?”

You steadied yourself, back against the cushion as you pressed your legs together again and looked up at him innocently, “Randy called me the other day. Said he missed me. Apologized for being rude when we were together. That was nice to hear. The apology,” you wiggled your hips to fix your seating so you could appear more casual, despite having your legs in Harry’s possession over his lap.

Harry’s large palms ran up the outer sides of your thighs slowly before dragging back down to just above your knees, keeping his eyes on yours, “Oh really? Thinking about getting back with him then?” He spoke trying to tamper the playful smile on his face.

You snorted a laugh and grinned teasingly, drawing your fingers across your breasts, “Nahh… I can do better. I mean… maybe if I’m desperate and just need to scratch an itch. You know? Being a single girl gets hard at times. My dildo is only gonna give me a small taste of what a man can. Even if he’s not great in bed.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he nodded with dark eyes, “Would be such a shame to waste a good fuck on Rudy like that when you’ve got me at the helm. Of course, you're too stubborn to admit it. All you have to do is ask.”

 You sighed and dropped your hands to your lap with a pout, “Randy. His name is Randy. But anyway… I don’t have to beg Randy to fuck me. He’s never pretended he was unbothered by me. Always quite straightforward really. If he wanted sex all he had to do was tell me. You on the other hand,” you poked your finger into his arm, “like making it hard for me, which is quite impolite. So I’m okay with not having sex if you just aren’t up for it.”

Harry pushed a laugh out through his nose at your tease, “Rudy sounds like a fucking bore. And he never gave you an orgasm. Either you have really bad taste or you’re just a tease. I have a feeling I know which it is, too. Little girl likes to play games. I can play games if you want. But you know I’m gonna win.”

You knew he was right. You wanted his cock but he wasn’t budging. All you had to do was admit it. Ask him politely. And you would when you couldn’t handle it any longer but you were having fun and the back and forth was like foreplay for you.

He kept one hand grasped around the outside of your thigh while his other smoothed inward, fingers pushing your thighs apart the tiniest bit and then gently dancing upward. If he moved his fingers too far up he’d feel how damp you were already.

“I’m not playing games,” you spoke matter-of-factly, watching as his hand traveled over your skin, “I can just tell maybe you’re tired Perhaps you’ve had a long day and it’s almost bedtime for you. I mean I get it,” you laughed in preparation for what you were about to say, “When you get to be your age things just slow down a little. It’s okay if you’re not up for it tonight, sir.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth and closed his eyes as he laughed at your attempt to provoke him.

When he looked back at you his expression was serious as he pried your legs apart, swiping the pad of his pointer finger right over the wet material of your panties and raised his brows as if he was shocked. Though you knew he was goading you, “You know goddamn well that my age has nothing to do with my libido. Difference between me and you is that I have incredible willpower and I know that you’re gonna be begging me to stuff your pussy before the night is over.”

You laughed and shook your head, “Nope.”

Harry pressed his thumb right over where your clit was already aching and grinned, “Yep.” Popping the p for emphasis. “See I’ve already got you soaking your panties. Goosebumps on your legs. Your nipples are hard. Your face is warm. I bet your heart is pounding too, just wishing you were getting the life fucked out of you right now. And you could be,” he spoke lowly as he slid a finger under the fabric of your panties and smoothed it over your skin, but not touching your crease or your clit like you hoped, “If you just admit it.”

You noticed that his cock had plumped under his pants. A good sign, you figured, “Nothing to admit. I might be turned on but I can hold out. In fact, I’d bet you’re not in much better shape with your cock swelling up like it is. You need this wet pussy to soothe that big dick, don’t you?”

Harry’s undisturbed body language was a concern because even though his prick was growing harder by the minute, you were starting to boil while he still seemed unphased.

“Oh, honey…” Harry smiled at you like you were a pitiful thing, “I’m doing just fine. In fact, probably just gonna fuck my own fist before we go to bed since you’re so stubborn. Maybe I’ll let you watch me too. I’ll be just fine. Just love being here with you. We don’t always have to have sex.”

You clenched your jaw and huffed imagining that scene. Having Harry yank his cock with his big hand until he was coming on your floor. You’d want to lick it up off the floor too. Scoop it all up and swallow it down. He had you obsessed with his come. Well, with him in general.

You tried to think of something to say but your brain was stuck on the image of him slowly stroking his fat cock and saying filthy shit to you while you tried to hold it together and not give in to your own urges.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Harry lifted a hand to your face and brushed his thumb along your jaw and up over your cheek, “Need to tell me something?”

Your lips parted and you breathed out a small whimper and squished your eyes closed. Your determination was crumbling with his soft touches.

“S’okay. If you don’t mind,” Harry pushed your legs off of him and quickly began to unbutton his pants, “S’getting tight in there…” he pulled his pants down just a touch so that the bulge under his briefs was now poking out and he had a bit more space to breathe.

He pressed over his erection and straightened himself out and suddenly the tip of his cock was peeking out over the band of Calvin Kleins. You closed your eyes again and tried to will yourself to not give in to him. But what was fair was fair. You were teasing him with your body and now he was returning the favor.

When you heard Harry chuckle you opened your eyes to look at him and your head was fuzzy. He was literally mouth-watering. He’d unbuttoned his shirt so you could see his tattoos and the large erection poking out from his briefs was like an actual cherry on top of it all. You licked your lips and swallowed down your saliva as you stared at his swollen head. It looked like something you could just pop into your mouth and suckle on if you weren’t so stubborn.

But Harry loved how stubborn you were. You really did make him work for it. You were exciting and sweet and he loved the way you teased him.

“If you want some you can have some, sweetheart. I know you’d like a taste. S’right there for you if you just ask politely.”

You groaned and looked away from him but your eyes were burning and all you could think about was straddling his lap and pushing his briefs down so you could fuck yourself on him. You were actually vibrating and pulsing you were so turned on.

And when you thought about it all… how this was all just a game anyway. How you both knew you’d end up with his come dribbling out of your cunt and satisfied and fucked out before you went to bed you laughed, “Fuck it…” you said as you crawled yourself over his lap and Harry’s hands found your hips, “I want you. Okay? You win.”

He had a pleased smile on his face when he felt you press your soaked panties over his briefs and plaster your lips over his in finality.

He would have laughed and teased you for giving in but he was thankful you did. Because he was aching for you.

You were desperate too. You pulled away from the kiss and put your hands down to his briefs and pushed at the material before sliding the crotch of your panties to the side and letting your wet hole kiss his tip softly as you looked into his eyes, “Can I please have it?”

Harry’s smirk fell from his face the moment you began to lower yourself, coating him in your slick arousal, “Yes. Take what you want. Fuck…”

The music was soft and you could barely hear the lyrics as you began to work yourself down and up along his length. You moaned as you felt him poke deep and keened, sucking in a sharp breath, “So thick…” you panted.

You were wetting Harry’s briefs and the tops of his pants but he didn’t care in that moment. He’d take care of the issue after you were done, “Yeah? Needed to stuff yourself with my cock didn’t you darling? Feels good?”

You nodded and held onto the back of the couch as Harry moved his hands from your hips up to the bottom hem of your top and pushed the material up so he could finally look at your pretty breasts. His favorite. He leaned in and suckled your tit into your mouth and you gasped softly.

You began to ride him a little faster, sticky slick noises coming from between your bodies as you writhed up and down his cock.

“Harry!” You shouted his name in a desperate plea. You didn’t know what you were pleading for but you just wanted more. His tongue and lips and teeth on your tits and his heavy, hard dick inside of you were really all a girl could ask for.

Harry moaned and licked over the spot he nipped next to your nipple and moved his lips over your soft flesh as he spoke, “Poor thing… so needy for me. Should have just given in the first time I told you to, baby.”

The couch under you squeaked gently as you rose and fell over him. The relief of having him inside of you had you tearing up.

Harry tilted his head back to look at your face. And just as he expected you were completely insatiable. Your expression was hungry and lusty with your lips parted, a pained look across your features.

Harry cooed at you and slid his hands up from your soft breasts to cup your face and make you kiss him. Your mouths moved together slowly as you shifted over him, slowing down a little now that your mouths were connected.

Harry pulled away, keeping his hands at your face, “Slow down a little bit. Here…” he dropped one hand to your hip and stilled you, pushing you down all the way over his shaft until you were firmly seated in his lap and his tip was stuffed so far inside of you it hurt making you whine and quiver.

“Like that. Just sit and feel me. No need to hurry. Gonna always take care of you. Okay?” His lips pressed over yours again and you moaned into his mouth.

You acted as if you were starved. You canted your hips slightly to glide your clit against his pelvic bone and he gasped and pulled away again, “I know you need it, baby. Just slow down. You were so desperate weren’t you?” He thumbed at your cheek and wiped your tears with a grin, “Always my good girl. Aren’t you?”

You bit your lips and whimpered as you nodded. You felt like a pathetic girl. It was like the moment his cock was inside of you all your good sense flew out the window and you were a melty, needy puppy in despair, deprived of attention and love. You needed more and more and more every time he entered you. It only got worse as the months crawled on and your affair got more serious.

“I wanna be your only good girl. Please…” You slid your shaky fingers into his hair and smoothed your lips over his with a tremulous breath.

Harry rocked upward, dipping into your sensitive insides and you gasped again, parting your lips from his.

“Look at me, Y/n…” Harry spoke as he moved a hand to the back of your neck.

You locked eyes with him and your sad little pout had him leaning in to give you a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth before he looked back into your eyes, “You’re my good girl. No one else. Just you, baby. Understood?”

You nodded and sniffled, “But I’m not,” You jutted your bottom lip out like a child and felt ridiculous. You didn’t know what had you so emotional suddenly. Maybe it was the build-up and all the teasing. Or the way you always gave in to him and he was so cool and secure in himself while you were shaky and desperate.

Harry moved a hand down your back and kept his other hand brushing softly over your cheekbone, “Yes you are. You’re mine. You’re my only.”

You didn’t want to say it. Hated to bring it up but you couldn’t help it or you thought you’d explode if you didn’t tell the truth, “But you’re married. I might be yours but you’re not mine.”

He hadn’t quite expected it. You knew the situation. He couldn’t just leave his wife of 20+ years. It didn’t work that way. But to hear you say it was… well it gave him pause.

“Okay. I am married. But I’m here with you right now, Y/n. Because I’d rather be here with you. Wish I could be here every night. And I would if I could.”

You nodded. You knew he’d prefer to fuck you rather than his wife. That part was understood. But he’d never actually choose you over her when it came down to it. “I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just… I’m starting to…” You swallowed the words your heart wanted to reveal but you stopped, “Just want to see you more I think. Once a week or every other week isn’t good for me. Need you more. I think that’ll make me better. I’m sorry… I don’t know –“

Harry shushed you and stroked your back softly, “I want to see you more too, baby. Should we think of a way to make it twice or three times a week even? Will that make it better?”

You smiled and nodded, “Three times a week? Oh my god…” You kissed him and squealed at the idea of having him three times a week.

Harry laughed and nodded, “If it makes you happy. Didn’t know you needed more, honey. Didn’t want to make you sick of me.”

You laughed in return and shook your head, “I could never be sick of you, Harry. I’m…” You stopped yourself once again. The words on the tip of your tongue but that wouldn’t be fair. To you nor to him. “I’m happy you want that too.”

Harry’s fingers on your face felt soft and comforting, “Of course I want that. I want you happy. And that would make me happier too.”

You felt dizzy with love and excitement as you pasted your lips to his and began to rock your hips slowly again.

You knew you were selfish. Knew you were getting in too deep but you didn’t care. Maybe down the road one day it would hurt but for now, you would be happy with anything he gave you.

