#public dollars belong in public schools

[socialjusticeinamerica]

[scottguy]

A strong public education system is at the heart of a strong economy.

Education isn't charity. It's society making sure we have enough engineers, doctors, researchers, and scientists to help us and to discover and invent things that keep America strong.

Poor education = poverty. Poverty is expensive to taxpayers. Education is cheap in comparison.

The rich want a two class system of "haves" versus "have-nots." But soon that will backfire when there aren't enough educated Americans to fill ALL the crucial jobs.

The wealthy 1% of Americans can't possibly be enough to fill 100% of the highly skilled jobs.

(The rich are so short sighted.)

[hopeastrz]

AQUARIUS THROUGH THE HOUSES: where you’re rebellious, the most outstanding and peerless individual.⋆🫐⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🪼♡

CHECK OUT SEPTEMBER SALE: fixed price on any and all of my readings 17 DOLLARS only.

Aquarius is the sign of sudden changes, the sign of unpredictably and where we may feel like we don’t belong or have no desire of following the crowd, that’s why we end up getting repelled by that thing, and find ourselves breaking the rules to make our own path.

NOTE: enjoy this post and don’t forget to reblog, thank you for your support, lots of love xoxo!! ₊˚⊹౨ৎ🩵.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 1ST HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° ON THE AC.

You may have felt the need to constantly change yourself, always have something unique going on, either a new hairstyle, haircut and maybe even naturally you have a unique face, you don’t follow the current fashion style, you have a distinctive sense of style and may prefer to wear vintage things from the past like, wear 90s makeup, or you have a keen eye with you spot trends before they even become a thing. you’re also the type to break traditional beauty standards and public image rules, that may be because you’ve been told and maybe even forced from a young age to act a certain way, project a certain persona of yourself or to possess certain mannerisms, that’s why you hate being picture perfect or just ordinary, you seek uniqueness and rebel in being yourself!, (having pluto on 11th or 10th house may cause that)

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 2ND HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 2ND HOUSE.

Very unique way of handling money, you may have grown fed up with your parents perspective of money for example like: ‘you need to hard work for you money,’ or ‘money is so hard to get that’s why we’re financially unstable’, which stirred this untamed desire within you to challenge it and come up with new ideas to get money, you may work a unique source of money and you may love to keep old antiques!.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 3RD HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 3RD HOUSE.

You have always felt that you don’t belong in your community, your school (you’ve been unlike your peers, you didn’t follow them, which may have resulted in you being bullied or becoming a loner), or the place you grew up in aka your community and your place on the social pyramid, that’s why you took the matters in your own hands and sooner or later you’ll have this urge to change everything, you may feel this need to climb up your social status which could result in you moving to a rich neighborhood for example, change your environment entirely. You may also be the most unique sibling, they may be your step siblings or you just don’t look like them!.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 4TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 4TH HOUSE.

You didn’t want to follow your family’s path for you it seemed, you didn’t want to be like them or you just wanted to be very unique, your mother may have had some expectations for you but you didn’t want to even meet them. This placement may be prominent in the charts of new money wealth makers, you may change your family status drastically, and you may not want to be dependent on them or their resources.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 5TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 5TH HOUSE.

Very distinctive talents, you date the most unique people and maybe even have a very distinctive taste, you go to many underrated artists concerts, visit unique or unknown places during your vacations and also have some real different interests.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 6TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 6TH HOUSE.

You have a unique routine or a specific lifestyle, your parents may have been chaotic, which made you seek discipline in your life, or very strict which made you seek freedom, either way you have a very unique routine in the gym and in your daily life!, also you may have some unique pets and work ethic!, you may be known as the most creative one between your coworkers.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 7TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 7TH HOUSE.

You are uniquely independent, the most distinctive partner, someone who came to break marriages stereotypes of your family or this generation!, you may hate the idea of codependency,having a traditional partner or relationship, which may result in you preferring not to marry at all!, there’s just something about marriages that you see worthless or just unnecessary, and you may prefer to be on your own, your freedom is your one and only love, since you may be traumatized by your own parents marriage. (Scorpio on the 4th house!.)

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 8TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 8TH HOUSE.

Well well, the usual, you may have some unique kinks or sources of income, in other words your job may pay you some money but it won’t be your main source of income, you may know some unique taboo stuff or are interested in some real dark and underrated practices!, you also may be a very unique partner in bed!.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 9TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 9TH HOUSE.

You may feel like you don’t belong to your country, the era you are born in or you may feel very close to another culture than your own. Another thing is that you have been living in another country than the one your parents or you were born in!, I’ve seen this placement occur daily with natives who chose to immigrate and save their families or their own future. Also you may studied a very unique, specific major or went to a unique and underrated university.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 10TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 10TH HOUSE.

Your job is unique, and also your reputation, you may have a very weird and almost taboo public image, which may have nothing to do with the real you!, people say the most flabbergasting things about you, and the rumors you may hear about you make you question everything thing seriously from how bizarre they are lmao, also you may have a unique job of career!.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 11TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 11TH HOUSE.

You’re the most unique one in your friend group, or you just don’t befriend people who look like you, in my head i pictured a group of friends full of rockstars and then there’s you all sunshine and rainbows lmao. You also may have some very rebellious dreams you chase, things that people may feel like they’re impossible for you to achieve!, like to be a millionaire or billionaire!.

AQUARIUS OR URANUS IN THE 12TH HOUSE | AQUARIUS DEGREES 11°, 23° 12TH HOUSE.

You are the most unique when it comes to being spiritual, like these people are the best when it comes to spiritual advice or guidance, your parents may have been so religious or quite the opposite so you had to become spiritual on your own and make your own path, also you guys sleep.. weirdly????, pls stop tossing and turning😭!!.

[lilactwilights]

can’t stop thinking about frat gojo finally catching feelings…

it seems the world turns upside down when infamous frat bro, rich heir and resident fuckboy satoru gojo ends up settling down. 

there’s collective bewilderment that eventually lands into a generalized sense of skepticism because there’s no way him, of all damn people, chooses to waltz around campus with an all caps BOYFRIEND label slapped into his forehead, and so proudly at that.

it seems to come out of nowhere, too.

well, almost.

(you were discreet, just not enough)

you are no strangers. you have some friends in common and turns out people have seen you around him before, orbiting around each other at parties or academic endeavors at uni. you have been caught getting handsy in some dark corner of a party at least a handful of times or shamelessly exchanging spit in the least crowded places on campus in broad daylight.

a little more than a few people have seen you leave with him to god knows where, gingerly climbing up into his car as the party rages on or after you clock off at your part-time job on campus. they have caught you skipping up the stairs of whatever place together or inconspicuously walk towards the least visible bookshelves at an almost empty library, hand in hand.

more than one have noticed you disappear for a while, together, his arm snaked around your waist like it belongs in there and have witnessed you come back with a slight yet telling stagger in your step and gojo’s lazy yet smug million-dollar smile clueing anyone with two brain-cells on what your impromptu absence entailed.

(allegedly, there have been some sightings of both of you in casual strolls at the park, having dinner at a 24/7 place and sharing ice-cream down the riverside, but there’s no enough proof of all that, so to speak)

it doesn’t mean anything. 

because this is nothing more than routine for him, a fleeting adventure for the casual partner in turn and rich entertainment for the eager public consuming tabloids or spreading school gossip. 

you aren’t supposed to stay. you aren’t supposed to last more than a few weeks. if they do get a bit flexible and accept the possibility of whatever you share lasting months –as long as it is on and off, because there’s a past record of that— and even if there are considerably less reports of you two sneaking or hiding around dark in favor of casual sightings in less obscure places, you only become a full-fledged anomaly the moment talks about him referring to you as “his girl” to his team, his fellow frat bros —or whoever, really— start spreading about.

It seems the balance of the universe is a bit off when people notice his following list has decreased considerably and click on it only to find an inconceivable absence of all the usernames linked to whoever he had fucked previously. worse, he creates a whole ass story highlight with your initials and a damn stupid heart and daily spams his stories with every picture of you he seems to have on his gallery, which turn out to be many, for some reason.

or when, during a game, he happens to blow a kiss towards the section you are casually sitting at and seems to look for something after the winning score and practically disregards the trophy and the hands reaching for him in favor of holding you and spin you around, still sweaty and flushed and laughing in a picture-perfect shot that does make it to the school papers and the official university sports account.  

you quickly become the talk of campus. there’s a sentiment that seems to permeate every conversation beyond the usual mix of doubt, jealousy or surprise when you pass by with your hands entwined.

you are surprised when you finally understand it’s pity. 

because the truth is no one believes in satoru. no one believes ‘whatever you have’ will ever work out. why would he willingly tie himself down with anyone that’s not a supermodel or super-rich and throw away all the potential wildness associated with senior year is beyond everyone around you. 

he is not boyfriend material. his track record doesn’t help his case and men like him can never successfully commit at such a young age, less with someone that seems to be so different from him and move around circles he has never stepped foot into. 

within a few days, most people have decided this is an experimenting phase or a half-assed effort to appease the family that’s rumored to be on his ass for all his unsavory rendezvous. the public consensus seems to be that he will get bored and break up with you soon enough after whatever feeling or result he is after is finally on his grasp again. most are already feeling sorry for you, mocking your naivety or criticizing his heartless proceedings. sometimes all three at the same time.

it seems to affect you, somehow. you hate it, but there are days when all of it makes doubt rear its ugly head and the bitter taste of self-consciousness settles in your tongue. no matter how hard you try, you end up closing in yourself, avoiding the avid eyes eating you both up whenever you go out. 

but it’s hard to dwell on all of it when you see who the most fervent believer of your relationship is.

satoru doesn’t seem to be affected by anything. he doesn’t seem to listen to nasty words or ill-intentioned comments, only ever addressing them or shutting them down with a cold fury that only stems from whatever discomfort this provokes on you.

he has always been confident and self-assured and it’s so used to accomplish every single thing his mind has set into. success is on his nature. beyond the privileges and advantages life has gifted him with, satoru is a stubborn, passionate man. his pride is a driving force most of the time and he’ll be damned if the thing he is most proud about doesn’t work out.

because people out there aren’t privy to the late night conversations, the shared jokes and the cosmic compatibility the university blessed you both with. your paths were made to intertwine, he is sure of that. even if all of it started with a stolen kiss and sex that was supposed to be as casual and inconsequential as he was used to, there was no stopping the unexpected evolution of your shared time together. he can list all the things he liked and then loved about you and recount and pinpoint every single moment that lead him to realize that, as cheesy and mortifying as it sounds —or it sounded back then, for him—, you are meant to be.

he wrestled with that notion for months, agonized over the incipient feelings he was not familiar with and avoided even thinking about the implications of a reality he wanted so so hard to run from. but he has never been a coward. he was so close to give up something he hadn’t even tried to reach so he ultimately took a leap of faith. 

he jumped right into an abyss he had never been to but he decided you are worth the fall and whatever landing he is met with.

he knows damn well it was hard for you to trust his spiel and his promises about feelings and about trying and he swore himself that if there ever was the tiniest possibility of this ending in heartbreak it wouldn’t be because of him. 

so he learns and tries and fails sometimes and it’s so damn frustrating for him because he is not used to make mistakes but he has never been in a real relationship before so everything is new to him and so he is forced to take baby steps when all he wants to do is sprint.

he has stars in his eyes when he talks about all the plans he has for you both. he kisses you with hunger and reverence and whispers in your ear all the reassurances you never told him you needed to hear.  he gets overwhelmed when you fuck because, until the sweet heat and warmth of your body, he never knew how it was to mix the fire of primal lust and desperate hunger with the fuel of emotions and vulnerability of so many shared feelings. and god, it’s scary. but he has never felt more satisfied and happy in his life than when you are wrapped in each other during the afterglow. 

he gets a taste of insecurity and experiences scorching jealousy for the first time, because he never had the fear of losing anything or anyone at the hands of someone more understanding or compatible or soft or experienced with feelings than him. until you.

he soon finds out that you can push his buttons and pull at his most sensitive strings like no one has ever done. you hold a power over him and that is as infuriating and terrifying as it is exhilarating. he is forced to walk down a line with careful and measured steps, down a path that is as unknown as it is gratifying. he doesn’t know where it will lead or when it will end –if it even does– or if it will become steep or sinuous or keep being as calm as walk in the park you usually stroll at. 

people tell him he is not mature enough and that this is not meant to last or even be.

but satoru gojo, the infamous frat boy, rich heir and former fuckboy couldn’t give less of a fuck.

everything feels right when he is with you so he will cling to you as long as you will have him, which is hopefully forever.

(actually, he thinks he might be in love with you. but that’s a whole other thing. it might be too soon to address that one.) 

a/n: i LOVE frat gojo. i love when he is a manwhore but i also love to think of him after getting rehabilitated. he would be so WHIPPED because it’s the first time he experiences real feelings. he would be obsessed with his partner, actually. might kinda border on pathological for some and he might scare a few people with how intense he is but, hey, as long as they are both happy. we need more men devastatingly and pathetically whipped.

[cynicalclassicist]

Why do we think that the GOP hates education?

[harrysmileycostume]

Only Alibis

"Here, right here," you instructed your Uber driver a little rudely for your taste. You mentally sighed. You needed to tip a little more generous than usual, and fix your attitude before going in to meet Harry.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of the restaurant and stopped. "Thank you!" you said nicely, opening the car door. "I'll leave a good review," you called, hastily walking into the place while doing just that and tipping $20.

You were late, and Harry wasn't going to be pleased with you. 

You'd had a subpar day, to say the least. You accidentally woke up late for your first class and rushed to lecture only to be handed back a failing essay. You were confused and upset at your mark, but you had another class right after, so you planned to attend office hours later in the week to inquire about it. You tried to brush off the bad morning and focus on your other classes, but you couldn't manage it. You were hungry because you didn't eat breakfast, tired from a rigorous schedule, and nervous about your bad grade. It wasn't like you to fail anything, period. You were a good student.

That was one of the things that attracted Harry to you.

He wasn't going to be happy if he found out.

He also wasn't going to be happy with your tardiness.

You'd been outlining lecture notes for an exam later in the week when you realized you needed to order your Uber right away to make it on time to the restaurant. Unfortunately, with dinner being set at 7pm in the heart of the city, there weren't a lot of cars available, and Harry hated for you to take a taxi, especially with his money. He wouldn't tell you why, only that he'd had a negative experience once, and you weren't to use them.

You waited longer than usual for your Uber, and then there was traffic, and now you were late for dinner. You texted him that you might be late, and he hadn't replied.

You were nervous to see him, and you didn't like that. Usually, you looked forward to time spent with Harry. He was a little older than you and a successful businessman, so he was a nice escape from your college peers obsessed with grades and internships and law school admissions. He also could be terribly romantic, although he'd never want you to admit that. 

And what girl didn't like shopping and sex?

You strode into the restaurant, immediately spying him sitting alone. It made you a little sad to see him all by himself, waiting for you. You didn't know it for a fact, but you always imagined Harry a little lonely in his private life.

