#I genuinely think he owns a pair of gucci sunglasses

[green-typewriterz]

Can you write some angsty stuff followed by fluff. Something with Harry styles.

Basically reader being heavier and insecure had no male attention all her life. She is a big time introvert and opens up after a lot of struggle. But her life changes when Harry makes an entry.

Until I Found You - Harry Styles

Harry Styles x fem!reader Summary: You’ve never been overly confident, but then someone comes along and makes you feel things you’ve never felt Warnings: angst to fluff, body insecurity, Harry being perfect as per usual Word count: 1K words

I hope this is what you were looking for lovely! Thank you so much for requesting!

You were no stranger to the judging stares that came with the industry you were in, fashion was a tough career as it is without everyone thinking you couldn’t be fashionable just because you weren’t thin. It’s not like you could escape it either, the main part of your job being styling overly self-obsessed celebrities who think they’re perfect and everyone else is ugly. You always tried to stay confident, posting outfit of the days and filtering out hate comments for your own mental health, but somehow some always got through and you would be lying if you said it never affected you.

You assumed this would be the same, some singer you didn’t really care enough about judging you and shitting on your outfit choices even though most of the time you put them in their own wardrobe and they were too stupid to realise they picked the clothes themselves. You walked into the dressing room to see this one particular celebrity talking with your PA who was helping him pick from the sequins you would later have to meticulously embroider.

“You must be Harry,” you spoke, walking over with your hand outstretched for him to shake, “I’m Y/N, I'm your designer!” He took your hand immediately, shaking it without breaking eye contact. He was wearing a simple short-sleeved t-shirt with a pair of ripped jeans. His hair was pushed back away from his face with a pair of brown Gucci sunglasses and he wore two necklaces, one made of pearl and the other a cross.

He smiled warmly before replying, “I know who you are. The famous Y/N Y/L/N? C’mon, you’re renowned. Thank you for taking the time to come and help me.” His voice was soft and genuine (which you will admit created butterflies in your stomach) then you quickly got to work on creating the outfit that he would wear to the Grammys. He pointed at crystals every now and then, commenting on how they’d match his shoes or his nails - which he planned to paint pink. At this current moment, they were a deep shade of blue, almost the same colour as his navy Adidas gazelles. 

You had just assumed that Harry was just being nice but - though he was being polite - he found himself unable to take his eyes off of you. He had heard about you through the endless attack of hate that you got just for looking how you look. Harry never understood it, he thought you were beautiful, often seeing photos of you and thinking of Italian Renaissance statues.

The day ended quickly and for that, you couldn’t be happier. You got in your car and cried, tears hot against your cheeks as you thought back to how you felt that day. Harry didn’t stop staring at you, at your body. You knew that most people didn’t like how you looked, but the fact that he looked at you for so long. It made you want to shrink into the floor. You were still in your car, having just stopped crying when you reached the impulsive part of your breakdowns so you got out your phone and sent a tweet.

Y/N

So fucking sick of all this body hatred in my line of work. My body is beautiful purely because it is mine and it exists, get over it.

You immediately closed your phone, knowing you wouldn’t feel regret until the inevitable negative comments came a few hours later. You drove home and collapsed onto your sofa, feeling overly proud of yourself for what you had tweeted. Well, that was until you got a text message from Harry asking if the tweet was about him. You weren’t sure how to respond, not wanting to face the problem head-on this early. But, deciding it could only get worse, you replied.

Y/N

So?

There was no reply for a while, then:

Harry

We need to talk this through in person. Meet me in St James’ Park. Please. - H

You froze. No one had ever done this before. You knew that it was getting late, but something was drawing you there so you grabbed your coat and a pair of gloves before rushing out the door, the park only being a five-minute walk from you.