Suddenly Harry shifted and brought his arm to cradle you close as he laid you down flat on the couch, his thick cock still inside of you. But now he was hovering over you with a dark smile on his face, “I need to fuck you like you’re mine. Show you I mean it,” he said as he pulled your legs up, calves pressed over his shoulders, and began to roll his hips into you. The springs in the couch cushions danced under your back and creaked as he picked up the pace.

You coughed out a moan and squished your exposed tits together. You still had on your shirt, tugged up above your tits, and your underwear, and Harry still had his clothes on, while his shirt was unbuttoned and his pants were down past his bottom. You were both the picture of neediness, not even bothering to take the time to undress fully.

Harry held onto the back of your thighs as he plunged in and pulled back to his tip, before plowing his cock into the hilt again. Every time his hips met the back of your thighs the sticky sound of your arousal on his cock was unmistakable.

He swatted at your thigh when you began to slip from his hold, your leg wobbling free from his shoulder, “Stay put. Keep your legs up,” he grunted.

You gasped and nodded, “Yes, sir…”

Every dip of himself into you felt divine. His cock pushing into your insides and slipping into your guts repeatedly was noisy and delicious.

Harry moaned, unable to hold back how good it felt to be inside of you.

You looked up at him and saw how gone he was. His soft raspberry lips were parted and his eyes were dark as he gasped and panted. His thrusts were becoming harder and sloppier and he was breathing hard. You wanted his come.

“Need it, Harry. Give it to me…” you whispered as you brought a hand up to his jaw and he kept his eyes on you. He was shaking with desire you could feel it.

“Fuck, honey…” he groaned and clenched his jaw. He wanted to make you come first but his own emotions were getting him keyed up and he was already leaking a steady stream of pre-come into your pussy with each stroke.

He stopped his motions and sucked in a sharp breath as he lowered a hand to your clit, “Need you to come first, okay? Then I’m gonna fill your pussy like you need, baby.”

With his thumb on your clit you cooed in ecstasy. You had no idea what you were saying as you felt electricity begin to thrum through your body, winding its way around your ribs and down your spine, and into your tummy where sparks began to turn to fire as he began thrusting into you again.

“Want you to fuck your come deep into my womb. Breed my pussy, sir…” You moaned your words unable to stop it.

Harry grunted and he popped his eyes open to look down at you in shock. He knew you were on birth control and knew it was highly improbable but still, your words had him reeling and feeding his breeding kink, something that had been dormant for many years. You tended to awaken old feelings he once relished in.

And he wasn’t sure if he actually want to get you knocked up but just hearing that fed into something deep and instinctual that had been pushed down. Something primal. You had unleashed a tsunami of emotions and now this?

He began to hammer into you and your legs fell from his shoulders as he fucked himself down into you so hard you saw stars and you gurgled as you came around him, unable to voice your dirty thoughts as your pussy pulsed and squeezed around him.

“Fuck!” Harry barked loudly when he felt you come and he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that you’d tapped into, “Gonna knock you up. Fuck you til your all bred and full with my cock and my babies. That what you want? Stuffed full of me in every fucking way?”

Harry throbbed as he finally poured into you, pushing his cock into you as deep as he could manage, balls tucked up against your bum as he whimpered with each tight roll of his hips upward. Imagining his come seeping into you and having it stick. Getting you pregnant. Making you his forever.

He collapsed over you and slid his tongue into your mouth as you brought your arms around his back to keep him close.

Pure hedonistic, rapturous oblivion.

Your heart pounded as he kissed you and you felt him trembling in your arms just as you were in his.

You longed to speak the words you knew you felt but it wasn’t right. You’d want him to say it first. Wanted him to admit it. Wanted him to want you.

But Harry was feeling it all heavy and deeply just the same. His own longing to show you exactly what he felt and that even though he’d play off those words he spoke as he came inside of you, he meant it in a way. He’d love to see you pregnant with his babies. Have you as his own for good. Tell you what he felt deep down.

You smiled into the kiss and Harry pushed himself up to look down at you.

“Just what I needed, Harry. Always know how to make me feel so so good.” You pushed your fingers into his hair and gazed into his pretty eyes and watched as his grin widened.

“Mmm… Ditto. Need you more than just once a week, baby. I did mean that you know.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes to let that idea sink in a bit. Harry grunted as he moved and you suddenly felt a pinch at the back of your thigh and you laughed, opening your eyes.

“Did you hear me?”

You nodded, “Yes, sir. Three times a week is what you said. That sounds like as close to perfection as I could ask for.”

Harry nudged his nose to yours and let out a soft breath, “Just want more of you, baby.”

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[earthtooz]

rin kiss cam absolutely a masterpiece, i loveeee it so much <3 but i got an opposite idea. since you are very damn talented writing for sae, perhaps where you and sae had an argument which upset you so much, you have been ignoring him. then the following day, sae has a football match. after the match which of course they win, all the cams are on you and he said “please give me another chance to fix this, us” THEN THEN he held a massive bouquet of roses DJOWJDOSHDJSJDJ

for @limitlesshq - changed up the storyline a little, anon, sorry! your ask gave me inspiration for this, i'm sorry if you don't like the alterations, but i hope you enjoy nevertheless! this is VERY unedited.

sae, who has a sharp tongue and an even sharper attitude to match with that blunt personality of his. sae, whose words burn and singe your skin, leaving searing pain behind that you try not to show, especially when the venom drips onto your skin and brands you with shame, humiliation, and wrath. sae, who has never talked to you like he had in the argument you had two nights ago.

since then you hadn't talked to him, cringing at the thought of messaging him and reaching out. your friends tell you that you should try and mend whatever has happened, that knowing the two of you, sae's probably feeling the same and misses you too. your heart agrees but your conscious is still a little scarred, wincing when you recall the words that were thrown around.

sae had sent you a few posts here and there- like he sometimes does on instagram (they're hardly funny and you're still trying to find a way to tell him that), and you would only respond with a double click of the message instead of a proper response. other than that, he hadn't reached out in any other way.

the problem was that tonight you had a match to attend, with tickets that sae personally booked for you so it'd be a little harsh to not go.

just because you were still... upset at him doesn't mean that you didn't love him.

but did he want you there? what if he doesn't want to see you? what if he's still mad? that's probably why he hasn't made any attempts to try and talk it out and lord knows that you're still too busy fighting your own thoughts to make the first move.

pathetic really, it is, but when itoshi sae is your partner and the person who you have to apologise to... it's a little hard...

nevertheless, you go. your eyes lingered on the jersey he had given you, debating on whether or not you should wear it.

you decide against it, walking out of your apartment with a sinking feeling that it was a decision you'd regret. at least you still looked cute.

arriving at the stadium, you occupy your seat quite quickly especially since you were watching solo today. it's always daunting to be alone, especially in an environment like this, but you don't want any of your friends to witness how rocky you and sae are right now, so just purchasing this one ticket was a good idea.

even if that meant you had to cure your own boredom by scrolling on your phone whilst waiting for the match to start.

despite your indifferent front, your stomac was doing somersaults from where you jittered with anxiety. was showing up the right move? what if he didn't want you here?

then the stadium announcers begin talking, shushing everyone almost immediately as the teams are introduced. each running onto the grassy field when it's their turn, basking the roars and screams of the crowd that came to support them.

when real madrid comes out, your eye immediately lands on the figure of your boyfriend. although you can't see him all that clearly, it's not hard to identify him from his magenta hair and build; one that you see practically all the time (excluding the last three days).

he's scanning through the crowd, whipping his head around as if in search for someone, and when he finds the vip section for real madrid, his eyes land on you. you can't see him clearly, but there's a shift from his figure, his aura darkening as he slows his steps a little, falling behind from his team.

a fellow teammate has to push sae a little to snap him out of whatever funk he was in and a part of you twists uncomfortably at this weird behaviour of his.

all because he saw you. maybe it wasn't the right choice to come tonight. what if you impact his play?

the kickoff begins before you can think too much about it and the match officially starts, the players scrambling around the field.

90 minutes are over before you can count, the victory going to real madrid (to your relief because thank goodness you didn't affect their precious midfielder).

however, where you thought you would head home immediately after the match, it seems like sae has other plans as he runs towards the barriers separating the audience and the field, eyes locked on you the whole time. he beckons for you to come over and with a little hesitation, you do, weaving through exiting crowds in anticipation for what he'd need.

"congrats for the win," you say in greeting, plastering on a smile to give him the false perception that you were okay. he didn't need a victory to be soiled. that'd be a rough way to end such a pleasant event.

he doesn't meet your smile. instead, his eyes seem troubled, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he looks you up and down again and again, as if his eyes are deceiving him.

"you're not wearing my jersey," he says finally, looking back up at you with turmoil clear in his eyes.

"oh," you look down at your own outfit. "yeah. i decided not to."

"why?"

"well after our argument i didn't know where we stand," you confess shyly. he frowns further before stepping back.

then he takes off his jersey- the one he was wearing, and fiddles with it until it's facing a certain way. he had a long sleeve shirt on underneath but without the jersey, you can see that he's wearing the couples necklace you got for your anniversary.

he then threads the jersey on over you and despite being shocked at his abrupt actions, you comply nevertheless, weaving your arms through the holes.

sae hums in approval and you feel a little gross wearing his sweat-sopped shirt, but he looks content and happy. a stark contrast to the troubled expression he was wearing previously.

you open your arms for a hug. he accepts it, winding his arms around your torso as yours go around his neck. the athlete breathes you in, relishing in the feeling of being so close to you after so long.

"are we okay?" he asks, voice muffled as sae hugs you a little tighter.

"yeah," you respond. he takes his head out of your shoulder, indifferent eyes glossy. you think they're tears, but you're not going to give yourself such high credit.

"missed you. i hate it when you're mad at me."

you chuckle, pressing a kiss to his nose, causing him to scrunch his face at the sensation. "i wasn't mad, sae. i thought you would be."

"me? why?"

"i don't know. you're kind of scary, y'know. especially to those who have wronged you or you don't care about."

he softens before bringing his head to your shoulder again, finding solace in your touch. "but you're neither."

"noted," you laugh, running your hands through his hair. everything feels okay again.

you only find out after the match that sae was hoping you'd come all along and that he even brought gifts for you as a way of apologising after the match.

[babybatscreationsv2]

Little symbrock treat for the monster smut fans

...

...

...

Romnoncon warning**

Eddie desperate to find work after after the Life Foundation fiasco goes to a couple of interviews to plead his case, but his new friend is just too excited about being inside a warm body after so long in the icy depths of space

He's trying everything from brute force to pleading to get the woman on the other side of the desk to give him a job. He'd even clean the toilets until he can prove himself as a journalist once again, but her lines are pressed thin and he knows she that she can't say how throughly her hands are tied, but just maybe he can find the right button to press

When he feels something wriggling inside him. Venom feels like fluid moving through veins he doesn't have. He's bored and he's searching for something interesting to do when he finds Eddie's dick

He jumps out of his chair, startling the woman across from him, but he recovers by dropping to his knees, hands out in front of him

"Please, I'm begging, here. I can't get any more desperate," he pleads. She sighs.

Venom's rumbling inside him, a noise he makes when he finds something curious. Usually, it's trash TV or a new brand of chocolate. Now it's the way Eddie's blood rushes south and his cock thickens and Eddie's mouth salivates. Venom rumbles so hard that can feel him vibrating like a cat

He stands and swallows and rubs his face. "Right, sorry," he says. "I get it."

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Brock. You're an excellent journalist..." she says. The way she looks at him is humiliating

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish I wasn't." He grimaces and turns away. "Thank you for your time," he says but he wants to tell her that she's a coward and a disappointment. That she or her bosses or whoever chose money over human lives. But he forgets about all of that as Venom learns how to create friction in his cock from the inside out.