The receptionist tried to stop you from going past the lobby, and it was then that Harry looked at you, having drawn attention to yourself. "I'm meeting Mr. Styles," you explained, annoyed that you always got stopped at these places. You were wearing a thousand-dollar dress that he purchased. Why shouldn't you belong in this restaurant?

You gestured over to Harry and the receptionist looked over at him. Harry gave him a singular nod and then stared coldly at you. You quickly walked over to his table and stood behind your chair like he liked you to. "Hi, Harry," you said, smiling uneasily.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

You blinked, positive that he'd heard you. "Hi, Harry," you repeated.

"You can address me properly, please," he said, unsmiling.

Your face fell, shocked. Harry sometimes liked to be dirty in public, but never at dinner before he took you home. You were actually excited to sit and talk with him today, to relax and enjoy yourself for a moment in your bad day.

You supposed he had other plans. And you needed the money.

"Hi, Daddy," you corrected yourself, plastering a smile on your face.

"Sit." You couldn't help but erase your fake expression at that, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

"You're late," he said unhappily.

"I know, I'm sorry. I texted y--"

"I make reservations for these dinners, Y/N. A text doesn't fix my reputation at a place I like to come to," he said.

Just then, a waiter approached your table. You glanced down at your menu, looking for the drinks they offered here speedily, not wanting to delay Harry any longer than you already had.

"She's here. I'd like the filet dinner, and I want the potatoes that come with it to be extra crispy," Harry said before the waiter could greet you. He held out the menu for him to take and glanced over at you expectantly.

The waiter held out his hand for your menu and you reddened. "Um, I'd like a water," you said slowly, "and do you have Caesar salad?" you asked.

You didn't want Caesar salad. That actually sounded awful. You liked dining out with Harry and eating actually filling and delicious food, so different from the dining hall and the snacks you kept in your dorm.

As a matter of fact, you probably wanted the same steak Harry was having, but you had no idea what it actually was on the menu, and this was your safest bet to order. Everywhere had Caesar salad, right? You were starving, but it probably came with chicken and bread at a place as fancy as this, and maybe some soup. And after your day, you weren't in the mood to look through the menu and sweat as Harry and the waiter stared you down. 

"No, we don't," the waiter replied.

Shit.

"Okay, well, um--"

"We have a garden salad that can be served with Caesar dressing," the waiter suggested.

A garden salad would certainly not have any protein on it.

Fuck this day.

"That sounds great, actually. Thank you so much," you said, handing over your menu.

"All right. I'll be back over with your water, miss," the waiter said, walking away.

"You didn't want wine?" Harry asked you.

You shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't really get the chance to look," you said without thinking, hoping he didn't perceive it as rude.

"Well, I waited half an hour here for you like an idiot, so I wanted to order," he told you, and you frowned. "Tell me, are you usually so late for appointments at school?" he asked, and that struck a nerve with you from earlier today. Your professor was less likely to adjust your grade after you came in late this morning.

"No, Daddy, I--"

"Order a glass of red when he comes back. I imagine it'll assist you later tonight," he said with no attempt to lower his voice, and your face reddened some more at the thought of him punishing you, and that the people surrounding your table were listening in. He already was making you call him Daddy, was that comment really necessary?

"Yes--"

"And order it properly, please. I don't want to hear 'Well, um--' when I'm sponsoring you through school on track to become a lawyer, Y/N. It's not very becoming of an attorney to talk so childishly. I certainly wouldn't take you very seriously in my office, and in such a slutty outfit as well. I work with attorneys everyday; I've told you that," he said sternly. "Y/N?" he asked, waiting for your reply.

You hadn't realized he was done speaking. "Yes, Daddy," you replied.

The waiter returned with your water and you spoke up. "Excuse me," you said.

"Yes, miss?" he asked.

"May I please have a glass of red wine?" you asked.

"Your finest Merlot," Harry corrected. "She'd like a whole bottle, actually. Bring a glass for me as well, please. Thank you."

"Of course, sir. I'll be back with that," he said, turning and walking away.

"Thank you," you said politely, the waiter not addressing you in return. You took a sip of water.

"Are you going to ask me how my week is?" Harry asked, and you were beginning to break down.

"I was only taking a--"

"Are you talking back to me? I really don't appreciate your attitude today, Y/N. You're rude, sloppy, late. I'm honestly upset with you," he told you. His face hadn't made a figment of a smile since you saw him. He was now actually frowning at you.

"O-Okay--"

"Well? Are you going to ask?" he snapped.

You took a deep breath. "I will, Daddy, and I'd love to hear about your week. May I please be excused to the restroom first, though?" you asked.

"Go," he said. "Go, and come back much nicer," he commanded.

You nodded. "Yes, Daddy, I will. Thank you." You stood from your chair and paced to the bathroom, feeling tears bubble in your eyes. You couldn't cry yet, not here where he could see you and become more disappointed and undoubtedly reprehend you some more.

You pushed open the door to the bathroom, grabbed a couple of paper towels, and shut yourself in a stall. You cried. You cried on behalf of your grade, Harry, and a million other things. You didn't know why, but your roommate kept resurfacing in your mind as well.

Your roommate Gina was having trouble. Her dad had passed away late last year, and along with that, she was worried she wouldn't be able to return to school this semester because of her dad's funeral expenses and her family's loss of income. She'd applied for loans and been denied. Thankfully, over the summer, it appeared that she would actually have the funds to attend school, and she was in classes with you currently. However, now her grandmother was undergoing chemotherapy. Her mother was using money set aside for tuition to help her grandmother, and the school was now constantly emailing and calling Gina, asking her for her payments.

When you finally pried all of this out from your proud roommate, you confidently promised her that you could take care of her tuition with your monthly allowance from Harry. Sure, it'd use most of it up, but you didn't mind. You didn't need new shoes; Gina needed to continue her education. You were happy to help her, especially in a time of such distress.

Even though you were able to help, you still caught yourself feeling horrible about the situation. This was actually why you wanted to become a lawyer, to hopefully help people like Gina. The country was just set up so unfairly, and you hated it. You especially hated watching your grieving roommate stress about things out of her control.

You calmed down after a minute, drying your tears and taking deep breaths. You wished that Harry wasn't so mean today, but he was paying you to do exactly what he wanted. You ought to go out there and act however he liked you to, and you knew he would not like to see you crying out in public. He was always reminding you what it took to be a lawyer, and that was stone-cold professionalism. There was no time for crying.

You exited the stall and ensured that you looked normal in the mirror, splashing cold water on your face and readjusting your dress. It had also upset you that Harry'd called your dress slutty. You wore things like this all the time when you went out with him--it had spaghetti straps, but it was generally respectable. He'd even purchased you it on a shopping trip last weekend. You knew that you were technically Harry's sugar baby, but you resented the thought that he really thought of you as some slut he was putting through school.

It reminded you that you weren't going to establish any more of a relationship with him.

Never mind that. It was time to go out there and earn Gina's tuition. You'd told her she could count on you, and weekly dates were certainly something Harry expected of you.

You left the bathroom and sat back down with Harry, finding that your salad and wine were at the table. Harry hadn't touched his steak.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Daddy," you said, rejoining him. "I didn't realize the food was almost ready."

He didn't reply, cutting into his steak.

"Daddy, how was your week?" you asked then.

"Much better," he remarked, looking up at you with that proud glint in his eye. "That's my favorite girl."

You couldn't help but smile as you cut your salad. You definitely sought Harry's approval. You'd grown to trust him over the past year, and it made you happy to think that he thought you'd be successful.

"It was all right, babe. Busy. I'm a little uptight, you probably have noticed," he said.

You didn't know how to reply to that.

"And you?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm okay. My workload is really starting to escalate in my classes," you told him.

"Oh, I know. They're simply preparing you, baby. Law school isn't easy," he said.

"I know, Daddy. I'm working really hard," you said, your bad grade flaring in your mind as you dressed your salad.

"That's what I like to hear, love-y. You're going to be very well-prepared, from such a good school," he said. "Schools here in New York are very high-regarded. And you know that I can call anywhere and speak with admissions," he told you.

You rolled your eyes a little. "I plan on getting admitted to law school on my own merit, Daddy."

"I know, pumpkin, and you will. Just... If a problem comes up, or you don't think they've been fair to you, I could work something out. Write a reference for you, something. You work very hard, baby. I want you to go exactly where you want for school," he said. "You shouldn't have to settle."

You took a bite of your salad. "Not planning on it."

He smiled largely at you, his eyes crinkling and his dimple showing. "That's a good girl. That's my Y/N. Much, much better," he praised you.

You smiled back at him, feeling better, too. "Thank you, Daddy. Means a lot, coming from you," you said.

Your waiter came back with a plate of chocolate cake and set it on the table. "Let me know if you'd like anything else. I'll have your check momentarily."

You looked over at Harry, confused.

He shrugged. "I know garden salad probably isn't what you really wanted," he amended. "I'm sorry I was in such a sour mood when you arrived. Just... I've had a hard week at the office, and I didn't sleep well last night," he said.

"Me neither. I think the stress has caught up with us both, Harry," you replied. "Daddy. Sorry--" you began correcting yourself.

"No, Y/N, Harry's fine," he interrupted you. "I'm sorry," he added, and the gravity of those words on their own, coming from Harry Styles, New York executive, made you pause a second. 

"Here, have some of my steak." He moved pieces from his plate to yours as you sat in silence a second.

"You're fine, Harry. Thank you," you said, glancing down at your cake.

"Don't thank me yet, babe. You don't know what awaits you at home," he told you.

You smiled back at him, though you weren't sure you were excited. - Harry's car took you back to his penthouse on the Upper East Side. You always liked looking out the window on the way to his place, but tonight, Harry insisted you sit in the middle seat, closer to him. It was a reminder that he was angry after such a hard week, and wanted to keep you close as a precursor to tonight's lashing out.

You usually liked Harry's punishments. He'd spank you, deny you, insult you for awhile before fucking you mercilessly into his mattress, up against his wall, over his desk. It was hot. 

Tonight, you were nervous, though. You'd had a rough day, and you almost broke down when he was stern with you in the restaurant. He'd apologized, which was admittedly rare, and you had a nice meal afterwards, enjoying your cake and nodding along to his stories from the office. But you felt in your mind that you still weren't elated for tonight.

It didn't matter, though, you told yourself. Harry paid you an allowance that you especially relied on this month. He could have you any way he liked you.

His hand massaged your thigh rigorously. You knew he was planning on spanking them painfully later.

You kept quiet the whole drive, not speaking unless spoken to. When you first met Harry, you were perplexed by all the time he spent in silence. You wondered if it was a signal that he was angry with you or didn't enjoy spending time with you. As you got to know him more, you understood. He wasn't interested in speaking unless there was truly something to be said. You grew to like it about him; it was a quality that had taught you a lot while you were in lectures full of opinionated political science students. 

This wasn't pensive silence, though. It was anger mulling; anger from a sleepless, hard-working, cunning Wall Street executive. You could see it in his eyes when you were brave enough to glance for a millisecond. He was going to want to see you suffer and beg.

The car pulled up to a stop at the curb of his apartment building, a swanky, sky-high, glass mirrors sort of place. He got out and held the door for you. "Goodnight, James," he called into the car before shutting the door and waiting as the car drove away.

"Christ, do you ever get the feeling that sometimes he deliberately takes the route with the most traffic?" he asked you, and you didn't reply, not knowing anything about one way being better than another. "Come on," he beckoned you, walking into his building.

You got into the elevator and he sighed heavily when you were stopped several times by other people getting on.

He was angry, and it made you sad. It made you sad because this usually thrilled you, the mystery of not knowing what was in store for you upstairs. Right now, you were anxious you weren't going to be able to handle it.

The doors opened to his floor and you waited for him to exit the elevator first. "Go," he told you, and you stepped off, him behind you. "Go on. You know the way," he instructed bossily.

You walked to his door and waited for him to open it. You turned after a minute to find he was several paces behind you, still making his way over. "I like to watch you," he said lowly once he was close enough. "Have we ever discussed getting you your own key?" he asked.

"No," you told him.

"What?" he asked you.

You chastised yourself, so forgetful. He'd told you last time that you should address him by Daddy in his penthouse always. "No, Daddy, we haven't."

He opened the door. "Perhaps we should consider it. I wouldn't mind having you around more often, and you could come up and study from my desk, order lunch for yourself. I like the idea of you having somewhere safe and quiet to come and do your work. Your dorm and the library probably get tiring." He stepped inside and you followed him. You were almost flattered by his suggestion until he tacked on, "And I'd get to see you naked more often, fuck you over my lunch break."

"It would be nice, Daddy," you agreed standardly as you entered his penthouse.

He stared back at you, taking off his suit jacket. He draped it over one of his living room chairs and raised his eyebrows at you. "You've been very naughty, and you know it, Y/N. Head upstairs."

You resisted the urge to sigh and made your way up his steps, him one step behind you the whole way. He grabbed at your ass a few times between the sounds of him taking off his belt. He was going to make you hurt, and you knew it.

You entered his bedroom and your heart sunk in your chest. It was then you knew: you didn't want to do this tonight. 

He shut the door behind you and you shut your eyes.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you've done wrong," he directed you, "because you know what it is, and I won't tolerate it."

You took a deep breath. You had to start before you finished. "I was late--"

"Face me."

You turned around, gulping.

"So foolish. What good would your admission be if I couldn't see the guilty look on your face?" he asked you. "Y/N, you're brighter than that."

You hated when he called you Y/N in here, and he knew it. Apparently, you didn't deserve the title of baby or little girl or princess right now.

"Begin again. I'm waiting," he said, and you took another deep breath.

"I was foolish when I did not turn around to give my apology," you started. "I was late to dinner, and I kept you waiting. I wore a dress you did not like, one that you said was slutty and not becoming of a lawyer. I spoke... I spoke impolitely to you several times at dinner. I contradicted you, and you're always right, Daddy. I was wrong. I also made a fool out of myself when I ordered my meal and my wine. You always say that I should speak like a lawyer all the time, and I didn't, and I'm sorry, Daddy. I also forgot to ask you how your week was, which was rude," you listed. 

"What else did I call you?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I was rude, and sloppy, and late," you listed, your voice breaking a moment. "I've been bad." 

"That's right, Y/N. You remember well. Now, I want your thoughts on this. What do you think your punishment should be?" he asked you, smacking his belt against his hand much more gently than he ever used it with you. 

You looked at the belt and back at him a moment. "Five spanks," you said without really thinking, although it was a low number for you both. When you thought about it, that is really the punishment you wish you'd receive.

"Five?" he asked you, incredulous. "You listed all of those things, and you think they amount to five spanks?" he asked.

"I--" you began, not knowing what you were going to say.

"You're right, Y/N, you are foolish. I'm not going to waste time recounting all the things you just listed, but I will tell you that you have been insubordinate, stupid, and lazy. You disrespected me and ruined my reputation at a restaurant that I like to frequent. I expect much more from you. You behaved like a child, and I... I am not going to stand for it any longer. Undress. Undress right now. For saying that you deserve five spanks, I'm going to employ thirty. Thirty spanks for Y/N for being bad," he said. 