Eddie almost trips, one hand catching him on the wall. Thank fuck no one's there. "Venom," he hissed.

"It feels good, Eddie," Venom purrs. "What is that?"

"It's uh..." he blushes. "It's nothing. Stop doing that!"

"But why? It feels good. You like it, Eddie."

"No. I do not." He moves away from the wall and starts walking. His legs wobble and he knows he looks drunk or worse, but he's determined to ignore him and it's not like he was going to get a call back anyway.

He can't spend money on the bus when his savings is running dry, so he walks home. And regrets ever having been born when Venom keeps it up.

"I said stop that," he hisses outloud. People turn their heads but he ignores them. He's hardly the only lunatic in San Francisco.

"But you didn't say why."

"Because... Because it's inappropriate."

Venom scoffs. "Why?"

"Because jacking off in public is creepy and gross."

"But why?"

Eddie sighs. Venom finds his balls and takes up playing with those, too. Eddie's vision goes funny for a second. "You're going to send me to the hospital."

"No. I can heal almost anything. You cannot be harmed as long as you're with me."

Eddie groans. "Just wait until we get home, alright?"

He's quiet for a moment. Then, "Fine."

Venom stops and Eddie sighs with relief. Only he's still hard and he really does need to take the edge off. After a moment, Venom starts moving around again. He barely notices until he feels something stimulating his nipples.

"What the hell- stop that!" He hisses again. His hands cover his chest, but it doesn't do him again.

"We are not masturbating," Venom argues.

"That definitely counts as masturbating," Eddie counters. He grimaces at a man passing him by.

"But it's not your genitals. And it feels good here, too, Eddie."

"I know it does. Just wait. No more feeling good." Eddie gasps. He's stunned to realize just how close he is. Venom keeps playing with him and with Eddie's guard down, moves back to touching his cock. Only now he's doing both. Eddie moans. Then he runs.

He turns down an alley and leans against the wall. "V- Venom-" he gasps.

Venom purrs. "That feels good, Eddie. So good. It keeps getting better."

"Yeah..." Eddie pants. He closes his eyes. He can't help himself. Then Venom in all his exploring finds his ass. When Eddie whimpers in response he knows he's found a fun knew spot to play with. There's friction inside him. All the way inside. So much deeper than cock or object could ever reach.

Eddie's drooling on himself. His fist is clenched against the wall. He needs to cum or he might die. He yanks open his pants and grabs his cock. In two strokes he cums, head tipping back and moaning, cumming splatting the wall, the ground, his shoes.

Venom keeps going. Just for a moment until then pain of overstimulation creeps in, then he withdrawls.

"What was that?!" he demands.

"That," Eddie pants. "Is called an orgasm."

"I want more of those. That's almost as good as chocolate."

"No more in public, okay? That's something we do at home, got it? I'm not trying to get arrested."

"Fine. But we do it again when we get home."

Eddie sighed, but he couldn't argue.

[subjectsix]

aaaaa i know i already submitted a prompt so feel free to ignore this one !! but i would love to see what you'd come up with for arish and either one or both of the fadens (dealers choice) and the word loss maybe?? >_< thanks yous..

no worries at all!!! <3

They all have to wonder if The Oldest House is a neutral place.

A place can't hate you (can it?), unless haunting you is the same thing.

Any real attempts to mark time during lock down ultimately don't mean much. It affects everyone and everything differently. The House is their world. Confined, and sprawling on forever.

The Bureau is... the Bureau, so it's always been a weird clash of humanity and "the machine". Arish has tried to fight it where he can. Make sure "the little guy" isn't so little, or at least gets heard. The new leadership, the way he has a voice, the way everyone's been forced to come together... it's good. It's a culture shift. It's a camaraderie he's been craving.

The silver bullet around his neck is a heavy weight. The new is wonderful, hopefully changing the Bureau for the better, but it's...

Maybe it's just a bad dream to wake up from. Another one of the nightmares that's haunted Arish since Albany with a steady frequency. They've become dull and familiar. Still making his heart race, sending the adrenaline through every vein and to every nerve ending, but leaving him waking up feeling dull. Distant. Like he maybe didn't wake up all the way. Like someone's moving forward for him out of necessity, and he's just a passenger, observing from the backseat.

Maybe that's okay. The only way out is forward, right?

Jesse is thankful for the new life she has, in many ways. She walks straighter, looks people in the eye, smiles more. There's a commanding presence she thought she'd lost as a kid, sharpened and refined into something she wished she had years ago. Something she wished she could receive years ago.

She has all the answers, all sorts of brand new questions, and a veritable playground of incredible proportions. New things to discover, what are essentially superpowers to use, and the authority to just go out and do it. Therapists with lists of restrictions are a forgotten thing of the past.

She has her brother. In a way. She has those answers. In a way.

How do you fix what's already happened? How can you replace the years apart? How can you bridge the rift? The high-reaching cell walls box him away from her. She presses her hands against the glass, powerless. Finding Dylan was supposed to be her purpose. And here he is, all grown up. Almost lifeless, apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Still stuck in the same grey clothes she found him in. Confined, separated by inches of metal, glass, and Black Rock.

Finding Dylan was supposed to be her purpose. They went everywhere together, did everything together. There were hardly any secrets between them. She fought every battle she could for him.

Grieving him feels wrong. Displaced. Sickening. She can't even entertain the thought. He's right there, isn't he?

So much time already past. So much more slipping away.

In moments of petrifying lucidity, Dylan wonders if this is the price for freedom. Almost every single part of his life has been out of his own control. He had to go to school. He had to memorize his times tables. He had to take the plane to New York. He had to stay inside the Oldest House. He had to try to become Director. Earn being Director.

Maybe he could have said no. Get in trouble for playing hooky. Get an F and held back a grade. Run away with Jesse, and live a life like the kids in storybooks, hidden in the forest, building shelters and tree houses and their own place to call home.

Fail the test. Lose the Bureau's trust. Become the monster they feared.

What good is a choice, if they're offered by the person imprisoning him? What leads to his release? Good behavior? Look where that's gotten me.

Does he prove them right? Fight against it and fight hard, make them really realize what they've done to him, what they've driven him to, how much he hates them, how much he hates what they've made him, what he's chosen to become. Isn't that taste of rebellion glorious?

What did it get him? More death. A new cage. A new torture. Trapped inside himself, surrounded by their cries for help and the burning, burning, burning hatred of...

The Hiss? Or him?

Sitting with the consequences. Watching helplessly from inside. Pressed up against the proverbial glass, trying, trying, trying.

Good for nothing, at this point. Maybe since the start. Maybe they were right.

The House should feel like a neutral place. Maybe it's made neutral by the good and the bad. Cancelling out into concrete walls and timeless days.

In some enlightening way, this is where you belong, right?

In some sick way, maybe this is where you belong.

How do you move from a haunted house when it's the only place that still feels quite like home?

one word prompts

[artiststarme]

Van Vandalism

The not-so-long-awaited van vandalism fic based on this snippet! I hope you guys enjoy it and if you have any title ideas, please let me know in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Eddie was having a rough time. While the events of Spring Break were in his rearview, he was still facing the consequences of being branded a freak murderer by the police in a small town. The overzealous Christian townsfolk, now aware of his glaring differences and eccentricities, seemed to make it a goal to make his life as hard as possible. Eddie could hardly leave his trailer without being chased with metaphorical pitchforks. Whether it be by threatening to kick his ass at school or vandalizing his van in the grocery store parking lot, the people of Hawkins were relentless. Eddie didn’t really care about the threats to his own safety or even some minor beatings, he’d gotten used to it through his years of high school. 

However, when the townsfolk started to come after Wayne is when Eddie got concerned. Wayne had lived in Hawkins his entire life and now the people that he grew up with, the people he was friends with, were turning on him because of Eddie. They were spray painting nasty words on the trailer, slashing the tires on the van, and smashing the windows on Wayne’s truck. And Eddie and Wayne? They were losing their patience. They didn’t have the extra money to fix the windows or keep replacing tires. Wayne was pulling doubles at the plant to try to bring in some more money and Eddie was picking up shifts at the garage but they still weren’t bringing in enough to cover for the damages. 

One day after school, Eddie came out of the building to find all four of his tires slashed. He couldn’t even safely walk home either because old Herbert Green and his son had threatened to jump him the day before. So, he stood on the curb staring at his van for three minutes before tears started to drip down his face. 

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t hurt anyone. All he’d ever done was try to create a safe space for outsiders, the people that couldn’t feel safe anywhere else, and now he was paying the price. He wasn’t a murderer! He was just a gay metalhead kid who liked nerdy shit and couldn’t focus in school. But in the minds of all the townspeople, everything about him was grounds for a lifetime in prison. 

He was still staring at his van when he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm. Eddie didn’t even think before spinning around with a fist in the air. 

“Woah,” Steve said as he ducked out of the way of the punch. “Jesus Christ, Munson! I can’t get another concussion, do you even know what Robin would do to me?” 

Eddie sighed in response and sagged against his van, Steve’s hand still wrapped around his bicep. “Sorry dude, you scared me. I wasn’t expecting Sir Steve to be back at his abandoned castle. Which quest hast summoned you to return to your former dwelling?”

Steve’s eyes squinted like they always did when he tried to translate Eddie’s language into modern English. God, it was one of Eddie’s favorite things about him. After a moment, the squint left his eyes and his mouth opened in understanding.

“You, man. The kids called and said the basketball team fucked up your tires. Thought you could use a ride,” Steve said and shrugged. He was still wearing the ugly Family Video vest over a gray polo that hugged his shoulders in all of the right places. “Eddie?”

He shook his head to snap out of it. No straight guy wanted their gay, albeit still in the closet, friend checking them out when they’re trying to do them a favor. Or so Eddie would imagine. 

“Um, yeah. Yes please. I do need a ride. This is the third time they’ve pulled this shit and I won’t be able to afford new tires for a good three weeks. Fuck, how am I going to get to work now?”

Steve hummed before lightly smacking Eddie’s shoulder and ignoring his affronted glare. “I know! You can use my car! I mean, you’ll have to drop me off at work before school and pick me up after but other than that, I don’t really go anywhere anyways. You can just take the Beemer to work, school, and wherever else you go.”

Eddie was absolutely dumbfounded. Sure, he and Steve had become good friends after Spring Break but he was going to inconvenience himself by letting him take his car? “Stevie, I can’t take your car. What if you need it? It’s too much-”

“Eddie. Look man, you can use it for however long you need to. If I need it back, I’ll call you for the keys, okay? Just give me rides to work and pick up the kids if they need to go somewhere. The little shits aren’t riding their bikes anymore.” Steve told him and pressed his keys into the palm of Eddie’s hand. “Now, leave the van for now and give me a ride back to the video store, I still have 6 hours left on my shift and if I’m not back by the end of my break, Keith is going to lose his shit.”

Eddie just smiled and shook his head. He still couldn’t believe that Steve “The Hair” Harrington was actually a good dude. He’d dragged his sorry ass out of hell, lied to the cops to be his alibi, and now was loaning him his car just to make Eddie’s life easier. How’d he get so lucky as to have Steve in his life? Now if only he could get him to switch from the Tears for Fears moaning from the speakers to Metallica. 

When they pulled up to Family Video, Eddie made a move to get out but Steve just grabbed his arm with a, “hey, wait. Where are you going? Your shift at the garage starts in 20 minutes.”

“Yeah so I have to go. If I start running now, I can make it before my lungs give out and kill me.” Eddie said, shaking him off.

“Dude. I was serious about you taking my car, I wasn’t just going to have you go out of your way to drive me to work in my own car. Take it and be back to pick me up at 11:30, okay? Have a good shift,” Steve murmured, patting Eddie’s hand and running into the store. 

And then Eddie was left in the car alone, utterly bewildered and still reeling at Steve’s generosity. But he did have to go to work so off he went. Driving in the Beemer was a lot different than driving in the van. Firstly, there were no weird banging sounds coming from underneath the hood or any screeching noises of the brakes. The ride was silent aside from the horrendous pop music squealing from the radio station Steve had left on low. Next, the ride went smoother. Eddie didn’t have any jocks tailgating him or blonde-haired mothers glaring at him from the curb. He did receive a couple of double takes when other drivers realized it wasn’t Steve Harrington driving his signature Beemer but Eddie enjoyed the looks of shocked befuddlement. Huh, maybe Steve was onto something.  

(What Eddie didn’t know is that everyone that took a double-take wasn’t wondering why Eddie Munson was driving his car but instead, when had Steve gotten back together with Nancy Wheeler?)

When Eddie finished his shift at the garage though and made his way to pick up Steve from work, goddamn Officer Callahan pulled him over. He hated this fucking guy. He especially hated how cocky he looked as he strolled up to the driver’s side window and leaned against it. 

Eddie could only glare at him completely unimpressed as he asked, “can I help you, Officer?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I think you can! You see, all day we’ve been getting calls of a curly-haired imposter joy-riding around in Steve Harrington’s BMW. Can you explain that?” Officer Callahan was smirking as he explained himself, obviously finding joy in interrupting Eddie’s peaceful night. 

“I’m not joyriding, I went to work and now I’m picking him up from work. Steve lent me his car because someone slashed my tires for the third time this month. You’d know about that though, right? You know, considering I’ve tried to file a report each time. You ever going to do anything about that by the way?” Eddie rebutted. 

“You expect me to believe that Steve Harrington let you, Eddie Munson, borrow his car? How much grass have you smoked?” 

Eddie just sighed in frustration. “Look Callahan, I’ve tried to be nice but you’re pissing me off. Here I am, a law-abiding citizen, and you’re just accusing me of these heinous crimes? Grand theft auto, drug use, what’s next… murder? Oh wait! We’ve been there and I was found innocent of that too! Let me leave or next time I see the Chief, I’m going to tell him that his least favorite deputy was harassing me. Do you want Hopper mad at you? Is that what you need in your life?”

“What… um no. You don’t have to do that. Just, just get where you’re going and make sure Harrington gives us a call at the station about his car. Um, have a good uh night,” Officer Callahan said while awkwardly ambling back to his car. 

Then, Eddie was off again. This time with heavy metal blasting through the Beemer speakers and through the open windows into the wind. He was going to pick up Stevie and treat him to a night full of movies, weed, and junk food like he deserved.

@doubleb11 @nburkhardt @zerokrox-blog @newtstabber @i-less-than-three-you @carlyv @trippypancakes @straight4joekeery

(@anzelsilver you're the only person who reblogged the snippet so here's a tag to the whole fic!)

[lastleggysee]

Matching Tattoos with the LL M4

Felix Iskandar Escellun

You would have had to bring up the idea of matching tattoos.

At first, he's not really on board. He doesn't "see the point" of tattoos and is kind of put off by the idea of putting something on his body forever, but he appreciates the care you take mentioning it to him.

Matching jewelry? You've already got a few pairs. Matching teacups? He couldn't wait to show you the set. He's even picked up a pair of matching copies of several spell books for the two of you. But matching tattoos raises apprehension. He shudders at the memory of Escell's branding, hesitant to ever have anything close to that on his body again.

With a level of nervousness disproportionate to the situation, Felix declines. You're understanding, of course, but he still shrinks at that gleam of disappointment in your eyes.

He thinks way too hard about it for the next few days, but is content to not bring it up again until he stumbles across some of your drawings. You'd practiced a few designs and had now hidden them away in the recesses of a bookshelf. Felix spends the afternoon tracing his fingers across the delicate strokes that make up your designs, cursing his own doubts.

Much to his chagrin, it's not until a full week after you asked that Felix recalls a spell that allows the caster to temporarily leave a mark on the subject's body. He rushes to find you, your drawings in hand, and he's tripping over his own words to get the news out to you. It's one of the only times you've seen him so unabashedly excited for something, and you agree to

At first, the designs fluctuate. Felix spends a few days with one, a week or so with another, but before he realizes it he grows used to the way the markings look on his body. He thought it would call more attention to it, to his awkwardness and general discomfort, but the longer he's in contact with the magical ink his skin starts to feel more like his own than it ever had. This was only amplified by his knowing that you bore a mark similar to his, your devotion to each now prominent on both of your skin.

It takes time, but over breakfast one morning Felix lets it slip that he's been speaking with Sage about "reputable tattoo artists in the area", and you're beaming.

The tattoo would be something significant to your relationship, but I think tattoos of the moon would be a good fit. Your relationship has been about being with each other through the changes and different phases of your life, and Felix has come to see you as a light in his darkness. I think something like this would be a good fit:

Anisa Anka

You bring up the idea of matching tattoos (halfway as a joke - you could hardly imagine straight-laced, devoted Anisa with a tattoo) as the two of you are lying in bed one night, half-joking, half-asleep.

Her eyes grow wider than you've seen since your first meeting, with her sword basically at your throat as you were magically dropped into her study, when the words pass your lips. You almost want to take it back, but it's too late.

Luckily, Anisa doesn't refuse at first, she just has some...concerns.

Can she even have tattoos with her knight uniform? What if her mother sees? What would it even be, anyways?

You explain to her that it would mean a lot to you, since she can't really wear jewelry with her uniform, but you respect her decision if that's not what she wants, and she's taken aback. You really care for her this much.

Once she comes to terms with the idea, she's fully on board.

She spends hours talking with you about placement (Don't you think X would hurt more than Y? What do you think) and designs. Anisa attempts to draw some herself, but all you can make out from the papers she hands to you are stick figures and vague nature scenes.

Still, you love the way her green eyes light up when she talks about her thoughts with you. She looks so excited, you look forward to her explaining the symbolism behind each pen stroke in the designs she makes.

Anisa also personally makes it her goal to find a tattoo artist for the two of you. She practically interviews every artist in Porrima until she settles on someone "decent" for the two of you.

At the appointment she's as nervous as she is excited. You remind her that you don't actually have to do this, that it's fine to back out or just wait, but despite her knees bouncing and her grip on your hand she remains steadfast - even getting tattooed first.

I feel like Anisa would be a little sentimental about the tattoo, so whatever she agreed on would have to have some meaning to the two of you. I like to think the two of you would get a tattoo of each other's weapons as a reminder that you're always together and will always fight for each other, but again I think she'd be open to whatever. I imagine the matching weapons tattoo as looking something like this:

Sage Lesath

Sage has been trying to convince you to get a matching tattoo with him since the beginning of your friendship. He definitely got at least one with Lucan, but that's another story.

As your friendship progressed into more, the requests increased in frequency.

Each time the two of you passed by some particularly cool-looking or particularly vulgar graffiti in the city, Sage was asking you to picture the image forever etched in ink on your skin. He'd grab your wrist and place your open palm on the part of his body he suggested for placement, eyes dark and half-smirking the entire time.

You remind him that they're permanent, but he shrugs you off every time.

"It's not like you'll live forever - how permanent can it really be?"

One day when he suggests the two of you get the logo plastered across one of his tankards of ale tattooed together, he nearly spits his drink out when you agree with him instead of rolling your eyes or reprimanding him.

Of course, you have some conditions. Nothing found on the walls of an alleyway, no logos, and nothing that'd make the others cringe if they found out about it.

Sage immediately offers a dozen slurred, half-baked ideas, and you add another stipulation: nothing he comes up with while he's drunk. This doesn't get him to stop offering suggestions, or course, but at least you've laid out your boundaries.

You half hope Sage would've forgotten your promise in the morning, but the first thing he says to you the next morning is to pick a design because he's already got an appointment lined up for later in the evening.

Whatever the design is, Sage is just thrilled at the idea that you would want to do something like this with him. It makes his heart swell, to know that you care to much for him to agree to something like this.

I like to imagine the two of you get something a little less "serious" or "meaningful", but that it still means a lot to the both of you regardless. Like, while Sage is telling you about an elaborate (and purposefully ugly) design he'd like the two of you to get you playfully bite him, leaving an imprint. He stares at it for a moment and makes up his mind then and there that's what he wants. So, I imagine the two of you get matching tattoos of each other's bite marks (something like this):

Rime Solano Varela

For the life of me, I can't imagine the circumstances that would have to transpire for Rime to agree to get matching tattoos with anyone.

They just don't seem like his style. I think he'd value the sense of individuality that tattoos can give, so the idea of getting one that's the same as or similar to someone else's doesn't sit right with him. This is further amplified by the fact that you share stole his relic, friends, and all but his life.

But whether he likes it or not, the two of you are inextricably linked. Much like his promise to Felix all those years ago, it appears that neither fate nor the stars can keep the two of you apart.

Rime isn't sure how he feels about this fact, but it remains a fact nonetheless.

So, because I can't think of a better scenario, the two of you are probably drunk. Neither of you is sure who suggested it, but you both blame the other for the idea anyways. You lightly insult each other over this, but there's no teeth behind the insults.

At first he tries to hide it, but over time he gets used to the idea of having a matching tattoo with you. After all, the two of you will remain linked for the rest of your lives - what's a bit of ink attesting to that fact?

I imagine that the two of you would get something nature-themed, partly because of the irony that the two of you are perhaps the most unnatural things in Astrea. I like to think something like thistles or other thorns would be a good fit (because you're the thorn in his side - at least in the beginning of your relationship) - something like this:

[roseluwakcoffee]

Apparently I have autism so now Kyoko has autism. Sorry I don't make the rules, I just enforce them

Assorted Kyoko headcanons below:

(Sorry for the double-bullet point formatting. Tumblr refuses to put Regular spaces between bullet points and it would be hard to read otherwise)

        

First of all Kyoko has no idea she has autism until she's an adult. I don't think her grandfather even considered it when she was younger

        

Since she lived with him since she was 6, her special interest is in detective work. She also genuinely loves mystery stories outside of that

        

Also she says she’s secretly passionate about coffee, which she must’ve picked up from her grandfather. She probably has particular brands she prefers and has her own coffee maker because it’s her lifeblood, and can give a full analysis on whatever cup she tries if you ask

        

I can’t confirm but it seems like Kyoko doesn't have any friends at the all-girls school outside of Yui in DRK when she's 13, so yeah. Probably kept to herself for most of her time in school as a kid because she wasn't encouraged to make friends, and her main focus was on becoming a detective

        

This definitely leads to her talking to everyone like they're an adult coworker, regardless of age

        

When she first joins Hope’s Peak she barely speaks to anyone unless prompted to. Multiple students probably think Kyoko dislikes them because of that and how direct her responses can be, but she warms up to the rest of the class over the course of the months and some mandatory group activities

        

And she doesn’t like small talk, like she says in-game. I feel like she was raised thinking there had to be a clear point to conversations, and gets actively frustrated/confused when people try to talk to her about meaningless things

        

Even though she came to Hope’s Peak just to settle things with Jin, she avoids him like the plague and barely speaks to him the whole first year. Every time she considers it she realizes that’s a lot of emotional baggage and does not know how to deal with it, so avoids it entirely instead. During the break she has more time to think and over the course of the second year, they're on speaking terms

        

She stims without really knowing it. When her hands are free she's either fiddling with her braid, her sleeves, or thumbing over the studs on her gloves. She also bounces her leg sometimes if she's working at her desk

        

And her hands. First of all in DRK it does say her nerves weren't damaged, luckily. But look with how scarred they still visibly are in DR1 and the fact that she was caught in a literal explosion I call BS. I imagine there's some permanent damage and the gloves help deal with the sensitivity

        