Thirty spanks. You'd never received so many, usually twenty being your maximum.

Your face flushed as you began to remove your dress.

"Look at you, you're pathetic. You walk into the restaurant looking like any whore off the street. It was no wonder the receptionist thought to stop you from entering the dining room." You lifted the dress from your shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor, willing the tears back into your eyes as you pulled down your panties and dropped them next to your dress.

"You're very bad, do you hear me? You're--Look at me when I speak to you!" he yelled.

You gasped, having been looking over at the door behind him absentmindedly. "Sorry, Daddy--"

"No! No more sorry. You're going to hurt now, and realize what you've done. Thirty-five spanks for a naughty Y/N, are you proud now?" he asked you. What he did next shocked you. He reached forward and smacked you across the face--not too hard, but it stung. He'd never done that before.

You stared back at him in shock.

"Answer me," he bellowed.

"No, Daddy, I'm not," you replied.

"Bend over onto the bed. Forty spanks for you, you whore. Can't even respond when I ask you a question, you useless slut."

You turned around and did as told, allowing the tears to escape your eyes and flow down your face then. Useless slut. That's what he thought of you.

Without warning, he lashed the belt on you and it stung familiarly, but not well. You allowed yourself to sob into his comforter.

"Count," he instructed you. "Count, you stupid, bad little girl! You know I like you to count. And now you've made it fifty! Fifty spanks for Y/N, or more if she doesn't fucking count right this second!"

"One," you cried aloud. You tensed, waiting for the next spank to hit you, but it didn't.

"Y/N? Y/N, baby?" he asked gently then. 

You stayed still, untrusting.

He leaned over to get a better look at you and saw that you were bleeding your makeup onto his white bedspread. "Baby, are you all right?" he asked softly, his hand coming to caress your back. You flinched at first, but then relaxed, realizing his movement wasn't to spank you.

"May I sit up?" you whimpered. "Daddy! Daddy, may I--" you corrected yourself miserably.

"Yes. Yes, you may," he said, and you flipped over and sat properly on the bed, crying into your hands. 

"Just... Just give me a minute. One minute, and we can start over, I promise. I don't mean to ruin it," you cried, sniffling in an effort to suppress your tears already.

He frowned. "No," he said, and you began to sob again, thinking he was going to flip you over and strike you. "No, Y/N. No, baby, why are you crying?" he asked you, his expression containing heaps more sympathy than it had all night.

You blubbered. "I... I failed my paper," you bawled, the first of your many grievances against life today. "I failed, Harry! And you're going to be upset with me. I failed, and I don't know why. I worked hard on it and I talked to my TA about it, and I got it back today, and it was all marked up with red pen and a big F on the front! And I'm bad! I'm a bad, lazy, stupid girl!" you cried.

His face fell. "Oh, baby," he whined, pouting. "There, there. It's one lousy paper, babe. It's no reason to be so upset," he said.

"Yes it is, Daddy, when any law school worth studying at practically requires a perfect average!" you wiped your tears. "And I'm not meant to fail. I... I studied it. I spent a week on it, apparently not realizing that it was all wrong. I'm useless," you cried out, frustrated with yourself. You wiped your tears again. "But it doesn't matter, you don't want to hear it. And I need the money this month. I'm fine. Let's just... Fifty spanks for a naughty Y/N, let's do them," you said, beginning to flip over.

He stopped you, pushing your shoulder. "No," he told you, shaking his head. "No, what was that you said? You said you need the money?" he asked you. "What's that about? What are you saying?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't want to bother you with it," you said. "Let's just do it, come on. I know I kept you waiting at the restaurant like a fuck up, and now I'm wasting more of your time. Let's get on with it."

"No, Y/N," he said stricter. "No. Tell me what you need the money for. Is it not enough? Do you need more? You're meant to spend that money on things you want, babe."

You frowned. "I know, and I'm sorry, but--"

"No; don't apologize, tell me. What do you need the money for, Y/N?" he asked you plainly.

You sighed. "It's my roommate. She... Her dad passed away last year, and she needs the money to stay in school. It's a shit situation. Her grandma has cancer, and--" you cut yourself off, letting out a sob. "It's just... She's so sad and worried all the time, and I told her I'd pay for it, and let's just do it. I've already fucked up the whole date. You at least deserve the sex. Hit me, tell me I'm bad," you said.

He frowned at you, pausing. "Your roommate. That's Gina, right?" he asked.

You nodded, a little surprised he remembered, but not really. You did talk about her. 

"She's your really good friend. You girls go and see movies together," he recalled. 

You laughed through your tears, nodding. "Yes, since freshman year because we were too scared to go party on the weekends."

"That's right, I remember that," he said softly. "All right, Y/N. I think you need a shower and a proper dinner. I'm going to order a pizza, and I want you to take a long shower, and by then the pizza will be here, and we're going to talk. Only... Only it's not a bad talk; don't be worried. I'm not gonna hit you," he said, frowning some more.

You blinked, terrified. Was he going to let you go for your behavior? "No, Daddy, you don't understand," you told him. "Please. Please, I can be better. I was only late because I was studying and forgot to order a car, and then it took forever and there was traffic, and I know you tell me never to take a taxi, so I didn't, but--"

"Y/N, you listened to me when I said that?" he asked you.

You frowned, confused. "Yes. You told me not to take a taxi with your money, and I haven't. Why?" you asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's only to keep you safe, but I can't believe you listened. Why wouldn't you tell me that's why you were late?" he asked.

"Because you always tell me you don't want to hear excuses. Excuses don't matter in the courtroom, only alibis. That's what you say," you told him.

He smiled softly at you, leaning forward and caressing your cheek. "Right, dear. That's what Daddy says. Run along and take your shower. It's nothing bad. You just aren't ready to do this tonight," he said.

"Daddy, if you fire me, I'll have no way to pay for Gina's school. It's not fair to her. I promised," you stated. "Please. I can be better," you repeated, begging. "I'll never be late again, I won't talk back--"

"Y/N, I'm not firing you. Please go and get in the shower and relax. I'm not coming in, either. Just spend a moment alone right now. Get clean," he instructed.

You got up off the bed then and stared back at him. "Yes, Daddy."

That's when he did something that shocked you to your core. He stood up as well, and leaned forward and kissed you on the mouth.

You and Harry had never, ever kissed before. You'd had sex probably more than a hundred times. You sucked him off a lot, and he liked to finger you sometimes, and lick you down on very special occasions. The last time he did it was after your honors ceremony last semester. He'd sat in the back, far away from your parents. He watched as you received your award for having one of the best averages in your class, clapping for you with a proud smile on his face. He didn't approach you the whole event. Only afterwards did he text you, "Come over, baby. You smart sexy thing. I'm so proud of you. My very favorite girl."

You remembered the day you realized you'd never kissed him, and it made you dejected. Your friends always said how lucky you were to have Harry, a handsome sugar daddy to pay for everything for you, but it also meant you had absolutely no time for a boyfriend. Ever since you'd first met Harry, you hadn't been kissed, which was now over a year. 

Your friends were right that you were lucky; you agreed. You loved spending time with Harry, and he made you feel like no one else could. But sometimes, and you hated to admit it because it was so humiliating, you laid next to him while he was sleeping, staring at his lips, remembering what it was like to be kissed, imagining what it would be like to feel one of his.

You cleared your throat, nodding. "Okay. Okay, I'll shower," you told him.

You spent a moment staring at each other, and you realized he wasn't going to say anything. Maybe it was a fluke.

You turned away from him and walked over to his master bathroom.

"Y/N," he said, and you turned around. Your name didn't sound like a punishment at all right now.

"Yes?" you responded, eerily aware of your nakedness.

"What do you like on your pizza?" he asked you.

You smiled. "I like pepperoni, but cheese is fine, too. Whatever you like, I can just pick it off. I don't mind. Thank you, Harry."

"Of course, Y/N. Run along," he instructed you, which was one of his favorite things to tell you, and you knew it. "Pizza'll be here when you're done."

You grinned, entering the bathroom then and turning on the shower. - After your long shower, the pizza had arrived, as Harry predicted. It was amazing what money could achieve. Pizza took nearly an hour to be delivered to your dorm.

You stood wrapped in your towel. "I didn't bring a change of clothes, I'm foolish," you told him.

"No, you're not," he said, shaking his head and opening his dresser drawers. He pulled out a set of sweats you'd never even seen him wear to bed. He was always dressed very sharply, donning matching silk sets to sleep.

"Thanks," you told him, dropping your towel and keenly aware of his eyes staring at you as you first took the pants from his hands and stepped into them, and then the sweatshirt, pulling it over your head.

You tugged the sleeves of the sweatshirt past your wrists to hold them as you liked to. "So. You said we should talk?" you asked him.

He opened the pizza box for you wordlessly, and you understood that he meant for you to take a slice, so you did. "Sit on the bed," he directed you.

You did as you were told, taking a bite of your pepperoni pizza. He smiled at that, but then his face grew more serious. "You say you're helping Gina pay her tuition. How much is that, exactly?" he asked you.

"She gets about the same financial aid as me, so it's like three grand a month," you told him. "You pay mine," you reminded him, and he nodded.

"That's right," he told you. "It's thirty four hundred dollars a month. I allow you four thousand dollars spending a month, which I expect you to spend on dresses and shoes and whatever your little heart desires."

You nodded, frowning. "I know, Harry, but she needed help, and--"

"--So that's hardly enough for you to do that when you're also so generously helping her. Therefore, I have decided that I will now allow you ten thousand dollars a month."

You blinked. "What?"

He nodded. "You heard me. I'm raising your allowance so you have plenty of room to support your friend. I imagine if she doesn't have money for tuition, that maybe sometimes she might need money for groceries or anything else," he said. "Does that sound like a reasonable number for you to buy yourself what you want and help her and whatever other little woodland creatures elect to follow you around?" he asked you.

You were nibbling on your crust now, smiling a bit at his princess reference. "It's more than reasonable, Harry. I'll have more than what I had before after I pay for her tuition," you said. "She's got a part-time job. It's not much, but she manages her personal expenses."

"Well, tell her that she can quit. Or buy yourself more things because it's also meant as a raise," he said. 

"Thank--"

"Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?" he asked you, and you smiled. "You're a stellar student. You are the director of philanthropy for your sorority, which is just about the most adorable thing I've ever heard. You sing in your school's choir, and you also spend time feeding the homeless and reading to children and all sorts of random little causes you dedicate yourself to. You've taken on helping your roommate. On top of all of that, you still manage to be a very good girl for me, and I know I demand a lot of you, which is why I have given you a raise," he said. "And you will not only be a lawyer, Y/N, you're going to be a very successful one. Do you hear me?" he asked you.

You nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

"All right. Here," he said, holding out the pizza box again. 

You opened the box and took another slice.

"Now for the matter of your bad grade," he said, and you tensed. He set the pizza box back down beside him on a side table. "Did you look it over? What do you make of it?" he asked you.

You sighed. "I didn't look it over yet. It just... I was so upset over it, and I have an exam to study for. I didn't want to waste time being upset, so I just thought I'd look at it tomorrow and make an appointment with my professor to have him look it over with me," you said.

"Do you think you will end up bargaining with him to change your grade?" he asked.

You frowned, dreading the idea. "Maybe. I don't know. I just... I know what the prompt was, and I know what I wrote about. I don't know for sure, but I really thought it was A work when I turned it in, Daddy."

He nodded.

"And another thing, this is the first big assignment all semester. I really didn't get a chance to learn how he grades writing. The rest of our grade is made up of quizzes right now," you told him.

"Have you done well on those?"

"Almost perfect," you said.

He smiled at you. "Right. That's my girl. Well, in the event that the professor does not adjust your grade, let me know immediately so I can handle it. I imagine the paper deserves at least a B, and I'm not afraid to make a phone call," he said. "I'll read it over for you if you'd prefer, and I'll call and tell him how it should be graded. And if he argues, I'll contact the head of his department and the dean. I donate too much to that school for some idiot professor who doesn't know what he's doing to tell my gorgeous special Y/N that she's failed. I'm sure your work is exceptional as usual, and he's only doing it to be more of a prick than he already is."

You shook your head, smiling. "What if I read over the paper and find it to be inadequate?"

"Impossible. Even if it's not your best work, you should still demand a better grade. I find it highly unlikely that you've done excellent on all your assessments thus far, but you earnestly failed your first paper mere weeks before finals. He might be trying to skew the average of his class, and he's botched the wrong little girl's grade, I can tell you that much right now," he told you. "Does that sound probable to you?"

You hadn't considered that. "Yes, Daddy." You finished your second slice of pizza and looked up at him patiently.

"Would you like another?" he asked you. "I like watching you eat."

You nodded, eyes widening as he handed you the box again. "This is really good pizza, Daddy. Where did you order from?" you asked, grabbing another slice.

"The restaurant across the street from where I'm taking you to see a Broadway show this weekend," he answered you. "Can you guess which one?"

You gasped excitedly. It wasn't uncommon for Harry to take you to see shows ever since he realized you liked them. Still, this was a very welcome surprise.

"I don't want to guess incorrectly..." you trailed, pursing your lips.

"Well, which is the one you told me you'd really like to see?" he asked.

"Is it... Is it The Music Man with Hugh Jackman?" you asked hopefully, knowing you'd mentioned it to him casually last week.

"That's right. We've got seats in the center orchestra for Saturday's matinee," he informed you. "I can point out the pizza joint to you when we arrive," he added.

"Oh, I'm so excited, Daddy. Thank you so, so much. I really wanted to see it, and I know you probably went through a lot of trouble to find the tickets. Thank you a million times over, I mean it," you said.

"Of course. Of course I got them for you, baby. I know you like to see the shows," he told you. "And I know you're a very busy girl, but I was wondering if you'd also be interested in going to lunch and shopping beforehand," he said. "We've both been busy lately, no?"

"We went shopping last weekend," you reminded him, a glint in your eye at the mention of the activity.

"Yes, I remember. I only realize now that you were unable to buy yourself nice things for a while because you were helping your friend, and that's not fair. I suppose we could go on Saturday to make up for some of it. How does that sound?" he asked you. "I know you liked some of those dresses that you passed on before."

The dresses he was mentioning were very similar in design to the one you wore tonight. You decided only to buy this one because you'd liked it best.

You shook your head. "You didn't like them, though."

"No?" he asked you, confused. "The ones with the little straps? Very cute, Y/N. You look so pretty with the neckline like that. I really rather did like them."

You frowned. "Daddy," you said slowly, "I wore that same silhouette tonight. You said it was slutty and that was why the receptionist was rude to me. I don't want you to buy something for me that you don't like me to wear. If you think I look cheap--"

"Baby," he said, frowning. "I didn't really mean those things. You think I think that of you?" he asked.

"Well, why else would I be stopped any time I come to meet you in a fancy place?" you asked him.

"Because, Y/N, I've told you. You can't just walk into these places, you need a reservation. It's the receptionist's job to make sure only the right people enter the dining room," he explained.