She probably deals with random pains and involuntary movements that get better over the years, but still deal with occasionally dropping/knocking over things

        

She can do most things fine, but writing can be difficult/painful. She still feels the need to take notes on anything important, so that doesn't stop her, but her handwriting is slightly hard to read unless she writes slowly. When she's older she probably figures out it's easier to use a computer

        

She hates any sort of loud or sudden noise. Just in general I think she loves being in silence and finds it comforting, but usually uses quiet music when she’s working. (Once she gets her hands on some noise-canceling headphones tho… she’ll never take them off and you might never hear from her again)

        

She really likes the dark too. Like in her own house she would hardly have the lights on when she isn’t reading or working bc she loves sitting in the void, it’s just relaxing

        

And she gets real attached to her personal belongings. She doesn’t own much but keeps the things she gets forever. Gifts are like prized possessions to her. And even with things like her work shirts, she will be personally hurt if one of them gets stained or torn. As soon as she can fix it she’ll calm down but she’s very protective of her stuff

        

She takes getting hurt or betrayed very seriously too. Even just opening up to someone is a big step, so if she trusts you and you break it the rejection sensitivity hurts bad. She’ll get very upset and shut down emotionally, completely avoiding you until she can process her feelings (Like did u see how she treated Makoto for keeping one thing to himself once she didn’t even wanna eat in the same room with him at breakfast)

        

She hates crowds and loud spaces, she finds them both overwhelming and irritating and will not hesitate to find a way to leave or step out for a while if she can. If she needs to she’ll endure them anyway but anyone who knows her does not expect her to stay long at most events

        

And she finds the heat unbearable. She will complain internally if it's anything above 80 degrees, and it probably makes wearing her gloves uncomfortable. (Also when Makoto mentions how humid it is in the garden room she immediately says it's pretty uncomfortable and leaves)

        

She loves the cold tho, like she actively enjoys snowy weather and looks forward to it every year. And in general she keeps her room at like icebox temperatures

        

She admits she likes plain cereal for breakfast already so… I don’t need to elaborate. Kyoko probably has like five meal options she cycles between but basically still eats the same thing everyday. Especially if she lives on her own I think she has no idea how to cook beyond anything w basic instructions so she’ll buy 20 packs of something premade or microwaveable and hope it’ll last her some weeks

        

Also Kyoko gets so offended when you ask if she likes cup ramen and she says the thought of it makes her ill so… probably certain kinds of tastes and smells she cannot handle(Edit: Like coriander. Whether that's cilantro or the spice is up to your imagination!). Like she mentions being sensitive to fragrances so perfumes probably give her a headache if they’re too strong

        

And I think she does the thing of always looking like she frowning slightly about something, but not because she’s upset, just because there’s always some slightly uncomfortable sensation outside the comfort of her room. Either that or a blank stare, depending on her mood

Thats it. If you somehow made it to the end of the post, congrats and thank you for listening to my kyoko thoughts!

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Ok this isn’t directed at anyone or any fandom — also I actually can’t scroll my dash at the moment so forgive me if this has been discussed lol — but as someone who has a healthy interest in pop culture and the entertainment industry but doesn’t follow any fandom other than Taylor’s, and even at that only in a very curated niche of it, but is it really plausible that Taylor is directly targeting Billie or any other artist with her releases?

I find it really hard to believe a voice memo album repackage only sold on her website or a single remix would make that much of an impact on her numbers or other artists. Obviously they’re released for a reason and every bit helps and it’s to help maintain the momentum on the charts, but I would just be genuinely surprised if those alone could be enough to block another artist’s anticipated release.

To me, releasing bonus content/remixes/whatever a few weeks after an initial release seems to be pretty par for the course not just for Taylor but for many pop artists. I feel like I hear of so many who will release an acoustic or remix version or special limited time offer vinyl or whatever when numbers start to stabilize or decrease to keep charting for a little while. It doesn’t seem to my like Taylor’s schedule for TTPD is especially different from Midnights was, for example, and I don’t think much of it differs from what many pop acts are doing these days either.

If anything I think Taylor has held back considerably for TTPD. Not out of any kind of magnanimity or charity or anything, but just because I’m assuming that’s what feels right for her at the moment. A month or two ago so many people complained about how she was doing no promo for the album release. All she did, save for a couple of short teasers on social media, was release her album. No press, no interviews, no appearances. Aside from surprise dropping the album a la folklore, I don’t really know what else she could have done to be inconspicuous. And even with that, her album still went number one. I don’t think that’s out of any kind of Machiavellian scheming, I think she’s just that huge at the moment that anything she does is going to be news and going to be eaten up.

Yes, the limited time drops of merch on her website are annoying and sure the differing bonus tracks on her variants can be annoying, but again, it’s nothing other artists aren’t doing themselves. She had 5 variants of her album. Billie and Olivia and plenty of others easily double that. (And I’m not knocking them for that, I’m saying it’s normal for their industry and everyone does it.)

I’ve seen comments on non-tumblr spaces about how Taylor is stepping on the necks of other artists (like Billie) and I just don’t see how? She’s doing typical music business stuff and it doesn’t even seem particularly aggressive. Super aggressive would be releasing more signed physicals or a new variant with a different song or releasing The Anthology on physical or some other move that would appeal to the collector instincts in fans and drive raging capitalist tendencies. A couple of voice memos and a remix hardly seem like they’d make enough impact to significantly block also-big artists like Billie who are Grammy winners with huge fan bases themselves.

Taylor’s just so huge now that anything she does is going to loom large. Think about how Cruel Summer because a massive hit four years after it was released just by sheer streaming strength, and that was thanks to Eras piquing people’s interest. Taylor released a brand new double album in the middle of the biggest tour in the world and changed her set list to make it one of the most theatrical spectacles on social media at the moment. TTPD is kind of assured staying power for the foreseeable future for that alone. (Not to mention the increased interest in her personal life of late probably increasing streams of her music a tiny bit too. That’s probably an unfortunate byproduct of her fame, but when news drops I’d bet it does cause a brief spike.)

It’s not that I think Taylor does things purely out of the goodness of her heart or for artistic merit alone; I know she’s a shrewd businesswoman and I know she cares about charts and markers of success. I just don’t think she’s deliberately targeting other artists in some sort of feud. I’d bet she had her release plan pretty much pencilled in months ago, before anyone else’s releases were in the radar. This is chess, not checkers. Her imperial-level success at the moment does not mean she has to strategically cut off anyone else at the knees; it’s that she’s the closest thing we have to monoculture at the moment and she’s just everywhere whether she wants to be or not. She can make nearly zero effort to push the album and it’s still going to be number one. And the popularity will probably last through the summer thanks to Eras and the interest online.

So is the answer that she’s supposed to step aside for other artists? Is it unfair of her to occupy the national consciousness so pervasively? I genuinely don’t know though my gut instinct is no. No one would say that about other number one artists, but very few top artists are at her level of achievement at the moment. (I’d guess Beyoncé is probably her only contemporary in that regard right now.) I would very much bristle against that notion, because again, I don’t think anyone would tell any other artist that they’ve “had their turn” and should stop pushing their album so that someone else can have a shot. But Taylor is at such a level that even the most otherwise successful artists might struggle to overtake her for the time being.

And again in this specific case this week, we’re not talking about an indie act struggling to break through to their first big hit being struck down by Goliath. Billie is a multiple Grammy and Oscar winner! Her song was in one of the biggest movies of the year that dominated pop culture all summer! She is a headliner at festivals! She may not be quite at Taylor’s level of fame and numbers because no one is, but she has a huge fan base of her own! And I’m not pitting them against each other at all because I listen to her and Olivia and all kinds of current pop acts! My point is that Billie’s work speaks for itself as does her album release, just like Olivia and Dua and whoever else is releasing albums these days. At a certain point people need to step back and consider what is deliberate and what is just current industry trends that the pop acts in particular have to follow to get the numbers they want on the Billboard charts.

Maybe I’m completely wrong and maybe this is all a targeted plan to block other artists from taking over Number 1. But if I had to guess I really would think that at this point Taylor knows she’s going to dominate the charts no matter what she does — which is why she doesn’t have to make too many public moves anymore. Her fame and her work do it for her. I don’t doubt these extra drops help boost her numbers and there’s some sort of calculated reason why they come out when they do, I just don’t think that reason is “specifically block x person from beating me”. It’s probably more “try to maintain x sales” which at her level may de facto beat the next person behind her because she’s near untouchable, but the reasoning behind those actions is not the same, if you get what I mean.

It just all seems to be yet another point to villainize her for just doing her job and living her life, when at worst she’s just doing what everyone else is doing to play the system they all adhere do. It feels like another attempt to dehumanize her and turn her into this avatar for all of pop culture’s ills, ascribing her these Wicked Witch tendencies, when her team’s job, like all popular musicians’, is to make sales. It’s not that I think she’s some benevolent artist who doesn’t care because I’m sure she does, but I just find it really hard to believe the driving force is impeding other musicians as opposed to just maintaining her own sales. Perhaps the system is broken that any other act has trouble penetrating her dominance at the moment, and that’s another conversation, but if it were anyone else at this level of dominance right now, I’m positive none of these conversations would be happening to begin with.

[beecreeper]

For the Tav ask game: 4, 12, and 91 😊

~ @bardic-perdita 💜

Answering for my durges as well because why not!

Long answers under the cut

4. Is there a reason why your Tav starts out as Level 1?

Briar and Ferox both got a hard reset from Orin's attack and getting dissected by Kressa.

Molli just genuinely is level one. She never got the chance to be a proper bard before she got confined, having only basic bard skills. Gortash only let her play an instrument as a very occasionally metered out reward, so she wasn't able to develop past where she was before. Though, she often sang or hummed to herself and practiced the fingerings for notes in the air to pass time/dissociate, so that was enough to keep her skills *at* level one. Her warlock powers she got while on the nautiloid so those are brand new.

12. How does your Tav feel about Us? Did they free them, maim them or leave them behind?

Briar crushed Us immediately lol very much a tone setter for her run.

Molli's state of mind upon waking up was very much "there is so much happening right now that I am just. Not going to process any of it on a conscious level right now." Making her way around the ship in a confused haze and so disconnected from reality that she hardly registered just how terrifying everything was until after the fact. All this to say that, yes she helped Us out. She was honestly just grateful to have any direction at all. "Help us" and "Go to the helm" are much more concrete and digestible ideas than... everything else. When she meets Us again at Moonrise she gets attached to it immediately because it's *like them* 🥺

Ferox also freed Us, more out of idle curiosity than anything. Kinda compromised with his urge which really really wanted him to mutilate that corpse. Like, his urge was telling him to stick his hands in there and the front of his mind kinda backdoor justified that as "I guess I want to help take this brain thing out. Why else would I want to stick my hands in a corpse? That's the only logical reason here good job Ferox 👍" Once Us was out and started talking, he a) was kinda weirded out ngl and b) decided to follow it anyway because it was his best lead on what was going on. I haven't gotten him to Moonrise yet so I'm not 100% sure what his reaction will be to meeting it again.

91. Does you Tav get a happily ever after?

I really love to write both good and bad endings for my characters (thank you Arcana fandom for burning the concept of upright and reversed endings into me). So, yes!

Molli is the one with the clearest happy ending. In her good timeline, she defeats the brain and goes to Avernus with Karlach, where I INSIST that they find a way to fix her heart. They also have to chop off her warlock arm to break her pact but don't worry about that. 😊 Anyway, after that, they come back to Baldur's Gate, get rich selling all the rare hell stuff they've accumulated, get married and retire together. They buy a tavern, but they don't, like, run it. They hire someone else to actually do the managing part and they just hang out with patrons whenever they aren't off having eccentric retired lesbian vacations. They name their tavern "The Mockingbird and Goat."

Ferox will ALSO be getting a good ending but it's not as solidly planned in my head. The part I know for sure for sure is that he rejects Bhaal and then takes up a new Oath of Devoation and dedicates himself to actually being the paladin he's always wanted to be. Probably gonna join Lae'zel in her war against Vlaakith but there's a chance I could be swayed to something different when I actually play through it.

And then Briar's endings are... well okay they're both bad. On one hand she gets everything she wants and takes over the world in Bhaal's name, which *she* likes but is pretty bad for everyone else (and also it ultimately makes her feel hollow in the end but she doesn't know why and she would never admit it even to herself). On the other hand, she gets talked into rejecting Bhaal (thanks Sunflower!) but just feels so so so *empty* afterwards. She feels *nothing*. She has *NOTHING*. She just peaces out to be a weird reclusive mushroom hermit and never talk to anyone ever again. She also resurrects Gortash's body as a mushroom zombie and takes it with her, though she doesn't really know why. It just FEELS right.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Interpersonal Chapter 13

Phone calls, parties, and Oncie's inner badass comes out to play.

TW: There's a creepy guy being creepy. He doesn't get a chance to do anything, but he does say some uncomfortable shit. Starts at "As you resist the urge to kick your shoes off"

You didn’t think, when taking a new job, that you’d still be going to your old office everyday, and yet, that’s where you find yourself. Since your new workplace is so close, you’d made it a habit to walk over and join Onceler for lunch. Walking through the halls brought a sense of familiarity to you. The only thing different now is that, no matter what, you always get stares whenever you come, even though it had been a couple months since the news broke, but even those stares didn’t bother you much. You’d learned to block it out.

You enter his office without a second thought. He’s on his phone fuming at someone, but that hardly fazes you anymore; he’ll calm down as soon as he sees you. And right on cue, as he looks up, his expression softens, he mutters a “Just get it done, I have to go,” into the phone, and meets you in the middle of the room where he wastes no time kissing you.

“People are driving me insane today,” he pouts as the two of you make your way over to his desk.

“What brand of insane?” you ask idly. He loves to complain about work, but he’s rarely ever wanting a solution, just an ear to listen, and you’re happy to provide.

“Incompetence,” he sighs. “Is it really that hard to calculate sales numbers? I can do it myself, so why am I paying other people to do it wrong?”

“Because you always say you don’t have time to do it yourself,” you remind him, not bothering to suppress a smile.

He narrows his eyes in fake annoyance. “Stop being right. I wanted to complain for a while longer,” he teases.

“Now why would you want to waste time complaining when I can think of quite a few other uses for your lips?” As you speak, you slowly approach his chair until you’re straddling him, and lean down to capture his lips with yours. He’s only too happy to respond, running one hand up and down your back while the other threads itself through your hair.

You’d be quite happy to stay like that the rest of your lunch hour, but all too soon his phone rings, causing him to pull away, looking even more irritated than before. “Son of a…” he grumbles. “I told him I didn’t want to take calls during my lunch. This better be important.” He grabs the phone and barks out his usual “What?” before his face immediately blanches. “How the hell did you get this number?” he shouts, his voice an octave higher than normal.

You put your hand on the side of his face to gently turn it towards you, the question clear in your expression. He mouths the words ‘my mother,’ at you, and your own eyes widen. You hold your hand out hesitantly, though you don’t want to talk to her either, but he brushes you off.

“Well he wasn’t supposed to put you through,” he’s saying. “And I don’t care what sob story you give me, I’m not sending you money… oh, sure it’s not about money,” he snorts. “Then what could it be about?”

You’re holding his free hand, running your thumb over his knuckles to help in any way you can, when he suddenly squeezes your hand very tight. “They aren’t rumors,” he growls. “I did confirm them. Yes, I’m dating her. And I advise you to choose your next words very, very carefully.”

Oh. So you were what had prompted this call. Lovely.

“Oh my God,” he mutters, sitting back and closing his eyes. His tone has gone from annoyed to exasperated. “Yes, she’s the one you met… I’m aware you didn’t like her, but that was just because she was doing what I told her to do… I was in the room the whole time, I was hiding under the desk.”

There’s a pause, then a loud shriek that even you can hear pierces the room. Onceler holds the phone as far away from his body as he can, a look of sheer disgust on his face, until it quiets down. “You done?” he deadpans before turning beet red a moment later. “No I did not knock her up! Don’t bother me again!” he shouts, throwing the phone back onto the receiver with a slam.

“I’m going to kill him,” Onceler growls as he stands up. “I fucking told him that I don’t want to take any calls from her–”

“Baby, why don’t you let me take this one?” you suggest, putting your hand on his chest so he’ll sit back down. “It was just an honest mistake, okay? I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” You give him a quick peck on the lips and dart over to your old office before he has a chance to change his mind.

You know for a fact he probably did not mention to his new PA that he didn’t want calls from his family. He kept forgetting that since the poor kid was new, he was not going to run things the way you did. So, occasionally, you stepped in to keep the peace.

You stick your head in and see the kid at his computer. He’s very young, just out of high school. “So, I know he didn’t say anything, but don’t put through calls from his family,” you warn him. The kid jumps; he clearly didn’t know you were there.

“He doesn’t want to talk to his own mom?” he asks uncertainly. “Not ever?”

“Not ever,” you confirm. “Actually, here.” You grab a sticky note and a pen from his desk and scribble down the names of Onceler’s immediate family members. “If any of these people call asking for him, lie and say he’s busy. And if they say they’re here, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing or who he’s with, interrupt and give him a head’s up,” you instruct. “And I don’t care what he’s said–”

“Your instructions override his. I remember,” he finishes wearily.

“Good,” you smile before heading back into Onceler’s office, where he’s still reeling from the phone call. “There. All taken care of. Won’t happen again,” you reassure as you sit on his lap.

He still glares at his phone. “I thought for a second she might have been calling because of my birthday,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I guess I should know better than to get my hopes up at this point.”

You bolt upright and stare at him. “You’re going to tell me I misheard you. Today isn’t your birthday, is it?”

“It’s Saturday,” he grimaces.

“Oncie,” you complain. “Why didn’t you tell me? We need to go out, do something special. I don’t know what you could possibly want, or what I could get, but we could have a date night, just the two of us.”

The entire time you’re talking, he looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon. “I don’t like my birthday,” he mumbles. “Mostly because… okay, don’t kill me, but you remember that gala?”

“Yes?” You have a sneaking suspicion where this is going, but you’ll let him finish just in case you’re wrong. God, you hope you’re wrong.

“My birthday parties are a lot like that every year because that’s what people expect of me,” he winces. “I don’t like doing it, but there’s some people I need to keep in the good graces of. And if I try to do something private, they’ll see it as an insult, which is stupid but true, and if i keep it small, they’ll be awkward, so I can’t really do what I want, because if I had it my way, I really would just want to spend the day with you I promise–”

“Oncie!” you say loudly, cutting off his rambling. “It’s okay. I’ll go with you if you want me there.”

“I want you there more than anything,” he sighs, tension immediately leaving his shoulders. “Are you sure though? This would be very public.” He doesn’t say the words explicitly, but the implication is there: the press will have a presence.

You let out a huff of air. You definitely don’t want them there, but… “I mean, we can’t avoid them forever,” you point out, both to him and yourself. “I figured you’d still be taking me to any events, and we’d have to deal with them there too, unless you want to take him,” you tease, jerking your thumb towards the PA office.

Onceler pulls a face at that. “God, no. I only put that in your job description so I wouldn’t have to go alone if I didn’t want to, and then I only actually took you because I liked you. I specifically took that out when hiring this time. I can hardly handle a regular work day with him. I can’t imagine any extra time.” He pouts at you. “I hate HR laws. I liked you better.”

“I worked for you better than anyone else you’re ever going to find because I learned your quirks because I had a crush on you,” you answer smoothly. “Obviously, our personalities just meshed, and I don’t particularly want you to find what we have with anyone else. And I really hope you prefer dating me rather than having me work for you.”

“I mean, having you work for me and fucking you on the side was nice,” he says with a wicked grin. You narrow your eyes, but there’s no venom in your gaze since you can tell he’s clearly joking. “Anyway, even though I want to keep you, you should probably get going. I don’t want to make you late.” He gives you one last kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur before leaving, lost in your thoughts on the way back. As much as you do want to be there to celebrate and support him, you couldn’t deny you were nervous about Saturday. If you were under scrutiny the last time you saw some of these people, that was nothing compared to how you were going to be judged as his girlfriend.

But, as you’d said yourself, you knew this was going to come at some point. And now was that time. You were going to stand by his side where you belonged. No one was going to take that from you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday morning found you waking up to an empty bed. This didn’t faze you; despite how heavy of a sleeper he was, his body also operated on a near-perfect sleep schedule–he woke up at almost the same time every day. On weekends, when you preferred to sleep in, he’d usually go downstairs and have breakfast ready by time you woke up.

You wander over to the dresser and throw on one of his shirts when you see a note on top of it. Curious, you pick it up and read through it quickly.

Darling,

I had to leave early to get some things set up for tonight. I’ll be back around six to pick you up. Oh, and I have someone coming at three to help you get ready. I’ll see you tonight.

Love, O

Your first reaction is to feel a hot streak of anger shooting through you–did he not think you could get ready on your own, or that you'd embarrass him or something? But you force yourself to swallow the initial feeling down and think about this more rationally.

He knew you could do this on your own. He’d seen you do it before. You remind yourself that this was the way he showed affection, and that most women liked having someone else do their hair and makeup and whatnot. He wasn’t trying to be malicious. He knew you weren’t looking forward to this and was trying to help in the best way he knew how.

You are disappointed he’s not here though. You were hoping to spend a few hours with him alone, before anyone else had a chance to intrude on your happiness. Instead, now there was nothing to do but wait.

At three on the dot, the doorbell rings, sending an echoing all throughout the house. You hasten to open the door, expecting to see one person. You’re not expecting a whole parade of people carrying clothing bags and what looks like entire suitcases of hair and makeup supplies. At the front of the group is a short woman who looks like she’s directing everything.

“Hello, miss!” she greets when she sees you. “Where am I setting up?”

“Um, through here I guess,” you mutter, totally nonplussed as you lead them to the sitting room. She starts unpacking her things immediately while you just stand there awkwardly.

Eventually, everything is put in place, and mercifully, everyone leaves except the one woman. “Sorry about all that, but I do like to make sure I’m ready before I start, and more hands make everything go faster,” she smiles. “My name is Mara. Shall we start with picking out a dress so I have an idea of what colors to use?”

“Oh… I was just going to wear a blue dress I have,” you mumble, rubbing your arm. Mara just smiles patiently. 

“The one you wore to the Woods gala?” she inquires. You nod, not bothering to ask how she knows that. “While that one was lovely, I’ve been in the game long enough to know people will be expecting to see you in something different. Mr. Onceler did pay for a dress for you tonight, so I’ve brought a few.”

This was way more than you were expecting, but you go along with it. At least that explained the clothes bags, which Mara starts to unzip to show them to you. Most of the options are a little too fancy for your tastes. You didn’t particularly want a super full skirt, anything too bright, or glitter. 

Finally, she shows you a simple but show-stopping emerald number. It was a similar style to your blue sheath, with a slit up one leg and a low back (which you knew he would very much appreciate), but everything above the waist was lace. You usually wouldn’t consider green, but it was his birthday, and it was much more muted than the shade he usually wore. He’d love you in it, you were sure.

“That’s it,” you tell Mara, who compliments you on your choice. The hard part over, she has you sit and does your hair and makeup with careful precision, keeping everything mostly light so you’ll still be the “centerpiece” as she calls it.

You’re in the washroom putting on a couple pieces of jewelry when you hear him return home. You slip into a pair of gold heels and rush out to meet him.