Your face fell. "But you said--"

"I know," he interrupted you. "I know, and... When I say those things to you, I don't mean them, Y/N. I don't... You honestly thought all this time that they were mistaking you for a prostitute from the street?" he asked you.

"That's what you always tell me," you said softly. "You told me that the first time we ever went out together, that the receptionist thought I was a whore."

"I was just... I was just being dirty," he told you. "I was just making you riled up for later."

"Well, it worked," you mumbled. "Can I call you by your real name? I know we're in the bedroom, but you're calling me Y/N," you said. "It's not to punish me, is it?"

"No, not at all. I'm... I'm being serious right now, dear." He paused. "Yes, call me Harry."

"Okay. Thank you," you said back quietly.

He took a deep breath. "Y/N, I thought you knew better to not take the things I say to you in here personally."

You shrugged. "I usually don't. But sometimes you don't say them in here and I feel different about that. That first time you told me that I... That I looked like a prostitute, we were in your car and I remember being so embarrassed that the driver heard you talk that way about me. Sometimes... The way you looked at me today in the restaurant, like you were ashamed of me, and you talked about punishing me while there were people sitting near us... Sometimes I really do think you might think of me as stupid, or a slut," you said.

"Never," he contradicted. "Never, never, never. Would you rather I not call you those things anymore?"

"It's not really up to me to decide," you said.

He shook his head, kneeling down to you then, which you found odd. "No, it is. If something makes you upset, or you'd rather I not--"

"I like for you to punish me, Daddy, that's not--"

"Harry," he interrupted you. "Would you rather I no longer call you those things outside of our special time together?" he asked you.

"I think I would rather it be that way, but I know you like to be mean to me. I don't... I don't want to impose--"

"I'd rather stop doing something I like if it makes you feel bad about yourself," he said. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I thought you knew that you were my special girl, my very favorite."

You rolled your eyes at that, laughing a bit.

"No, don't laugh. What's funny about that?" he asked you. "You know I think you're smart and beautiful and kind, don't you?"

"I thought you might," you said a little flirtatiously. "I just... Harry, I know you mostly like the sex. I mean, that's what we're doing here, right?" you asked. 

Sex for money. And shoes and purses and dresses and tuition.

You hated to look at it that way when what you had with Harry was so much more to you.

It killed you to humble yourself and realize that that's what he saw it as. 

Didn't he?

He cleared his throat. "It might be, but... I'd never want you to think that I regard you as anything less than... Than wonderful, Y/N. Would you like to know the truth?" he asked you.

You were confused at that. "What's that?"

"How special you are to me," he replied. "Come sit at the top of the bed. Let's chat awhile. I know you should get to bed soon. Are you full and happy?" he asked you.

"Yes," you said.

"Then you'll sleep here tonight where I can watch over you," he decided. "When is your first class tomorrow?"

"Noon," you said.

"Perfect. So you'll sleep late, we'll order breakfast, and I can pay you some attention, hm?" he asked, moving to the top of the bed and sitting there waiting for you. You joined him, putting your legs under the covers.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" you asked him, offering him the covers as well.

He awkwardly joined you beneath them. "I haven't treated you properly in some time, apparently, so I can say I'll be coming in late and give you a little spoiling. What if Daddy gave you his credit card for the afternoon, hm? Would that be good?" he asked you.

Your eyes widened and you nodded. Instinctually, you sat on your knees and began rubbing his chest. "Daddy--"

He grabbed your wrist. "Not now, baby. I said we should talk, yes? Don't you think so?" he asked you.

You looked back at him, so serious and genuine. You resumed your former position, but couldn't help keeping your hand on his chest. "Okay."

He nodded curtly. "All right. There's something I need you to understand." He paused and you maintained eye contact with him. "When I first met you, that was a year ago now, yes? Innocent baby, weren't you?" he asked. "In that tight dress at the alumni event, those big doe eyes blinking at me..."

You were a virgin when you met him, and he'd never know that.

You nodded, remembering.

"All right, but you were just as smart. So I imagine you know that when I first began seeing you, I had other girls." His eyes flickered at that, almost in shame.

"I know, Harry. And that's fine. We never promised anything to each other, and I understood what I was doing," you said.

"Well, six months into my time with you, I let them all go and began seeing you exclusively. You haven't seen panties that aren't yours around here in quite some time, isn't that right?" he asked you.

You'd thought that his other girls had lessened in number, but you weren't positive it'd dropped to zero. And you had no idea it had been that early into seeing him.

"No. But you still go on vacation and--"

"I know," he said softly. "I know, and... I have my fun when I'm away," he said lowly, "but... Here in New York, you're my only girl. And it's because I have never in my life met anyone like you. You're adorable, Y/N. You're the best thing--" he cut himself off before he embarrassed himself. "You're very, very special, and I don't think anyone could be better for me. You've learned how to behave in bed with me, you listen very well, and you always make me proud. You're loving, and kind, and so... so endearing. And you've fulfilled every need I wanted in someone I hire, so I let everyone else in the city go." He looked at you as though that was a really big deal to him.

You didn't know how to reply. Harry didn't owe exclusivity to you. 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So... I just want you to know that I would never just fire you, and I obviously think very highly of you. And I've... Over the course of the time we've known each other, I've come to see you as a friend, a good friend. So... So I'd never want to make you insecure or sad, or hurt you at all, okay?" he asked, his voice soft. "I really... I appreciate you, Y/N. You mean a lot to me." His face was pale with how nervous he appeared to be to say those words, as though they were top-secret.

Thinking back on how shocked you were when he apologized to you earlier, you imagined that he probably felt extremely awkward or even stupid to be telling you this.

You smiled, your heart soaring. Not only did you know how hard it must have been for him to say the words, they meant everything to you.

But you were trained not to react around him.

You nodded. "Thank you, Harry. You mean a lot to me as well. You... I don't think I could live in New York without you," you said, trying to return his gesture without crossing one of his many invisible boundaries. 

His face fell, his eyes glancing down uncomfortably. "I know it's expensive," he said solemnly.

"No," you said, shaking your head, and he looked back up at you. "No, not for that reason. I meant... You just make living here so much more exciting with all the things you take me to do, and I... I feel safe. I know that if I need help, or if a professor botches my grade or if I can't get the reservation I need for a philanthropy event, that you're a phone call away. It's comforting, you know? Not necessarily that you're powerful, but that you care for me," you said. You quickly cleared your throat and corrected yourself. "Not that you care for me--"

"No, I do. I care for you," he said quietly.

"I care for you, too," you said, only you didn't lower your voice to match his. You weren't ashamed to say it. "I hope you know it. I can't really shower you with expensive things as you do for me, but... I try to show you I care."

"And you do. You're real good for me, baby," he told you, and of course he couldn't be serious for so long. "Are you ready for bed, little one?" he asked, signaling that the time for Harry was over. 

"Yes, Daddy," you replied.

He nodded. "All right. Goodnight, then, baby." He moved away from you on the bed and faced away from you on his side.

You stared at him a second. "Goodnight, Daddy." - The next morning, you woke up to the sound of him showering. You thought perhaps you should go in and join him, but after last night, you really didn't feel much like it. 

It was funny, but not really. You always found yourself frustrated that Harry was so stoic with you. You didn't know how long you ached to have a serious conversation about the nature of your relationship with him. But now that you had, you realized it solved virtually nothing, and you felt strange. You were even more uncertain. 

More than anything, you still felt you were walking on eggshells, confused on what to say and what not to. He set all of the boundaries between you two, and got very upset if they were crossed. He didn't communicate or specify any of those boundaries to you, though, and that was the issue. 

He shut the water off and you contemplated pretending to still be asleep. Would he be upset with you for not joining him in the shower and initiating such an obvious sexy surprise?

You didn't have time to wonder. He opened the bathroom door with a towel wrapped around his waist and found you sitting up in bed. 

"Oh, baby, you're up," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you. The shower usually doesn't."

"It's okay. Good morning, Daddy," you replied.

He smiled at you. "You know, perhaps we should have you wear Daddy's clothes more often. You look quite cute, just how I like you to." He joined you on the bed and stroked your hair. 

"Don't think I forgot my promise yesterday. How do you want it, princess?"

"Aren't we meant to have breakfast?" you mumbled.

He frowned. "I thought I could have some of you first. How's that sound?" 

You hadn't realized he wanted to lick you down. Still, you realized, you didn't want it. You weren't in the mood for sex.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" he asked when you didn't reply. "Hm? Tell Daddy what you want, then."

Your faces were so close, and you were staring at his lips. You thought he might know what you were thinking. You should just say it.

"A kiss."

He froze.

Timid yet bold, you leaned forward and put your lips on his for just a second. "Like that, Daddy. See? We can just... Let's just kiss a moment. I promise it can be sexy," you drawled. You knew that you needed to use your baby voice to pull this off. 

You kissed him again and this time he received it much better, kissing you back. "Mm, Daddy," you moaned, unaware how much you were craving this until it happened. You pushed your tongue into his mouth and that's when he pulled away.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, his eyes angry, scorned.

"Kissing you," you said softly. "When you did it last night--"

He stood up from the bed. "That was a mistake. Congratulations, now neither of us are in the mood."

You scoffed. "What, it's only a problem when you don't want sex?" you asked. That wasn't what he seemed to think last night.

"If you want your check, yes," he snapped.

Tears flooded your eyes as you sat there motionless. You couldn't move. You were in shock.

"Perhaps we should go out for breakfast. I wouldn't mind a blowjob in a bathroom stall."

He didn't mean that. He always made idiotic threats when he was angry, but the statement still insulted you.

He dropped his towel and opened his closet, picking out a suit and taking it off the hanger. Watching him get dressed, the anger inside you ignited and spread.

"I can tell you want to make a stupid objection, so make it," he said, buttoning his dress shirt.

"You mark me up with big purple bruises all down my neck. What is the difference if I would like to kiss you?" you fired off.

"The difference?" he questioned, raising his voice, and you looked down at the comforter in fear. "The difference is ten grand a month, Y/N. I do with you what I please, and I don't have any interest wasting my time with kisses for your sentiments. And don't think I don't mean it about the bathroom stall. You'll gag until you puke, do you hear me?" he screamed.

"I'm not going to breakfast," you gravely announced. 

When did you begin to cry? You blinked tears away, but it was no use.

"Yes you are because you've been awfully bad and it's your punishment. I want everyone in the restaurant to see your hair all matted at the back of your head after I force myself down your throat. You're going to take all of me from start to finish. Only then will you get your money for your friend."

Gina. She needed you.

You finally looked up at him, tears flowing down your face now. "Fine. I'll get ready." - Your car ride to the restaurant was dreadfully silent. You wished you were anywhere else, that the date was over, that the blowjob was over at the very least.

You were wearing a negligee with his dress jacket over it, a pair of stockings, and four-inch heels. Harry only kept especially scandalous clothes for you at his penthouse. Almost always, when you needed clothes for the next morning, it was because he fucked you the night before. And the next day, he liked for you to embarrass yourself over him; wear lingerie and hang on his arm in public.

You went inside the restaurant and you saw him immediately clock the bathroom in the far back. His hand rested at the small of your back as the waitress showed you your table, letting you know he meant what he said in the bedroom.

When you sat down, the waitress told you the breakfast specials and disappeared. As she walked away, you couldn't believe it. Your con law professor from last semester was sitting across the floor from you. You hoped to God she had the sense not to approach you when you were wearing a nightie sitting across from a man ten years your elder.

"Something wrong, baby?" he asked as he flipped through his menu.

"Nothing."

"What's my name?" 

You reddened. What if she heard you? Or maybe not this time, but one of the undoubted hundred times he was going to expect you to say it while you sat here?

He looked up at you. "Tell me. Now."

"Please. Please not here," you said softly. "We can... We can go back into the bathroom right now, whatever you want. Just not here." You chewed at the skin on your lip trying to force tears to stay in your eyes.

He looked back at you for a second before he cleared his throat, straightening his posture and sitting back in his chair. "Last night, you mentioned that you're doing research this semester. How's that going?" he asked you.

You blinked.

"Y/N, did you hear me?"

Y/N.

"Yes, I did. It's going okay," you said, confused but thankful. "I only wish we had more time. My research advisor goes on sabbatical next semester."

"That's a shame. I'm sure you'll do great, though," he said. He took a sip of water that was at your table when you arrived. "Are you presenting your findings? I'd love to come see."

"I am, actually. It's some time next month, I'll let you know," you said.

He shook his head. "They never give you proper time to study for your finals, damned school," he said. "You poor thing, you work yourself far too thin, babe."

"I'll manage," you said softly.

He looked up at you. "No, I know you will. You always do. Just... I hate for you to be overworked, my poor baby," he moped.

You sighed. His mood swings were exhausting, disorienting even.

"What?"

"What do you want me to say to that? And can we just go back now? The longer we wait, I'm not going to be able to eat anything when they bring it out," you said, frustrated.

His face fell, shame written all over him. "We aren't going back, Y/N. It's fine."

You rolled your eyes. 

"What? You didn't want to, did y--"

"No, I didn't want to, Harry, but I really wish you wouldn't have been such a prat this morning, then," you asserted. "Do you ever think before you speak to me, or is that a luxury I just don't get between us? Along with knowing where the fuck your head is at?"

His features turned to stone under the weight of your words. You couldn't believe it; you'd finally snapped.

You thought he might yell at you in front of this entire restaurant, your professor included, but you couldn't really bring yourself to care. At least you finally stood up for yourself. Instead, he reached into his suit pocket, and you furrowed your brow as he got out his wallet and set his credit card on the table.

"I promised you this. Return it when I see you next. Spend whatever you like, I don't care," he said, standing from the table.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. You had a million questions, and you asked precisely the wrong one.

"Will you send me the money for Gina?" 

"Yes. Goodbye," he said curtly, walking out of the restaurant, leaving you both dateless and clueless. - "Back from time with Daddy?" Gina asked when you came into your dorm clad in the classic baby girl ensemble.

"Yes, and he's sending me money for you, so I shouldn't hear it," you replied, a sour taste in your mouth after your lonely breakfast.

Gina didn't answer, going back to writing her notes.

You sighed. "I'm sorry," you said. "I'm sorry, I'm glad to be helping you. He was just difficult today. He left me alone at breakfast."

Gina frowned. "That's unusual. Did he give a reason why?" she asked.

"No," you said, taking off his suit jacket and draping it on your chair. "Well... We had an argument," you elaborated.

"An argument? Between a sugar daddy and a sugar baby? What's that even like?" 

You looked at the jacket a second more before you realized you couldn't anymore and hung it up in your closet so you could shut the door on it. You planned to do the same with your whole outfit. 

"I wish I could tell you," you said. "I'm so confused, I... He needs to figure out what he wants from me; that's what it is." You shook your head in disapproval.

"Seems complicated," Gina said softly, and you didn't want her to worry about you. Her circumstance was out of her control, and she had no obligation to stress over your situation with Harry.

So you pulled his credit card out of his jacket pocket. "Whatever. What really matters is that he gave me this." You twisted the card in your hand so that it sparkled in the sunlight from the window. "Black card."