He’s talking to Mara, but his head swivels to you when you enter the room. His jaw immediately gets slack in the middle of a sentence and his eyes go wide as they restlessly roam up and down your body. You smirk to yourself. This was exactly the reaction you’d been hoping for. “Do I look alright?” you ask, just to mess with him.

“Uh huh,” he nods, seemingly incapable of getting any actual words out. He then clears his throat and shakes his head slightly, as if to clear his mind. “You look gorgeous,” he says earnestly. “Ready to go?” he asks, offering his arm to you.

“As much as I will be,” you decide, slipping your hand in the crook of his elbow before sending a quick “Thank you,” in Mara’s direction. He leads you out of the house to a car, one that he’s not driving, which is a little strange. Ever since you’d started dating, he’s chosen to drive the two of you around.

“I don’t want to deal with parking,” he answers your unasked question as he holds the door to let you climb in first. You suppose that’s fair. You get comfortable, but the second the car starts moving he pulls you close to him. “Who decided on the green?” he whispers in your ear.

You couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips if you had tried. “That was me. Happy birthday, love,” you grin cheekily, causing a sharp intake of breath from him.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me. You know that?” he asks before twisting one hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and pulling you forward to kiss you with a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl coming from the back of his throat. You’re only too happy to kiss him back (thankfully there’s a barrier between the two of you and the driver) until the car comes to a stop, when you hastily pull away and silently thank Mara for the fact that she’d given you transfer-proof lipstick.

Onceler gets out first. “Wait for me,” he murmurs, so even though you don’t love it, you stay still until he makes his way around the car to open your door for you. You know why he’s doing it; even in the brief moment when his own door was open, you saw the lights of flashing cameras and heard the cacophonous noise of a thousand questions all being asked at once.

At least you don’t have to wait long; he’s at your door very quickly. You take his proffered hand to let him help you out of the car before taking his arm again and do your best not to look completely out of place.

Just as you expect, the cameras go mad once again, and it’s even more disorienting than it was at the gala. You’d be lost if he wasn’t here acting as a lifeline. “Just pretend they aren’t here,” he bends down to whisper in your ear. “They aren’t allowed inside, so this will all be over soon.”

You nod and smile up at him, and continue to allow him to guide you. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to this, but it was a sacrifice you knew you’d be making when getting into a relationship with him. You were happy to make it when he was the prize, because your relationship was quite literally one of the best things that had ever happened to you.

The hard part will be keeping our kids away from all of this. The thought floats to the front of your mind unbidden, startling the ever loving fuck out of you. You’d never talked about having kids with him before. It was much too soon to start thinking about that, and besides, you were both only in your early-to-mid twenties. You didn’t even know if he wanted kids. Hell, you didn’t even know if you wanted kids. It certainly wasn’t a deal breaker either way.

“You okay?" he asks the second you get inside and are able to steal a moment alone. “You have a weird look on your face.”

You force the out-of-nowhere thoughts out of your head and go back to the present moment. You didn’t want to potentially ruin an already stressful night by bringing up such a delicate subject. “I’m just fine,” you assure him. “Just not sure I’ll ever get used to all that attention.”

“I know,” he winces as you step into an elevator. “I’m sorry. You know I’d take it all away if I could.”

“It’s alright, baby,” you smile. “You know I think you’re worth it.” You press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Where are we going? I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”

“Roof,” he says as the elevator stops and opens its doors, and sure enough, you’re on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in Thneedville, and it’s already packed with people.

Right away, there’s a major difference between this party and the gala: everyone is clamoring to talk to Onceler. And not only do they want to talk to him, but plenty of them want to talk to you as well. No longer are you just his silent arm-candy, you’re actually having conversations with these people and desperately hoping you’re not embarrassing yourself.

Some people, mostly the fashion designers, want to sell you things, some people are curious to see, as one model so eloquently put it “the girl who finally captured his attention,” (which made you wonder how many of these people had tried to date him) and only a very small number actually seemed genuinely interested in just getting to know you a little bit.

He kept you close to him for the majority of the night, but you were separated when he went to grab drinks for both of you. You were sitting down, resting your feet, and assured him it was fine to leave you for a moment, but now that he was gone, you did feel wildly uncomfortable.

As you resist the urge to kick your shoes off, a man takes the seat next to you. He's shorter than you are, with oily black hair and what he clearly thinks is a winning smile plastered on his face. "Um, can I help you?" you ask, wishing Onceler would get back here so you wouldn't have to be alone with this guy for too long.

"Actually, I think I can help you," he says, and you're immediately creeped out by his slimy voice. It suited him, unfortunately, but it also made you dislike him even more. "Theodosius O'Hare," he introduces himself, holding his hand out. You shake it quickly before pulling your hand back with some difficulty, since he'd been trying to kiss the back of it.

"Anyway, I have a great opportunity for you," he winks. You lean back, not caring about appearing rude at this point. You just want to get as far away from him as possible. "Come work for me at my start-up. You don't need to work for him anymore."

"I haven't worked for him for months now," you state bluntly. "You do realize I'm not his PA anymore, right?"

He just laughs. "Of course you're not. Not officially anyway. But we both know you're still working for him, just in a different way now," he says as he leans towards you.

And that was your cue to get the fuck out of Dodge and find Onceler. You scramble backward and run into someone. You turn to squeak out an apology, but to your immense relief, you find him right there, and judging from the fury in his eyes, he's heard that last comment.

"O'Hare," he growls as he wraps one protective arm around you. "Is your wife here?"

"No," O'Hare grunts, now looking at the ground.

"I thought not," Onceler says innocently enough, but you can tell he's only barely keeping his composure. "She's at home with your son, right? You should join them." O'Hare tries to slink by, but as he passes, Onceler grabs the back of his collar with his free hand. "If you ever even think about getting near her again, I'll personally make sure you're a head shorter. Got it?" he hisses before releasing him. O'Hare gulps, then scurries away. You can only hope he's left the party entirely.

You glance up at Onceler, who's taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. "Baby–"

"Come on," he says shortly before he grabs your wrist and pulls you through the crowd. He's not being rough with you, but you've never seen him this angry before. "I'm not mad at you," he says, seemingly reading your mind. "But I do need to be alone with you for a minute."

He leads you inside and down a flight of stairs to a dark, abandoned floor of the building. You're not even sure what this place is usually used for, but he seems to know his way because he quickly finds an empty washroom. 

"Baby–" You're cut off again as he pulls you to him as close as he possibly can, burying his face in your hair. "Hey, it's fine. I'm alright," you murmur while slowly running your own hands up and down his back.

"I'm glad that you're fine, but I'm not," he says, his voice muffled. "It's bad enough to watch people flirt with you. But to say what he did…" he breaks off, shaking with anger. "That was unforgivable. You're mine."

"Yes, I am," you reassure. When he still doesn't emerge from your hair, you pull him out yourself gently, his face in between your hands. "Hey. Look at me." You make sure his eyes are locked on yours before you continue. "I'm yours. And no one is going to change that." With that, you kiss him.

What was meant to be one soft kiss of comfort quickly turns into something much more. Your hands roam over him as he picks you up and sets you on the counter near the sink. You wrap your legs around his waist and kiss him even deeper, the passion that you'd been holding back all night finally exploding from you both in a fiery need.

[khalixvitae]

im currently emulating some visual kei clothing designs myself because my country's currency is pure doo doo butter. i feel like those lady in waitings embroidering away except if they saw the kind of shit i be on they'd prolly burn my ass at stake :\ anyways i need you to think about alt fashion designer!yuu with rookvil poly. the opportunities when you are artistically and autistically gay. TOO much peacocking and TOO much homoerotic lingering gazes and TOO MUCH HOMOEROTIC BRUSHING OF HANDS!!! someone throw them into the washing machine asap

I cannot embroider for shit tbh, but I also love making my own clothes !!! It’s a v rewarding process and also it can be SO HARD to find specific alternative pieces (either that or some brand has co opted the aesthetic and made a piece 50 bazillion dollars or smth).

Furthermore I love the vision anon, but I raise to you: fashion designer!yuu x celebrity models! RookVil. Mc being a popular but niche designer who makes incredible alternative pieces, but in no way is a household name. That is until Rook Hunt and Vil Schoenheit, two absolute juggernauts of the modeling industry, take a keen interest in their designs (and in the artist). Cue custom designs and fittings, RookVil wearing pieces of your work even when off duty (and ofc being photographed by paparazzi), and the two of them taking you to far too expensive “business lunches” where hardly any business takes place. They want to pick your brain, and boy are they good at it. It’s not long before the three of you are close, and none of you really know when it happened. They drag you into this whirlwind of popularity and opulence bit by bit while simultaneously becoming your muses. They want to give you everything. And when They wear your designs to events and whenever they’re asked who they’re wearing, they THOROUGHLY name drop your brand.

[ffearlesscowardd]

Who am I ? (Indian, but North or South..??)

Well weird title huh....! I know and my apologies for that.

I am a mere introvert boy of 18 who is sitting right now in a bus stop and writing my first blog, I guess!.

Well I truly don't know how many audience I will grasp but right now from anywhere in the world's corner you are reading this I will like to say that this blog and the future blogs will be purely my life experiences and traumas which you might also relate in many ways. Well I was kind of frustrated so all of a sudden I got the idea to write my feelings and here I am.

Yeah!! Indian but north or south; many people (mostly readers from India) could have pieced the content of the blog from the title. I still can't digest the fact that why an Indian try to classify other Indian for where they are from, what race they are, what colour they are, what beliefs they have, what culture they have inherited, what type of linguistic features differentiate the other person from them, and mostly WHAT RELIGION THEY ARE.

I still remember an incident where one of my friend back in the days when I was around 15 called me "sala madrasi" (means a person from so called south India in not so friendly and polite way).

So yeah basically for the people who like to classify whether north or south. I am from South. But there ain't a big deal whether you classify or not but it does make a deal when you classify to shame or humiliate a person for how different they are from you.

From my kindergarten school days till my high school days there never went a single day when I was not bullied by classmates for how different I looked or how different I spoke, and that used to upset me a lot. Honestly speaking I used to hide my tears from my parents, and used to cry real hard during night and just asked to god that why you punished me and made me so different, mostly my colour. Honestly speaking I hardly used to have any friends and I hardly have any friends. Well now I am just grateful for what I am!, no complains to god at all.

Looks like my colour was not the only thing they had problem with. They also used to mock the way I used to speak. Well you develop your language skill from your mother, so how good she trains you the good you become. My mom used to teach me my mother tongue so that will not cut of from my own culture and my own people; so even before I spoke hindi i used to speak my own mother tongue, and because of that my tongue in the initial days was developed to speak my mother tongue which lead a really strong accent in my hindi. And also a child grasp how they are taught and my mom used to teach me hindi as well so i learend hindi accordingly. So from my kindergarten till my primary school I used to get bullied for my speaking also.

There were several more things i used to get bullied for and will write about it in the future blogs.

Believe it or not when I say this but 7-12 years are the time when you are so sensitive and get hurt really easily. Once in my primary school time I had a friend and for privacy let's call him wagonR. So wagonR and I were really good friends and have pretty good memories as well (the funniest one being we after dismissal checking the classrooms to find some good loots and while doing he searching a trash can and getting a branded watch.). We were really good of friends and had a lot of fun time together in school. But one day for my night mare wagonR comes to me and was like bro I will not talk to you anymore because my father told me that you should not go and make friends with the wrong sort. I was in standard 3 back then and just imagine how bad a 8 year old would have been hurt by those lines. Well afterwards we never spoke to each other much and I changed the school next year for xyz reasons.