Gina's eyes widened. "Holy shit. That's like--"

"I know. Let's ditch lecture. Where are we going?" - You waited for Gina as she tried on a skirt in a dressing room in Saks. 

"Are you sure I can buy this?" she asked.

"Yes, he won't know the difference, I promise," you told her. Money meant literally nothing to Harry. One skirt for Gina wasn't going to matter. You had three dresses and a pair of shoes on hold at the register.

Gina emerged from the dressing room and twirled. "What do you think? Date party?" she asked. "Dylan from Phi Gam is taking me, and he's rich, so this could work."

You nodded. "Sure. What with it?" you asked.

She frowned, looking down at the skirt. "Ah, I don't know. I have that black tank top--"

"That one would not work," you told her. "It won't look right with that skirt."

"I know," she said, sighing. 

"There's that black tank top at the front of the store. That would look nice," you told her. "Get that and I'll lend you my Choos and you'll be set for rich Dylan."

She looked at you, nearly scandalized. "That's like another three hundred dollars!"

You shook your head. "He won't care. I promise, Gina, really," you said. "He let me have the card for a reason."

She looked at you in the mirror. "Fine. I get the tank top, and you finally give David from Delt a chance."

You rolled your eyes. "Nev--"

"Y/N, he is cute! And he likes you," she said. "Doesn't it get boring coming to date parties all alone?"

"I don't have time for him," you said. You really felt it unfair to entertain boys from school when Harry essentially fulfilled the role of boyfriend in your life.

"You don't have time to bring him to the party? You'll be there anyways," she insisted.

After your fight with Harry today, the idea of spending an evening with another man sounded somewhat enjoyable for the first time in a year. You sighed. "Fine. Fine, I'll do it. I'll text him and ask," you said.

She smiled. "At long last." - Harry called you the next day while you were studying in the library.

"Hello?" you answered.

"Y/N," he said.

"That's me," you replied, marking a figure in your textbook with a post-it. 

He cleared his throat. He did it when he was nervous. "What are you doing Friday night?"

"Friday night? I have a date party for my sorority."

"You've bailed on them before for me," he replied instantly, which was true.

But you had a date to keep with David now.

"I have a date this time," you said softly. Why did this feel wrong?

"A date?" he asked.

"Yes. A date to a date party," you said firmly then. "He's from a fraternity on campus."

"Y/N, I've told you that the fraternities at that school do not--"

"Harry, you don't want me dating anyone, but that's not really in your control, is it?" you asked. 

He paused. "It's not that I don't want you dating anyone--"

"Well, I've heard you trash just about every male organization I bring up to you, from the sports teams to the social clubs, so I don't know," you said. This was new for you. You never spoke to him so candidly or with such attitude until yesterday. Your breakfast breakthrough apparently gave you a lot more confidence with him.

"Fine. You can't make it Friday?" he asked.

"No, I can't. That's tomorrow night, isn't it? The week is going by quickly," you said.

"Yes, it is," he said. "When am I meant to get my credit card back then?"

"Aren't we going to the show Saturday?" 

"Yes, only I was hoping to see you before then," he said. "I think we need to have another conversation."

You felt your textbook's pages over and over. "We do," you said, "and we can on Saturday. I promise. How's that?"

He didn't reply a second, uncomfortable yielding to your suggestion when usually it went the other way around between you both. "Fine. We'll talk on Saturday."

"Sounds good."

There was silence on both of your lines until you spoke up. "Anything else?"

"No, goodbye," he said and hung up.

You stared at your phone. What was going on with him? - Gina gave you a pitying look before leaving your dorm with Dylan. David was supposed to meet you half an hour before Dylan was coming to get her.

She shut the door behind her and you screwed your eyes shut. This was so humiliating. You finally gave this boy a chance, and he was blowing it.

That was his issue, he was a boy. 

Harry was never late. He expected you to be on time as well. He was a man, a real man.

You went on Snapchat, bored, only to find that David posted a video of him playing pong against a girl in a tube top in a rainbow-lit room.

Motherfucker.

You growled, throwing yourself on the bed. You couldn't go to the date party now. Everyone would only ask where David was when they could just look at his Snapchat and see him bailing on you.

To think you gave up a night with Harry for this.

Thirty-three minutes into feeling bad for yourself, your phone rang. 

Harry Styles.

You answered it, sitting up on the bed. "Hello?"

"Y/N, can you come downstairs?"

"What?"

He sighed. "I'm... I'm in the lobby of your dorm, and the security is giving me a hard time."

You couldn't help but smile. This had to be so embarrassing for him. He always nagged you about how gross it was to live in a dorm, how he could put you up in an apartment if you wanted. 

But he came here for you.

"I'll come right down," you told him.

"Ah, fuck. I'm not interfering with your date, am I? Are you getting ready?"

You shut your eyes a second. "No, um... It's canceled, actually."

He paused. "Did you ever have a date?" he asked you.

"Yes, Harry, I had one," you snapped.

"All right, sorry. I'll... I'll see you in a minute?"

"Yeah, I'm coming. Bye." You hung up the phone and put your feet in your dorm slippers before heading downstairs. - In the lobby, Harry was standing at the front desk, his hands in his pockets. He looked relieved to see you.

"Hi, I'm Y/N Y/L/N, I live here on the eighth floor," you greeted the campus security as you took your place next to him. "This is Harry Styles. He's... He's my friend," you said, glancing over at him and smiling to prove your familiarity. "Can he come up?"

The security guard looked the two of you up and down for a second before he relented. "Sign in, and sign out when you leave."

It was funny to watch Harry initial the sign-in sheet of your dorm, knowing he signed important documents all day.

You silently retreated over to the elevator.

Harry spoke up once you were inside and the doors had shut. "No date?" he asked. "How come? Are you tired?"

"No."

"Then--"

"He stood me up, Harry. Christ."

You saw his face fall in the steely reflection of the elevator door. It took him a few seconds to respond. "Y/N... I'm sorry, hon."

"You're not." You could definitely tell he was. You were just embarrassed.

"No, I--"

"Just leave it alone, okay?" you asked. You turned to face him then. "Why are you here?" 

He took a deep breath, and the elevator doors opened.

You exited the elevator, him following behind you. 

It was like going up to his penthouse, you realized. Only this was a New York City dormitory.

You opened your door and let yourselves in. You turned around to face him again, liking the look of him in your room. You supposed you'd like the look of him anywhere, but still.

"We should talk," he said. "I... I didn't want to wait until Saturday. I thought your date would be later, but I wasn't... I don't know what I was thinking."

"It doesn't matter anyway," you said. You lamely nodded over to your dorm desk. "You can sit if you'd like."

He looked at the chestnut standardized desk as though he wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. "No thanks," he said politely. He took off his suit jacket and draped it on the chair.

You felt silly not having a place for him to sit.

"My bed, maybe," you said.

He shrugged.

So you hoisted yourself onto your bed and watched as he followed behind you, concealing your smile as you watched one of the city's richest men climb onto a twin XL.

You sat staring across the bed at each other until he spoke up.

"I'm so sorry," he told you. "How I acted on Wednesday... It was unacceptable."

"It's fine."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, it's not. I should have let you leave when you said you didn't want to go to breakfast. And I..." he swallowed, his features softening, "I threatened you, made you think I'd... I'd hurt you when--"

"Not hurt me--"

"Yes, hurt you. I'm sorry. I would never make you do something... I've... Have I ever made you do something you didn't want to?" he asked you. "I know I was upset Wednesday, and I was harsh, but... I hope you know I'd never make you do anything," he said. His eyes adjusted nervously. "Have I ever?"

"No," you said. "Never. We... We took it slow in the beginning, and I feel fine," you said.

He shut his eyes. "And that shit I said... That comment that I made about ten grand being--"

"You always say things you don't mea--"

"I just shouldn't fucking say them," he cut you off. "I should never say that to you. That was out of line, and so far from how... How I feel," he said.

You nodded. "I know. You keep me safe. I didn't... It's not that I didn't feel comfortable... Doing that in the bathroom, it's just that I didn't want to. I was upset."

"I know. And if you don't want to, we shouldn't," he told you. "Have you ever felt that way before?" he asked you again.

You shook your head. "No. No... Tuesday and Wednesday were... I was just... I was upset over my paper, and then our date didn't go well, and then we fought on Wednesday and I just... I've never felt that way with you before then, no," you said.

"Promise?"

"Promise, Harry." You nodded. "I've never been scared. I just thought... At the restaurant, I just wanted to get it over with, is all. I knew that if I really couldn't do it, you wouldn't make me."

"You know you can tell me no?" he asked.

"Mhm."

He pulled you close to him then, your head nuzzled into his shirt. "All right, then, baby. That's good. I'm sorry, princess. I've been so unfair to you, haven't I?"

You sighed, shutting your eyes.

"But I know what might help make it better," he murmured, his lips against your hair.

Your heart fluttered. Almost a kiss. Almost a kiss on your head.

Could he...?

"Look at me, little one."

You eagerly yet nervously untucked your head from his and faced him.

He smiled, leaning into you and kissing you.

Instantly, you moaned into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Daddy--"

"Lay back. Need your taste," he told you between kisses.

You didn't, though. You stayed sitting upright, feeling his kiss. You embraced each one knowing it could be your last.

"Sh, sh, calm--" he began.

"Harry--"

"I'm right here," he told you. He kissed you again, and you squeezed his shoulders. "Sh, gonna keep kissing you. Don't worry."

You frowned. "Even after ton--"

He chuckled. "Yes, all the time. Lay back," he said, smiling. "Lay back, and I mean it," he followed up solemnly then, making you know he wouldn't refrain from punishing you if that's what you deserved.

You laid back onto your bed and he instantly followed you down, resuming your makeout session. "Daddy, I love your kisses," you mumbled between them. You still couldn't believe what you were experiencing, his lips on yours, so passionate and dare you say, loving. "Mm--"

"Sh, sh," he hushed you, beginning to grope your breasts then and moving to mark your neck. "I like to kiss you just like this," he said as he suckled. It didn't take him long to remove your skirt and throw it off your bed, your bare legs hitching at his waist.

He returned to your face and kissed you once more. "I know someplace," he pecked you again, "you really like my kiss. Hm? Hm, little g--"

"Please just give it to me," you cut him off, making him widen his eyes in surprise.

"Babe--"

"No," you said. "No, we can... Just... Fuck me, Harry. Don't hold back, I want it rough. Just fuck me and kiss me."

He smirked. "Am I that good for you, baby?"

"You know you are," you said quietly. 

He brought his hand to stroke your face. You smiled, basking in his gaze, his touch, his admiration. "You want me to kiss you while we...?" he clarified.

You nodded. "More than anything." He looked at you a second longer before he nodded and kissed you on the forehead, making you hum in contentment and rub his clothed chest. At that noise, he kissed your entire face in random spots while he undid his suit pants, and you were glowing. You couldn't imagine ever growing tired of kissing him.

"Birth control?" he whispered in between kisses as he pulled down his boxers.

You nodded. "Took it at lunch." You always took your pill at lunch now because Harry took you to dinner so often. He usually never asked you if you took it, but you also usually were never intimate like this.

"Are you hard?" you asked, reaching down to feel him and pump him a few times, but he stopped you by grabbing your hand.

"'m fine," he mumbled against your lips, ripping your panties down and pushing into you without warning.

You gasped, your head being pushed further into the pillow beneath it. He laughed under his breath before thrusting into you, again without any preparation.

You cried out along with the consistent creaking of your dormitory bed. Somehow, you didn't think they were made to withstand this kind of sex.

"Said not to hold back," he said. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. His lips still brushed yours.

"Kiss," you cried. 

"What's my name?" Thrust. Thrust. Your hips slowly adjusted to his ruthlessness and began to meet his.

"Daddy, kiss--" He merged your lips then, and though it may have slowed his pace, you didn't mind. In fact, you were thrilled. You couldn't decide where to focus, on your nearly bruised lips or the pulse of pleasure between your legs. He was feeding it all to you each time, your legs flailing at his back, your fingers digging into his shirt.

You hoped to Christ your hall was already out partying. You were moaning maybe louder than you ever had, perhaps muffled by Harry's lips, but still.

This was a sound from deep in your subconscious, the animalistic reaction to indulging in the one secret desire you'd lusted after for almost a year now.

You both were moving together now, in synch and hitting your G spot every once in awhile.

"Daddy--"

"Y/N, baby--"

Your heart skipped a beat. Y/N. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he said.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," you chanted. "Harry, Harry, I'm almost--"

He bit your bottom lip between his teeth. It wasn't too painful, but just enough.

You were gone and he went with you.

He pulled out of you and buried his head in the pillow alongside yours.

Your hand came to caress his curls. "Harry," you said after a minute.

"Hm?"

"Look at me," you said softly. "Please, will you--"

He obliged, meeting your face with his and displaying pensive, sweet eyes. 

You smiled. "Can I..." you asked, shy.

"Hm? Anything you want, baby, after that."

You giggled a bit. "Kiss your face?" you completed your question. "Only like you did to me."

He nodded. "Go ahead."

You beamed, taking his face in your hands and kissing each handsome part of it. You were probably a minute into your diligent work when Harry interrupted you.

"You know," he said, "I'm not your boyfriend."

You quirked your brow at him. "I know," you said. "You're my Daddy."

He smirked at that and you returned to kissing him some more.

Your phone buzzed from your window ledge behind you.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Dunno," you replied, now simply staring at him.

He grumbled, grabbing the phone from behind you and handing it to you. "There."

You unlocked your phone and gaped.

"I came by your dorm to bring you to the party but you sounded busy" David messaged.

"What?" Harry asked.

You laughed because you didn't know how else to react, and it was funny. You turned the phone around and showed Harry the screen.

"Dick," he muttered. "He's never heard a woman that aroused, let me assure you of--"

You cut him off with a kiss, something you knew you were going to be doing a lot. "Think he heard me call you Daddy?" 

"I think the whole dorm did," he mumbled, moving to suck on your earlobe before you could be embarrassed. "Tell me," he began, "did he think he was going to take you out after arriving so late?"

"I suppose."

"How late was he?"

You checked the time on your phone again, squirming beneath his attentions. "Nearly two hours. And he posted another girl like an hour ago."

"I'll teach him a lesson."

You laughed. "No, you won't. It's stupid anyway, Harry. This is why I spend my time with you."

He faced you and kissed your nose. "You ought to stop saying things like that."

"Things like what?"

"Things that confuse what we are," he said.

You nodded solemnly.

He kissed your cheek. "What do you want to be?" he asked you then, shocking you.

But you couldn't answer truthfully. What were you supposed to do, tell him about your childish fantasies of marrying him à la Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big?

So you thought on it before you realized the perfect reply. "Your favorite girl," you said. He called you it occasionally. It was definitely amongst your favorite of his nicknames, so sentimental in your mind.

He smiled at you, a twinkle in his eye that you especially liked. "You're already there."