The thing is, wagonR had no problems with me but his father had some problem after he heard that his son had friendship with a weirdo like me. Well I always thought that India is one country but nahhh somewhere or the other the people in India have problem with each other.

Well this all is lead by lack of knowledge and which in fact leads into prejudice. Well for me knowledge is good but half knowledge is dangerous.

But it doesn't mean that all my experiences was bad, and all the time people used to bully me. Their were a few friends who were always fascinated with me and always were eager to learn more about my place and teach me more about their tradition and beliefs. Also there is an incident when my parents needed money and were in crisis, the landlord (a kind and humble man) without even asking, helped financially not even without thinking a second thought. My mother also says that when I was young there used to be bachelor boy in our apartment then, who used to take care of me sometimes when my mother and father both were in work and there was no one to take care of me. She also says that once we had a land lady who treated our whole family has her own and I was like a grandson for her.

There are many cases vice versa where racism and discrimination happens to migrant workers and there family who come to south India also. Just to give you an example there are more than 5 lakh migrant workers in just Kerala from different parts of India like Bihar, Jharkhand, Bengal, UP etc; but all are referred as "Bengalis". Dosen't matter whether you are from Bhaktiyarpur or Assam or Kanpur or Bhubaneshwar. If you are a migrant you will be referred as "bengali".

You will be thinking what is so much in calling someone a Bengali. it might be because majority of migrants come from west Bengal so they might have started calling migrants as Bengali to ease the speaking. But trust me my fellow folk if you made it till here ; they aren't. For many Malayalis (not all) the term Bengali has become a term equivalent to "dome, chamar or musahar" . Well if you don't know what they are then they are the name of some socially backward classes. (Trust me fellow if you are loving this writing then my next writing will be in the topic of sc st's).

In Kerala a stereotypical mentality has struck in many peoples head that the migrant labourers coming to kerala come from very low profile houses or they in past might have committed crimes for which they flee and came as a labour. Some also suggest that their are many who have fleed from Bangladesh and work as an illegal migrant. and because of all these things many labourers are treated not so politely and also sometimes are offered less wages.

Well all the above things I have in past heard from many different people and it's not like every people treat them badly or believe in such things about them. I have mostly heard these from unemployed or local political leaders in different occasions, mostly in tea stalls early in the morning. I have never heard a well educated muttering these things, in fact most of the well educates try to ease their life by donating them and showing love and respect. Also once my heart melted when one of my friend's family was treating a migrant who in their house was working as servant as one of their own. He had a lot of freedom in their house. Similarly the Kerala government also helped lots of migrants during the tough times of covid by providing temporary shelters, food and other accommodations.

SO WHAT AM I TRYING TO PROVE????

Well its all just because wherever people go their will be people who will have some superiority complex and will try to bully people who are from different places. Their naive minds will always think that they are the king in their motherland, and a person from different place will never come equal to him. Again its just mostly because of lack of knowledge or half knowledge or half education.

And sadly in the recent times the judgmental nature of Indians are boosting daily and because of that, many dirty political leaders (I won't blame any party cause every party has good and bad leaders, and does good and terrible jobs) who take this in account and spread hatred openly amongst the poor and mostly illiterate people making their brain washed for just few votes. The political leaders are feeding on hatred and instead being wise and try to put stop which they should do are instead promoting these ideas.

I was bullied a lot because of race and colour in the past, but I should admit the fact that it was mostly children, we were kids at that time so that might not have been that intentional from their side. And even if adults have bullied me it were mostly the unemployed or the over judgmental so called superior people.

It always weakens my heart when I think that how over judgement of a person towards a race or a community can spread hate like forest fire. And believe it or not India is going through lot of hate because of RELIGION. Because people had started developing a frame of mind that

THEIR RELIGION IS SUPERIOR AND IT SHOULD BE "PROTECTED"

-----------------x---------x--------x----------------

Note: I am not targeting any particular community, religion, region, political party, leaders or agendas or belief, so please don't hate because of it. And please don't hurt your sentiments, if i did please email me.

And you can also suggest me or support me by simply mailing me. i will be relying to every single email possible.

Thank you for your valuable 5 mins.

Share if you like and relate to it.

Email: fearlesscowardofficial@gmail.com

~~~Fearless Coward

[valorxdrive]

It was him.

The sight of azure eyes and bronze locks does not detach from the familiar uniform. Hifumi knows that it's him and it is only because of years spent cultivating this mask that she does not grind her teeth, nay even a furrow of a brow to give away the displeasure that her mind dips into.

Drowns in.

TOGO HIFUMI, is a girl of demureness and a budding desire to grow. Beyond the metaverse she is not the intense and cold Nymph that doesn't hesitate to exploit weaknesses, she is not the one that will cripple shadows with debuffs, that makes them FEAR her before she puts them out of their misery.

Hifumi is simply a girl. An ex idol trying to put together the pieces of her life. Striving to navigate a new way to live after a decade of lost experiences beneath a mask that is far too comfortable to be reassuring.

Raising a finger beneath her chin the once idol looked up to the other, sea foam eyes partly shadowed by her fringe.

"Are you….suppose to be a transfer? I don'y believe I recognise you...."

Shujin found itself being thrust with another anomaly. However, it's far from the carved aches made through years of gluttonous policies, in the back deals and clear abuse of the lifeblood populace that frequents these halls, hoping to secure some brand of educational value.

There was a whirlwind that found itself growing through the grapevine of rumors. An individual with a touch too much pep, an energy that makes even the most opportunistic find themselves.. hesitant to sink their claws into them. Even then, there was hardly a means of trying to find anymore intimate details such as his upbringing.

Too many of them were simply focused on the current of this hard working student. Someone who seems a touch too involved when it comes to concern, to the point where it's like they're completely out of the realm of this cultivated nature. This would be the grounds that Sora Taiyou found himself having made his debut. Someone who seems a touch too eager to help, proud to do so, as if the importance of the smaller moment compelled them the most.

Somewhere amidst classroom duties is when he'd come to meet one of the stragglers. In some ways their means of melding in caused them to be a wallflower to Sora, never sticking out, but never seeming miserable from an initial view either. As chalk and erasers were in the process of being cleaned and replaced, it's their note to his existence that causes him to turn, his nose mildly twitchy from the up rise of dust.

"H.. Hmm?" His complexion remains chipper, the thought of their lack of meeting not really being a surprise.

"I am! Just came in pretty recently as a matter of fact. And you really have that much of a concise memory? S'pretty impressive!"

"Or is it the homecourt advantage of growin' up around here?" Sora finds himself open to any angle their story truly doles out.

"Name's Sora! Heheh, hope this boat has enough space for one more classmate here."

@gyokushou

[artseducation2024]

Sydney Cleveland

 11/02/2024 

Dear future art educators, 

This is a great class to take if you like to dive a little deeper into yourself and your interests. There are so many ways you can put your own personal touch on your assignments that bring you pride. The history of quilting is something I have always been interested in but never took the time to actually research. Like many Black Americans, I know little about my lineage and crave more knowledge about where my roots lie. But the art of quilting makes me feel closer to finding my roots.

A little background about me: I have a love for teaching not only fashion, but sewing and construction. It is truly a lost art and carries so much importance in human history. Sewing and construction is more than just trendy fast fashion, I discovered that it can be used to tell stories and advocate for important causes. 

I worked at a non-profit for designers and artists and they opened a pop up on 125th. We had small fashion brands there, some home decor and other art, but hung up on the ceiling were these huge quilts. My boss handed me a paper listing their prices and my jaw dropped; of these quilts were over two thousand dollars! I was curious who would buy them and what made them worth the money. My more knowledgeable coworkers informed me of the deep roots that quilt making has had within the Black community. I was amazed by the history that I learned from a simple square piece of fabric. Over time, I have learned why they were valuable and desirable enough to be in a luxury store.

Dutch, English AND Africans brought their quilt making skills to America at the same time. This a fact that is often overlooked. Most articles only mention the English and Dutch settlers. Slaves were probably making most of these quilts since they did most handy work with textiles. Almost all of enslaved Africans history has been lost and under documented I think historians look over this fact. 

The first quilts were rags made out of necessity. There is hardly any evidence that they even existed because they were worn down so badly. But people still found ways to use quilts creatively even if it was out of necessity. Some people made their deceased loved ones' clothing into a quilt. Slaves escaping to freedom used quilts as a visual queue to spot safe houses and as a map to guide themselves. 

Quiltmaking started to evolve into a social activity to build community and gossip. People courted, gossiped and held political discussions over quilting.  Susan B. Anthony discussed women's suffrage at these events. Eventually the people of Gee’s Bend (previously enslaved, black sharecroppers)  turned their hard labor into profit and community even after they were isolated from the world due to their participation in the civil rights movement. They developed distinct quilting styles because the community was so isolated. Now their work is in museums. 

During the civil rights era the use of quilts to protest and advocate for causes began to rise. Clement Bond advocated for self employment by selling quilts. Faith ringgold used her quilts for activism and to tell her story as a black woman from harlem. She has turned her quilts into published books, like Tar Beach. Her family has quilting roots dating back to slavery. Her mother was a fashion designer. I really identify with her work so much as a black woman, a designer and someone who is trying to be closer to their roots.

[astarab1aze]

[Wound] for Satra, Seraph's cleric training coming in handy

"Ya don't have to do this," he hissed, sitting as still as he could in the moment so Seraph wouldn't have too difficult a time. But it hurt, the gash zigging and zagging its way up his arm from wrist to elbow - a necessary cut, he'd told himself, allowing himself to bleed openly on the battlefield. His family techniques and particular brand of magic were punishing and cruel by nature, very much to his dismay, but it was this unrepentant brutality that allowed him to succeed in any fight that came his way. They're what him an unstoppable force, a threat that couldn't be removed. That was the point, to feel the same pain as those he inflicts it upon, once a means of ensuring a given Shikabane would only use their magic to benefit the family and not cause any undue harm, now a tool of sadism even in death.

And that was all his problem; It was no one else's responsibility to repair the damage done to his body - he would only destroy it again and again and again, later, and perhaps the next time Seraph would not find him in any kind of recognizeable state. Instead, shreds of flesh and organ meat, splattered across tall grass and shrubbery or the piles of corpses dotting the gangrove roots, a bloodstain his own on the landscape that could never quite be washed out. His body would repair itself in time, birthing him anew as if nothing at all had happened to him - the same principle went for minor injuries as the one in his arm, though just because his body could heal itself did not mean the environment or others could be spared the caustic and polarizing nature of his blood. Too many defense mechanisms folded in on each other to create one properly unkillable mage, and quite against his will.

Nevertheless, his curse to bear, and how unfair of him it was to rely on the temporary kindness of a vaguely old friend hardly any better than a stranger to him, leaving aside his natural inclinations toward hospitality. Still, he let Seraph do as he pleased, recoiling here and there under the dragon's touch but otherwise keeping his mouth firmly screwed shut. Gritting his teeth, head turned off to the side, fangs bared, claws digging little holes into his palm. He didn't focus too much on the pain, willing it away, flooding his body with the necessary flow of chemicals, endorphins, numbing- That is, until Seraph tugged a little too hard on just the wrong spot.

Satra let out a wicked roar, guttural growl bubbling up from his core, complaining in all the manners a panther might. The urge to swat and slink away had never been greater, though he did not blame Seraph, knee-jerk reactions notwithstanding. In time, he realized himself, trying his best to listen to the dragon's next instruction to release the tension in his damned arm, nod and apologize through his embarrassment. Lips sucked to his teeth and he hung his head, rounded ears pivoting backward in the time he'd let them show.

"Sorry... Not the best of patients at times. Tis easier if I heal m'self, yanno? Seems like a waste to use anythin' on me when it could be used on someone who really needs it. Not- Not that 'm ungrateful, or anythin'. Does that make sense? Besides, it really hurts!"