[lisisdead]

⭐ SPIDER-SONA INTRO ⭐

⭐Lysander Ponomarenko⭐

I will make a post about his younger sister later :D

Here's his lore:

Lysander Ponomarenko is a 15 year old Half Ukrainian half Mexican boy, he grew up without his biological father because he left him at the age of 4. His mother loved him dearly but sadly couldn't spend enough time due of work. Lysander would get bullied at school but he would stand up for him self and got often into fights at school. He was and still is a creative kid, he loves technology, to draw, create stuff out of paper etc... Once he turned 11, his life turned upside down. He went to the grocery store to buy some stuff for his mother, later he came back and saw his mother dead on the floor and some armed men who worked for alchemax were there and a Man sitting on the sofa waiting for him.

Lysander didn't take it well and was about to attack the Man then the armed men grabbed him before he could do anything. Then the Man introduced himself as the CEO of Alchemax and that he is the biological father of Lysander.

Lysander didn't believe it and said that he is lying but it was true, but then he gets knocked out.

Little lab rat

Lysander woke up in a laboratory cell, seeing his father behind the glass, Lysander gets mad and started banging the Glassed window telling him to let him out but his father didn't listen, in fact he didn't care, he needed more people to use as his little lab rats.

His father wanted to experiment with DNA of Spiders... So he did the experiment on Lysander..

The experiments were traumatic for Lysander, he was beaten up a lot, he had to consume lots of scientific substances (mostly of them were drugs too) and Lysander tried escaping many times but failed ...

Freedom

2 years went by, Lysander was a successful experiment. But Lysander wasn't healthy in his mind.. He was Angry, hurt, and tired.. One day Alchemax got set up on fire, and Lysander took this opportunity to run away, and so he did. Then he saw his father getting burned and begged Lysander to help him but Lysander and stood in place watching him burn. Lysander after watching his father die, he ran out of the building and he ran away as fast as he could, but with a few stolen things.. Then his new life started ...

The new Anti Hero.

Lysander got into an alleyway and sat down on the floor, Panting. Then it started raining Lysander looked at a puddle seeing his reflection for the first time in 2 years, he was terrified to see that he has red eyes.. fangs and those nasty scars .. he couldn't go out in public like that! Then out of anger, a web shot onto the wall from his wrist, then he remembered that he has retractable claws on his finger tips and toes from the experiments he went through. He got curious about it and started testing out his abilities. After sometime, Lysander started getting cold, he knows he can't live like he used to.. he needed to hide himself, he also needed steal stuff to survive.. and fight for his life, first he needed to steal some clothes.. Then an idea came in his mind: how about to make a suit to hide himself as he needs.. He started stealing clothes from hot topic and accessories. Later on he found an old basement somewhere in the city, there he found an old sewing machine, he then started making his Spider suit.

After sometime he finishes making his suit, he liked it, then he looks at the desk and saw the things he stole from alchemax, it was a watch thingy that didn't belong to alchemax.. but he found it... and it looks very futuristic.. he decided to test it out later..

On the same night, he put on his Spidey mask and decided to rob a bank as a start for his new life.

He sneaked inside and got a few of good cash but then Black cat appeared, she was the cities hero and she wanted to stop Lysander so they fought.

Lysander lost the fight and escaped but he hid a few dollars in his pockets, and he was proud of it.

A few months later Lysander found the address of his biological father, he wanted to destroy his father's mansion. So at night he snuck inside a window to a random room, the house was very silent until he heard a cry inside the room, he squinted his eyes and saw a 2 year old girl, she looked similar to him..well a little. Lysander picked her up and started comforting her, he looked to his right and saw a picture of his father and his new wife. Lysander was mad, not only his father abandoned him, he also had a family behind his back! Lysander also realised that the little girl is his half sister and only relative left, so he took her under his wing, he later found out that his sisters name is Ileana. He started taking care of her. He had to leave the mansion because he heard the police break in because some neighbor saw Lysander climb up the window, so he left with his new sibling.

Who the hell are you!?

A year later Lysander became the recognisable anti hero. Mostly fighting Heroes sometimes even bad guys.. yada yada yada.. (He was 14 at the time and Ileana 3).

One day Lysander found out about Multiverses and alternative dimensions! Thanks to the watch he found and an idea crossed into his mind... He could destroy every alchemax facilities in every single dimensions... But little did he know about cannon events..

He then tried creating a portal by using the watch and he succeeded then he opened the portal and teleported into an alternative dimension, of course he didn't leave Ileana behind so he took her with him. He teleported into an alleyway, the second he got out, someone attacked him from behind. To Lysander's suprise it was a Guy.. in a Spider-suit?... He never thought there would be more Spider-Men or Women. Lysander pinned the strange spider person and they gave up, and he introduced themselves as Max, he was the one and only Spider-joker here, then they both talked with eachother and Lysander told him about his plan and Max agreed.

A few dimensions later they managed to destroy 5 Alchemax facilities in different universes.

As they 3 got into a different dimension they met another spider person, she swinged to them and asked who they are, Lysander introduced himself, Ileana and Max, the girl was polite and she introduced herself as Agata Rutkowska. The 4 got along and Lysander told Agata his plan and she agreed to the plan. Lysander teleported to a different universe then landed in an alleyway.

Lysander was not paying any attention to Max, Agata and Ileana while they were eating their Bagels they stole from a previous dimension, but then someone teleported behind Ileana, Agata and Max then grabbed them three from behind, dragging them into the portal. Lysander looked back and they were gone, Lysander got scared, he started worrying for his sister, Agata and Max.. then his Spider senses started ringing.. then someone touched his shoulder.

Lysander jumped and looked behind him to see a.. Spider-Man from the future?... he tried to talk with Lysander... but Lysander hit him and started running away.

The Spider-Man was chasing Lysander.

Lysander tried to trick him with his abilities to create illusions and shapeshifting but he wouldn't get tricked, as if he knew what abilities he has..

While being chased the Spider-Man wanted to pin Lysander into the wall but he accidentally scratched his eye with his Talon, traumatising Lysander.. He didn't mean to but Lysander ran away..

A few hours later Lysander got into a dead end in a forest and he started hiding from the Spider man.. but he got caught.. the mans mask retracted, Lysander couldn't see his face properly but before he knew it the Spiderman bit his upper arm and paralysed Lysander and he gets knocked out. The Spiderman immediately took care of Lysander wounds, feeling bad for what he did .. the Spider-Man picked up Lysanders unconscious body and summoned the portal and brought him into the Spider society..

Where am I?...

A few hours later Lysander woke up in a electric field cage and saw The Spider-Man from before standing Infront of him without his mask, He introduced himself as Miguel O'Hara and that he doesn't mean any harm to Lysander but Lysander didn't listen and started screaming, hissing trying to break out from the cage, Miguel tried to lecture him but it didn't work. Lysander started yelling at him, asking where his sister was. Miguel sighed and called Jessica drew to bring Ileana here and a few minutes later Ileana ran to Lysanders cage and hugged the cage (because she couldn't hug Lysander since he's inside the cage). Lysander calmed down but was still glaring at Miguel.. Lysander asked Miguel if he could talk to his Friends, Miguel sighed and agreed. Miguel brought Lysander to the go home machine, where Max and Agata were about to go there. They chatted for awhile but then, Max and Agata got sent back to their own dimensions....

Later, Miguel started lecturing Lysander about cannon events and even told him on how he broke a cannon once and ended up loosing his daughter, Lysander didn't listen for the most part but felt a bit bad about the daughter (Gabriella, Miguel's deceased daughter).

A month later Lysander managed to break out from the cage and silently to escape, after he ran out he was surprised to see a futuristic dimension and a place with plenty Spider people.. then Lysander started running away but he didn't manage to get too far because Miguel picked him up from behind. Lysander glared and took out his claws, Miguel didn't budge because he himself has talons and could damage Lysander pretty hard. Lysander didn't gave up and started kicking Miguel and yelling to put him down and called him an old hag many and many times but Miguel ignored him and brought him back into his lab and locked him back in. But that didn't stop Lysander for trying to escape, he tried it 3 times but failed miserably.

A few weeks while being inside the cage he was staring at Miguels monitors out of boredom (his cage was placed in a corner of his lab but close enough to see Miguel's monitors), He saw a Video of Miguel and his Daughter playing foot ball, and more videos of them spending time like father and daughter would.. Miguel was happy and the girl too... then something clicked in Lysanders mind, This was an actual fatherly relationship, that Lysander never got.. Lysander started sobbing silently.. feeling bad a little about Miguel for loosing his kid... but he also finally saw an actual fatherly relationship that he never received... Lysander started looking at Miguel a bit differently.. he started seeing him a father in Miguel the more he knew him.. but Lysander can't tell him that... He's afraid of rejection...

Another year later.... (Present time)

Lysander is now 15 (Ileana is now 4). He is apart of the Spider society now. He does missions sometimes and he can finally come back to his dimension whenever he wants or his sister.

Miguel took also Ileana under his wing aswell. Lysander likes being in the HQ.. He met different spider people, He is a bit distant from them but would allow himself to talk with them sometimes. He still likes doing trouble, and sometimes even annoy Miguel to the point where he starts beating his ass up. Miguel started teaching Ileana some Spanish, Ileana likes Miguel and calls him Papá, unlike Lysander, who's scared of getting rejected.. Miguel also started mentoring Lysander, and training him to fight better! He also reunited with his old friends.

Lysander upgraded his suit, by adding more accessories and painting his top and adding more upgrades to his pants.

While Lysander was minding his own business or training, his hair, especially his bangs would block his view and it would annoy Lysander. Miguel noticed that, and he called Lysander to his Lab. Lysander came and Miguel sat him down on a chair, Lysander was confused and asked Miguel what he was doing until he saw Scissors in Miguels hand. Miguel told Lysander that he will cut Lysanders hair. Lysander was skeptical about this and didn't trust Miguel doing that, but knew it was the only way to get rid of the annoying bangs, so he gave in, and Miguel started cutting Lysander's hair. A few minutes later Miguel finished and he gave Lysander the mirror and Lysander was surprised that Miguel didn't fail.

Lysander is now Living a better Life...

Lysander's age is 15!

Lysander's birthday is at 01/08/****

His Anti hero name is: Spider-Man (or Bloody silk)

He is Half Ukrainian half Mexican! (Is mostly on Ukrainian side)

He has a small crush on Felicia Hardy (the black cat from his dimension) but doesn't show it.

He is based of myself IRL mostly about my feelings, hobbies and a bit more.

His design is Based of Clawdeen wolf, inspired by Miguel O'Hara.

He hates Fish (just like me)

His favourite foods are mostly Ukrainian foods.

His favourite colours are: Red and Black.

He speaks Ukrainian, English, German but doesn't know much of Spanish since his father never taught him, but knows some phrases and cusswords.

Lysander's hobbies are: Drawing, Painting, making graffiti, making technology, Crafting, cooking/baking, swimming, fighting and stuff he finds interesting (mostly hobbies of creativity).

The Pins on his backpack were made by himself, yes ofc he added V2 because it's his favourite character in ultrakill.

Lysander is analytic.

He speaks in a vulgar language (curses a lot).

He is aggressive.

His Abilities are: Shapeshifting, Illusion manipulation, changing his voice, Claws, Fangs (they only get venomous when he sucks blood), good vision, hearing and smell, Spider sense, Intelligence, organic webs and immortality.

Lysander has to drink blood (he is NOT a vampire, spiders drink blood or juices from their victim), or else he might faint or feel aggressive due of need of blood. By drinking blood he also gains his venom.

His venom is emerald colour.

He can make spider noises (like purring and hissing)

His Pupils and iris Dilate (grow big) when ever he is excited or scared. And they can shrink when he's mad or scared.

He is also sensitive to sunlight, his eye white gets red and he tears up.

Lysander got muscles after training a lot.

He hates anime (JS like me)

Lysander adores the game ULTRAKILL (V2 is his favourite) and is addicted to the game, he even owns a V2 plushie.

He comes from the same timeline as us, he is also in a lot of fandoms like Ultrakill, Fnaf, murder drones, mouthwashing etc..

In his Spotify playlist, there's lots of his favourite Songs and some songs define Lysander and his story and his feelings.

He sneaks out often from the Spider society HQ and likes making graffities talking bad stuff about his biological father.

He can finally sleep properly there in the Spider society.

When he was 5 he wanted to be Emo and to this day he still is one.

He took Dr*gs like Alco*ol and w**d because he's immortal and he thought he could do whatever he wants since he's immortal in addition he was in an awful depression.

He has a long coat to keep him warm.

He sometimes paints his hair.

The reason Miguel is more nicer with Lysander is because he found out about Lysander's dimension and he learned a lot about him without Lysander knowing it, and still keeps it a secret.

Lysander gets jealous easily.

Lysander rarely smiles.

In his dimension some of the Heroes in Marvel stories are Villains and some of the Villains from marvel stories are heroes. And most of them are Emo.

Lysander comes from earth 2320

He has ADHD and PTSD (due to trauma)

He claims himself as the anti hero version of Spider-Man.

He is afraid of Spiders and gets disgusted by his own web.

He paints his claws black sometimes.

Lysander has a piercing and wears a golden earring to match Ileana.

He still continues making trouble and sometimes saves people.

He steals food very often from the Spider society's cafeteria.

He has a younger half sister Ileana!

Lysander loves swinging around the city with his younger sister

Miguel does take Lysander and Ileana out to the Mall.

Ileana calls Miguel "Papá" unlike Lysander, he is still afraid of calling him that, if he did, he could get very emotional and start crying since he is scared of rejection.

Lysander would always comfort Ileana when she gets a nightmare.

If Gabriella (Miguel's deceased daughter) would be alive he'd treat her as his own sister.

Lysander is still grieving from his mothers death, and can't stop looking at a photo of him and her.

[mariacallous]

On Monday, January 20, just hours after being sworn in, President Trump signed an executive order for “Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government.” It declares that transgender people do not exist and instructs federal officials to “defend women’s rights and protect freedom of conscience” by eradicating any trace of these non-existent people from public life.

From passports to bathrooms to schools, the president ordered the government to misgender, deny, and denigrate all trans people it comes into contact with. And he singled out federal prisoners, the people most directly under government control, for abuse.

Six days later, one of those federal prisoners, a trans woman housed at a facility in Massachusetts, sued Trump demanding a halt to her forcible detransition and transfer to a men’s prison. She pointed out that putting trans women in a men’s prison does the opposite of “defending women.”

In fact, it virtually assures that they will be routinely sexually assaulted. And on top of that, it violates a whole passel of federal laws.

Weaponized hate

Trump didn’t wake up on Monday morning and suddenly decide to scapegoat a vulnerable population. Indeed, he based his campaign on demonization of trans people. Ads proclaiming “Kamala Harris is for they/them. President Trump is for you,” played during what felt like every commercial break during NFL games and NASCAR races, airing some 30,000 times in each swing state in the hundred days before the election.

Like George W. Bush using gay marriage as a wedge issue in 2000, Trump wielded fear and hatred as a weapon, whipping up visions of imaginary women in danger, desperate for sane adults to ride to their rescue. No appeal to decency or factcheck pointing out that trans women were not taking over sports could stop it, and, after spending tens of millions of dollars, Trump rode the wave of hate right into the White House.

Once there, he was quick to deliver on his promise to hurt the people he’d told his supporters to fear.

“Basing Federal policy on truth is critical to scientific inquiry, public safety, morale, and trust in government itself,” his EO reads, adding that “these sexes are not changeable and are grounded in fundamental and incontrovertible reality.”

This is contrary to the findings of every major medical, psychiatric, and scientific organization in America, but that’s hardly relevant when you’re dictating objective reality by executive fiat.

Trump’s EO includes a biologically illiterate definition of “Female” as “a person belonging, at conception, to the sex that produces the large reproductive cell” and “Male” as “a person belonging, at conception, to the sex that produces the small reproductive cell.”

The order instructs federal officials to “use the term ‘sex’ and not ‘gender’ in all applicable Federal policies and documents … including passports, visas, and Global Entry cards,” misgender all federal trans employees and bar them from appropriate restrooms, and “assess grant conditions and grantee preferences and ensure grant funds do not promote gender ideology.”

This last provision is reported to be the reason the federal government was functionally ordered to shut down earlier this week, in violation of the Constitution’s Spending Clause and thousands of federal contracts — the Trump administration wants to de-”woke”-ify all federal grants and contracts to ensure they comply with the newspeak and don’t promote “gender ideology” or DEI.

Perhaps most cruelly, Trump ordered the Bureau of Prisons to “ensure that males are not detained in women’s prisons or housed in women’s detention centers” and “ensure that no Federal funds are expended for any medical procedure, treatment, or drug for the purpose of conforming an inmate’s appearance to that of the opposite sex.”

Performative cruelty

The order had immediate consequences for real people, including a transgender woman from Massachusetts going by the pseudonym “Maria Moe” who’s currently incarcerated at a low-security women’s prison.

Moe’s complaint contains heavy redactions to protect her privacy and safety, and indeed most of the docket remains under seal. But we do know that Moe lived as female since adolescence and has been prescribed hormones to treat sever gender dysphoria since she was 15.

The Bureau of Prisons (BOP) has always classified Moe as “female” and housed her in a women’s prison. This is consistent with the Prison Rape Elimination Act of 2003, which sought to stem the epidemic of sexual violence in America’s carceral facilities by establishing national standards to protect inmates.

The law required ongoing collection of data and instructed the attorney general to “publish a final rule adopting national standards for the detection, prevention, reduction, and punishment of prison rape.” Those rules were later codified at 28 CFR § 115, and § 115.41 requires that “All inmates shall be assessed during an intake screening and upon transfer to another facility for their risk of being sexually abused by other inmates or sexually abusive toward other inmates.”

When assessing the inmate’s “risk of sexual victimization,” the prison is obligated to consider “the physical build of the inmate,” “the inmate's own perception of vulnerability,” and “whether the inmate is or is perceived to be gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, intersex, or gender nonconforming.” We may infer from Moe’s complaint that she was assessed according to this regulatory rubric and deemed to pose no danger to her fellow inmates. Indeed she continued to receive hormone treatments, as prescribed prior to her incarceration, and “has no violent disciplinary history, poses no threat to her female peers, and her presence in the women’s facility has not caused any disruption or interference with prison operations.”

But after Trump’s executive order, Moe was abruptly removed from the general population, placed in a segregated unit where she had no contact with other prisoners, and her record with the BOP was changed to refer to her as “male.” She’s been told that she will be sent to a male prison and forcibly detransitioned by being denied her medication and ordered to dress as a man.

As Moe notes in her complaint, trans prisoners suffer astronomically high rates of sexual violence — in some reports, 10 times higher than cisgender inmates. And Moe, because of her personal circumstances, will face serious danger if housed in a men’s facility:

In a men’s facility, Maria Moe will be at extremely high risk of rape and sexual assault. She may also be subjected to humiliating, terrifying, and dangerous circumstances like being strip searched by male correctional officers and forced to shower among men, with her female body, including her breasts, exposed and vulnerable to sexual violence.

These are exactly the harms that the PREA was enacted to prevent. Forcing trans women into men’s facilities will certainly increase the rate of rapes and sexual assaults, the theoretical harm which Trump’s executive order was designed to prevent. But, of course, he doesn’t actually care about sexual assaults. He cares about demonizing the tiny number of trans prisoners — roughly 2,000, according to the Marshall Project — so he can claim to have solved the non-existent problem he whipped his supporters into a frenzy about.

Moe’s case

Moe seeks declaratory and injunctive relief on several constitutional and statutory grounds. She claims discrimination on the basis of sex under the Due Process Clause of the Fifth Amendment, noting that sex classifications trigger strict scrutiny, which requires the government to prove that the challenged action is narrowly tailored to further a compelling state interest.

Sections 4(a) and 4(c) [of the executive order] require BOP to treat incarcerated people differently depending on their sex. Under section 4(a), women who are not transgender can go on living in a women’s facility, while otherwise similarly situated transgender women must be transferred to a men’s facility based on their birth sex. Similarly, under Section 4(c), women who are not transgender are able to obtain the same medical treatments that are prohibited if they are prescribed for transgender women.

She also challenges those sections of the order under the Eighth Amendment, which bans cruel and unusual punishment, arguing that transferring her to a men’s prison will “pose a substantial risk of serious harm, including an extremely high risk of violence and sexual assault.” She says that withdrawing her treatment for gender dysphoria constitutes deliberate medical indifference in violation of the Eighth Amendment, the Americans with Disabilities Act, and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973. And she claims that it violates the Administrative Procedures Act to arbitrarily cancel a duly propounded federal regulation by executive order, as Trump did when he instructed his (as yet unconfirmed) attorney general to replace § 115.41 with a new regulation that accords with his own bigoted edicts.

What Moe does not do is mention Bostock v. Clayton County, the 2020 Supreme Court decision penned by Justice Neil Gorsuch and joined by Chief Justice John Roberts, holding that discrimination on the basis of gender identity or sexual orientation violated Title VII’s ban on discrimination in the workplace “because of sex.”

That’s likely because the Court has spent the past four years assiduously walking back that holding, cabining it to the context of employment only. The Court has not bothered to explain why discrimination against trans people at work is “because of sex,” but discrimination in healthcare is not. It allowed Idaho’s ban on gender-affirming care for minors to go into effect, though, and seemed entirely receptive to Tennessee’s claim that its ban on care was perfectly legal during oral arguments last month in a case called US v. Skrmetti. And so the lawyers for Moe took their cue from the Court and avoided Bostock entirely, grounding their claim in sex discrimination without invoking the most important sex discrimination case in the past five years.

Moe’s complaint was assigned to Judge George O’Toole, a Clinton appointee, and has been sealed since last week. It’s not clear what the status of the proceedings is as of this writing. But Maria Moe is not the only trans prisoner whose life will be uprooted by this order. And her case will be one of many that will likely wind up before the Supreme Court as the Trump administration levels its all-out attack on LGBTQ+ Americans.

Like the ban on gender-affirming care for minors, the forcible detransition and deliberate endangerment of trans prisoners is a performative act of cruelty with no purpose other than inflicting pain. Trump and his supporters are unbothered (to put it charitably) by trans prisoners being sexually assaulted if it furthers the goal of erasing trans people altogether. And if they have to pretend to be protecting women to do it, well, they certainly won’t be hindered by anything like shame.

[socialjusticeinamerica]

[findme-at1am]

Info for Letters Dated April 10th

Save ACT Articles by AP:

Initial backlash in March:

Just because the main statement across media is how disproportionately a certain clause of this Act can affect women, please don't forget this is enacted because "everyone can get behind a U.S. citizen voting" but no one can get the resources readily available and now the funding to hire someone to process these border crossing applications that take years.

Not one single person nor Bill can fix the Department of Homeland Security's lists or the entire system that makes up both federal, state laws or local municipals.

This article below also has many more articles at the bottom debunking non-citizen voter myths and how all of this affects those already registered:

DOGE Cuts - National Endowment for Humanities (NEH)

Which funds local programs and helps with outreaching into our communities whether through the library or museums.

What I Found As Important Screenshots below:

The same having happened to the national Institute of Museums and Library Services (IMLS) beforehand:

Both affects private education and especially homeschooling, thus making no sense in the long run if Republicans wanted the average voter to distrust the public education system. And the average voter here makes less than 50k a year.

Why remove ALL of our resources?

Ah that's right, to prioritize private Christian schools. As seen by multiple Kentucky bills thats nearly passed for years, if not left up to the voters and the review of our State courts!! Kentucky is known to stay on guard to protect our public schools from insidious legislators private pockets!!!

Continuous bills like HB 563 & HB 9 are currently blocked by the State Court. They advocate for private school vouchers that aren't as litigated or "audited" like our federal tax dollars are.

A nice passive aggressive article written with KY's republican GOP majority that echoes 90% of politics against Beshear rn:

And an article for more bills to write letters for that's much better summed up than I can do rn:

[alvaeris]

my best friend told me that one of our drama batchmates is going for boarding school in the uk in september, and i laughed, because that's the kind of crazy thing i've only ever read about in books. and she seemed puzzled, and asked why it was amusing. i explained, and she admitted that her parents had almost sent her to boarding school in the uk a few years ago, and then her brother.

it's not that i'm not aware of the fact that she's rich as fuck, but sometimes it's these little conversations that give me a glimpse of her world that display the insanely huge divide between our experiences. i feel it every time i go to her twenty-three million dollar house (as valued in 2012, mind you, so by now that number would be a lot higher) and talk to her parents (who seemed appalled at the idea that not everyone has walk-in closets) or see her pink porche and ferrari (her mom got bored of the last car and got a new one on a whim). don't get me wrong, my best friend is amazing and down to earth and not at all a careless spender, but her wealth shows. same for when she tells me about how her parents go travelling every other week. it's hard not to feel somewhat jealous. she was on a month-long tour of europe while my father was getting fired for a hugeass scandal (that was unquestionably his fault) and my mom was crying everyday and we had to move to rented public housing and sell a whole bunch of stuff. i'm not in a BAD position now, i love my house and i'm grateful, but i can't help but feel resentful sometimes. i know it's not her fault and she has nothing to do with anything and she's a great person. but every time i visit her or talk to her parents or she rushes off to leave for some fancy dinner party, i feel ever-so out of place, like i don't truly belong in her world.

[othernaut]

Character Creation Challenge, Day 16: Thirsty Sword Lesbians

You ever find yourself on Aphrodite's Subway Car? I'll do my best to explain.

It doesn't have to be in the literal subway, but you have to be in public, and you have to be at least kind of trapped. Aphrodite can bless a theater, a lecture hall, and you're just going to have to deal with it. The curse begins, as all curses do, with you noticing there's a curse in the first place. Going, fuck, everyone's hot - it's only going to get worse from there.

I sat down and there they were, three girls going somewhere they needed to cosplay. Multicolored vinyl, articulated tails and ear-tips. They'd lean close, fix each other's makeup. Clawboots squelching on the tile. Fuck, I'd think, it's not fair, but it just keeps going. Rain-flecked retro-goth in a full lace skirt and inadequate umbrella, sopping the droplets off her shoulders with a cloth handkerchief. Clean-shaven silver fox in a tailored black peacoat keeping firm verbal command on a pair of leashed, shark-mouthed wolfhounds. Comfortable be-sweaterevested creature curled up with their knees by their ears, reading a college textbook and smiling helplessly at the confirmation of secret things. Simple little things, unassuming and quiet, who through the endearing reflection of their soulful eyes gazing out of the subway windows evoke a beauty that can be neither denied nor withstood.

And me, in an old t-shirt, with a bit of a paunch, with my three moving boxes on an autotrolley and a head full of increasingly uncontainable gremlin thoughts. Fuck me, I need to figure out this bisexual thing.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I care so much. I can never just enjoy a good thing, like a subway car full of hot people. I am the centering factor. I'm always discordant, obviously so, like if the disco ball dropped onto the dance floor and, whoops, it's full of warm custard.

The subway lets me out at Mayrose and I exit the underground into another place I don't belong. Leon's place is in one of those nice parts of town. The too-nice parts of town. There are joggers. First thing I'm confronted by is a little corner bar selling caffeine-free organic energy shots printed with you-can-do-it affirmations. The charming streetside cafes don't have dollar signs on their menu, everything is in italics, a plate full of olives is 33, I don't belong here, I don't belong here, I don't belong here and everyone can tell.

There's a twitch, a rotation of the steel-wafer plates along my right arm. My blayde, linked to biometrics, senses a cortisol spike and is readying for sword reconfiguration. I try to calm down. I keep my eyes focused on the snack wrappers and cigarette butts in the gutter, the ones they haven't gotten to yet. I follow the AR map without looking up at the street. Three more blocks to Leon's. That'll be a whole other situation, won't it? I've never even met Leon in real life, and -

I used to be better. It's been like this ever since they shut down the manga cafe.

I used to hang out there in high school, but I only started living there when I dropped out. It was the only place in Neon that had a Japanese setup, meaning that instead of having everyone in a common area with a shared desk, you could rent private rooms. They had a vending machine with all the ramen flavors you couldn't get over here, sake sometimes, weed sometimes. The restaurant next door had a promotion where you could order from the PCs and they'd deliver right to your room. And the prices were cafe prices, not hotel prices. You could lock your door, share a bathroom, sleep in there for nine bucks a night. I paid more for my dorm room and it made me want to kill myself.

Yeah, if you listened, you could hear it. The other people. It's a city, there's going to be other people. But the VPC in my blayde linked up with the PC at the cafe and let me play my own games without needing to scrabble around for environmental processing. I could sink into other worlds, where I was someone else, where I had figured everything out already and interact with others on my own terms. I could tailor what I looked like, block people and never have to see them again, dream privately in the public square. I could do it for over a year, actually, until MC Development bought the entire retail block and jacked the rents to an unaffordable level.

Leon's house was nice, congruent with the others, had a side entrance. He meets me with his boyfriend in the kitchen and hugs me, big and loud. Immediate mimosas, gossip, hour and a half of furry drama as my moving boxes wheel themselves downstairs to the room I would be borrowing until I figured this shit out. The room was clearly a mother-in-law suite, sponge paint pink, untouched since Leon inherited the place. He invites me out to the bars that night; telling him I just want to settle in takes every watt of social battery I have left.

Before Leon, I'd been crashing with Marin. She was welcoming, too, but she worked weird hours, liked to bring people back from work, and only had a couch to share. I'd be sitting in the living room, still in my pajamas, trying to get some job done while she was flirting with a co-worker in the kitchen. Before Marin, I'd been... scrounging, quite a bit. Some hotels, they stopped hiring receptionists, did all their booking either online or through this vending machine thing, and you could finesse those. They'd contract out their cleaning on one-week gig cycles, so if you got in at the right time, you could stay for six days free and no one would know. But if the manga cafe was precarious, this was actively teetering. There's feeling like you don't belong somewhere and then there's literally squatting.

Leon talks me out to the bars anyway. The obligation isn't something explicitly stated, but I can feel it tight around my throat. It's a basement place, gay as shit, cheap drinks, loud music. Leon introduces me around, but he sees an old boyfriend and is immediately back into the furry drama, leaving me alone with my drink and my blayde. It's so, so good here and I feel so, so bad for wanting to be anywhere else.

There's a girl at the bar, big and tall, wrapped in biker leathers. She's got a forelock done in that responsive smart-dye; it changes color with the RGB along the edge of her neon claymore. She sees me staring off into the middle distance. Smiles with lips painted the color of wet asphalt. Dips a tongue into her drink and takes a sip. I die and explode and am reformed in an infinite cycle of unmaking and remaking. I love you. I have always loved you. I wish I was just playing video games.

Back in the manga cafe, they had these games pre-loaded onto their PCs, and I said fuck it and started an account on Heaven's Hollow. It was overwhelming at first, a Korean-style MMO where numbers fly at you all the time, contextless, and you get alerts every two minutes when someone buys a hundred-dollar microtransaction or hits a major achievement. Leon and Marin were some of the first people to take me in, actually, showing me where to grind, how to improve, what things meant. It was a good game, everyone said. It'd get easier, and before I knew it, it'd feel just like home.

Fuck. I hope these things are universal, or... what? Nothing will ever feel like home. I need to figure this shit out. I need to have it all make sense. I need that stupid, hot biker lady to stop smiling at me before my heart bursts in my chest.

I will sit with my drink and my terror and wait to be someone else.

*****

Name: Mox Radium Playbook: Techno Witch Setting: Neon City 2099 Archetype: Turbo-Isolated Hyper-Weeb Aesthetics: Reserved demeanor, secondhand clothes, modular transforming sword.

Stats: Daring +0, Grace +1, Heart +0, Wit +1, Spirit +1 Playbook Trait: Curiosity (Socializing is new to me, and the only way I know to learn is by doing. Select four Trials, clearing a Condition, marking XP, or taking a String on someone involved if I complete one, then striking it through. When I complete all four, reflect on what I've learned and pick four more; if I complete them all, contemplate whether my character's story has ended.) Trials: Throw away something comfortable to pursue a dream Kiss someone dangerous Experience an altered state with a friend Shock someone with an unwelcome truth

Playbook Moves: Techno Friends: I can speak with machines, code, and the built environment and may influence them with Strings like other NPCs. Near my home, or anyplace I have spent a long period of time, techno friends are always there if I need them. Familiar: I have a small machine as my loyal familiar. I can always connect with it and perceive the world through its senses. When my familiar helps with Defy Disaster or Emotional Support, take +1 to my roll. Familiar: Tiny Gundam. Awaken the World: When I am in a safe place and attempt to commune with a place or non-sentient machine, roll +Spirit. On a 10+, I choose one; on a 7-9, I choose one but the GM will offer me a hard choice or success at a cost: Cleanse it of hurt, corruption, or sickness; Alter its behavior, ecosystem, or atmosphere to one of my choice; Make it dangerous to a certain person or creature, or a type of person or creature. If I do this while rushed, or have three or more Conditions, it works for a time, but later becomes broken and ruined.

Truths of Heart and Blade Love Conquers All: When I become Smitten with someone, say why, give them a String, and answer: What is a clear challenge to being with them that I'm overlooking because of my naivete? Clear-Hearted Insight: When I Figure Out a Person during physical conflict, I may additionally ask one of the following questions, even on a 6-: What makes you feel loved? What do you hope for the future?

*****

I think I've got a curse.

I got Thirsty Sword Lesbians through one of those itch.io mega-bundles for charity (I actually think I got it off of two of them, now that I think about it). I went, "Neat!" and promptly did nothing at all with it because there are more RPGs for me to appreciate than moments within my limited human lifespan. Between then and now, though, I've heard it absorb a lot of praise. It's got some Ennies under its belt; it seems to tell the sort of story that gets a lot of people very happy.

And yet, I am cursed. Thirsty Sword Lesbians is a romance-fighting Powered by the Apocalypse game built to promote that specific sort of tension where swords clash and passions burn, where the will-they-won't-they becomes as much about kissing as it does about stabbing. It's very, very good about building up this kind of moment, actually, and about baking in the kind of enthusiastic consent and willing, uncoerced buy-in that this sort of things needs in order to be successful and healthy to run as a game.

And it's just... not for me.

I think this came through a little bit in the fiction, how I can appreciate Thirsty Sword Lesbians for what it's trying to do while acknowledging that it is, fundamentally, not my cup of tea. It makes excellent use of PbtA to tell precisely the stories it wants to tell - cool, I don't like PbtA. It's a joyful celebration of romance within a genre that frequently has either nothing to do with romance or problematic interactions only - cool, I don't like romance. It's like a Clamato caesar, beautifully assembled out of flavors that don't appeal to me, for a palate I will never possess.

Which dovetails into the gay stuff, actually, and becomes the part where I need to make some sort of social commentary. Because there was this creeping unease I got when reading through Thirsty Sword Lesbians that, once pinned down, resolved as a lesser version of the lack of connection I feel with a lot of LGBT+ spaces. I mean, I'm here, bi as the sky is high, but a lot of the more public and community-oriented ways to engage with that bi-ness takes the form of things I just have no interest in. I don't want to go to a parade with half a million people, actually, and I may die if I'm made to. I don't want to flirt with strangers, go to bars, or get insulted at a drag show. I don't want to read gay romance novels, and this has nothing to do with the gay part, the romance genre just doesn't click with me. I'm glad that you found a cool lesbian indie pop star to enjoy, I just don't like pop music.

And you can't help but kind of question your belonging like this. Bisexuality already has this weird, fraught connotation to a lot of people, and mixing that in with my usual, "How about I just play video games, bisexually?" situation amplifies this feeling of being an outsider even among the outsiders. People do try to welcome me, pull me in, introduce me to all the things I've missed, but the format this takes is usually exactly the thing I don't click with. There's nothing that feels quite the same flavor of bad as having to turn down people who want to genuinely engage with you because the goblins in your brain would rather go on a foraging hike. A bisexual foraging hike.

I feel like I'm making myself sad for no reason, and I don't want to, as this is a genuinely good game and it can tell excellent stories, just... not for me. And this isn't exclusion, nor is it seclusion, but a secret third thing that I don't have a name for yet. I want people to have fun with their toys. I'll just... I'll just be over here, playing with my complex stat tables. Don't worry, I'm still having fun.

Next up: JRR Tolkien, save me from ludonarrative ambiguity.

[tiredlittlewriter]

High & Low 🧡🧡Sannoh Rengokai Headcanons🧡🧡 for the main 6 + Naomi some happy, some sad

Remember: These are my own hcs and you don't need to agree with me! Just don't be rude or I'll make fun of you♡ I love my Sannoh Boys

Cobra🧡

- Constantly tired, but a happy tired now that the whole Kuryu thing is over

- Can do a handstand for 30 seconds

- Hates carrots unless Naomi mixes them really really well into whatever he's eating

- Speaking of food :[ has trouble eating anything he doesn't make himself or made by Naomi and even then... Yamato has to make sure he eats or sometimes he won't

- Passed out from that more times than he would like to admit

- Definitely undiagnosed depression. He doesn't think anything is wrong with wanting to self-sacrifice himself all the time. Noboru checks up on him anyway

- Cried when Smoky died (not in public though, someone needed to be strong)

- A great singer but only sings when he's drunk at karaoke

- Member of the alphabet mafia, which letter? Don't worry about it

◇◇

Yamato🧡

- A big baby, cries at movies

- Would clap at the end of a flight

- Empathy king!! Whenever someone is going through something he knows how to comfort them or give pretty bad (or good) advice

- Everyone in Sannoh respects women ofc but Yamato walks the girls of the Sannoh area home if need be. His big frame comes in handy

- Bumps his head on things

- Massively protective over Noboru and Chiharu. He sees them as one in the same sometimes, loves them a lot

- Despite all of the Mugen/Amamiya beef being squashed, he and Hiroto spar every now and then

- Doesn't drink a lot (only a social drinker) because he's afraid of being addicted to something the way his mom is pachinko

- Absolutely no way he didn't have a crush on Cobra for at least a little bit. I mean. Come on

- Alphabet mafia amen

◇◇

Noboru🧡

- Most normal Sannoh member (this does not mean much)

- Would probably try to go back to law school, he'd want to learn how to protect S.W.O.R.D on a different front

- Has nightmares about the day he found his gf. He's moved on from the event but the way he saw her stuck with him

- A ball of anxiety

- Sucks at cooking

- Knits when he's stressed (has a lot of scarves would you like one please take one he has too many)

- Semi-speaks English

- Works at a nearby library

- Forced Chiharu to get his GED

◇◇

Dan🧡

- mmm I don't have very many but

- A pretty solid painter, painted the sign for his shop

- Joined Sannoh because he felt like he felt that he finally had a place to belong

- Doesn't have that much family

- 2nd best cook of the Sannoh boys (Cobra is first best but not by much)

- Owner of at plenty Noboru Anxiety Scarves and puts the ones he doesn't want up for sale in his shop

- Plays the lottery and won 100 dollars once (spent it on Sannoh and never told them)

◇◇

Tetsu🧡

- Adhd all the way babey

- Oya High alumni (tell no one)

- Has at least 2k followers on insta

- Keeps airing Sannoh's business on socmed 😭😭

- Jailbroke an iPhone once before forgetting how to do it

- Is religious (not one of Those Types) and prayed for S.W.O.R.D whenever they had major fights

- Goes to Nameless City to help rebuild and bring food incognito (Rude Boys just pretend they don't see him)

- He's cringe so he probably has had a crush on the same girl since middle school

- Likes to scrapbook

- Stays watching horror movies

- PDA King if ur in Sannoh you've hugged him at least 10 times within the month

- Lowkey bumps to the Mighty Warriors music on Spotify

◇◇

Chiharu🧡

- After officially squashing the beef with Furuya, they got along as well as you can when it is Big Loud Angry Guy and Please Don't Guy

- Can and will eat you out of house and home

- Works part time at Yamato's shop

- Giving him the highest honour I can bestow (Trans)

- Told Sannoh and cried and then Yamato cried cause Chiharu was crying and Tetsu decided that was the best time for a selfie with everyone's ugly ass cries

- Kizzy probably knows

- Although not the sharpest tool in the shed he's really good at puzzles and riddles

- He's never really forgiven himself for betraying S.W.O.R.D

- Lightest of the boys, Cobra has thrown him before

- Considers them his family, since his own kinda gave up on him after dropping him at Oya

♡♡

Naomi🧡🩷

- "I am not a nurse" she says as giving stitches to her boys

- She's a certified women kisser idc argue with the waaaaallll

- Really loves her boys no matter how mean she is to them

- She's a Sannoh girl, of course she knows how to fight a bit

- She knew she couldn't go up against the White Rascals but if someone tried to rob Itokan all they'd be leaving with is an ass whooping

- Keeps trying new styles with her hair, did a side shave

- Probably has an infinity tattoo for her brother

- Has a custom made motorbike

- Forget Sannoh being protective of Naomi, Naomi is protective of her hoodlums and will in fact talk mad shit to anyone who disrespected them

- Has a running tab for each gang that happens to eat there, White Rascals has the lowest one because Rocky always pays + a nice tip and Oya has the highest because they have 5 dollars between the entire school

[confessions-official]

So in 8th grade (22-23 school year) I applied to this local private high school that was very neurodivergent-, disability- and queer-friendly. I got in and I got almost a full ride scholarship, we would have to pay a couple thousand dollars but my dad was getting a pay increase and my grandma has some money so it all worked out!

And then the school fuckin closed.

Deadass they were just like “yeah we lost an investor there’s nothing you can do we know it’s too late to apply to other private schools you’re on your own sorry.” I now attend a public high school where I hear the r slur repeated regularly and only once have I heard someone push back against its use (shoutout to my algebra teacher).

I go to the wikipedia page for my county, city and neighborhood somewhat often. I ended up going to the “education in [city]” part of the city’s page. And it still listed the school as a private high school, right next to other active private high schools.

I had a totally normal response to this, and like a non-spiteful, non-hating bitch created a wholeass wikipedia account to add a comment regarding the school’s closure to the talk about the page. I had never done this before and it took some work but by god I fucking did it.

I’m still really pissed about the school shutting down and I’m probably always going to be pissed about it. Because it was this place that said “we’ll accept you, we want you to succeed” and meant it genuinely, and you could fucking SEE it in the school environment because the kids there were nice. Probably because they had also been treated awfully by students at previous schools for some part of their identity and they didn’t want other people to have the same experience. And then suddenly the school was like “actually, never mind” and really didn’t help at all. Just kinda threw us to the wolves. That’s not going to be able to go on the actual wikipedia page and I know that the school shutting down wasn’t on purpose to make me feel bad about myself but I do kind of feel like that. Not because “ugh I have to go to school with the regular low born common folk” or whatever but I hear the r slur used constantly. Nobody says anything. It’s never brought up. The school will talk about being discrimination free and everybody belongs there, but you know what? I’ve heard people being incredibly racist towards Black people and nobody does shit about that either. So I guess it’s just fuck you no matter what kind of minority group you belong to.

Anyway. People irl don’t seem to understand me but I figure on Tumblr someone will. I’m just very tired.

 

[partisan-by-default]

Public Dollars Belong in Public Schools (facebook):

Things that didn’t kill kids today: *Books *Drag Queens *Pronouns

[sailorsally]

Misha attended Northfield Mount Hermon school in Massachusetts. A very fancy (expensive) prep school. But Misha only went there on a local poor kid scholarship, he didn't pay. And it was from eighth or ninth grade onward, so he would've been at least 12 or 13 before he experienced the wealthy side of New England life. He's said that he met Darius there when he was 12 (and Vicki there when he was 15) and Darius used to bring an extra lunch to school for Misha because Misha didn't have much to eat. Darius also gave Misha clothes because he didn't have much in that regard either. Prior to getting that scholarship, Misha and his little brother and mom were homeless, living in a tent in the woods at one point, in an office with no windows at another. Misha and Sasha attended various public elementary schools. As I understand it, Misha also got a scholarship to study at the University of Chicago after high school. But he did also say that he and Vicki were "hundreds of thousands" of dollars in debt before he got the gig on Supernatural (much of that I assume was student debt, as they both got BA's from UofC and Vicki went on to do a Masters and PhD too. Expensive!) The White House internship was also unpaid (until 2022 when Pres Biden signed a new spending bill that set aside money to pay WH interns. But when Misha did his internship in the 90s it was unpaid.) I don't think he met his (very rich) friend Phillip until after college, sometime in his 20s.

yeah, this makes sense (even if I have no idea who Philip is). idk if you are the same anon from the earlier ask but everything you wrote just confirms Misha didn't grow up wealthy. Going to a fancy private school isn't the same as being rich. I think Misha's college diary shows very well what his attitude to those rich privileged kids was like at the time. He certainly didn't feel like he belonged with them in any way.