You debated walking up to him, standing there hoping he would keep his eyes on the sunset so you could just turn around and go. Of course that didn’t happen. “Y/N. I wanted to apologise for today. I sincerely promise I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You crossed your arms, staring into his bright eyes. “Cut the shit. I have gotten the same treatment from every other celebrity I’ve worked with Harry. Each one thinks they're better than me because they have every person's dream body.” You spoke, your words creating a mist in the cold.

He shook his head and stepped closer. “I promise you. That’s not what I was thinking.”

You scoffed, looking away from him as you unfolded your arms. You didn’t believe him even though deep down you wanted to. He took your hands suddenly and you met his gaze again, his eyes filled with an emotion you’d never seen before. 

“Is it so hard to believe that I find you intoxicatingly beautiful?” He asked, brows furrowed in confusion. He stepped closer again. “Everything about you, call me corny but I feel like i haven’t seen beauty like yours since I saw the statues in Rome.”

You blushed as he slowly moved his hands from your hands to your waist, his soft grip settling there as if it were the place it was destined to be. You stared at his lips, seeing them curve into a soft smile full of adoration. He leaned in slowly, making sure you wanted the same as him. You met his lips in the cold, the taste of his mint gum lingering on his lips.

“I’ve always been crazy about you, Y/N.” He whispered as you pulled away. You rested your foreheads against one another, hands still on each other's waists. This was something you never wanted to end.

The sun had set a long while ago, but the two of you were still in the park, quietly talking as you held hands, looking at the stars from an old rickety bench. Harry liked you for both your body and your heart and that was something you thought you’d never get.

#harry styles x reader #one shot #fic #fanfic #harry styles #angst #fluff #writing #harry styles x you

[impossible-rat-babies]

pollux like you can’t see my eyebags these sunglasses are gucci

#Shejsjs I kept thinking w that piccrew like dang you look terrible pollux #but then I added the sunglasses and it’s like oh now you look fantastic #I genuinely think he owns a pair of gucci sunglasses #they’ve all been gifts though like rebecca got him a pair when he got out of rehab #as like a im so glad ur healthy again + I know you’re eyes are still sensitive as hell here have a nice pair of sunglasses #in fhr they were a gift from ortega and he’s been given a pair Twice #once for Christmas back in the day and he Genuinely thought about selling them fr #he was baffled by someone spending that much money on him + you could’ve taken him to like. the grocery store #and let him have the run of the place and it arguably would’ve been better #he does keep them though #and he ends up getting them back from ortega #they were amongst the others in his collection when those were returned to him #and he still likes them. they’re teal #like the frameless acrylic ones that are all like. paying for the brand name of them #he wears them with his goodwill/shitty thrift store clothes and things it’s Classy #he will look absolutely terrible dragging himself to the corner store for smokes at 5am after a late night bender #bc He was Not Vibing #and he’s got his stupid expensive limited edition gucci sunglasses on #oc talk: pollux

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 52 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet learned more about Sutan, Courtney got spoiled, and Katya turned her kitchen into a Thanksgiving factory.

This Chapter: Adore gets an unexpected invite, Violet experiences a relatively functional family, Fame hides out, and Courtney makes a bold move. (Thanksgiving Chronicles 3 of ??)

***

Adore stared at her phone as it rang, trying to get over her surprise and figure out what to do. Even Courtney looked shocked, eyebrows raising to her hairline.

“Are you gonna answer?”

“Uh...I dunno.” She stared for another second before curiosity finally got the better of her. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Pearl said and ugh, she sounded as sexy as ever.

“Uh...what’s up?”

“Um…” Pearl cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I was just like...thinking about you, and...uh…how are you doing?”

Adore smiled to herself. In spite of everything that had gone down, she still had a soft spot for Pearl, a very tiny and distinct hope that maybe they could work things out. She knew how hard it must have been for her to make this call. Maybe it was a sign?

“I’m alright.”

They exchanged small talk for a minute or two as Adore walked beside Courtney, back into Bianca’s building.

“I might lose you soon, we’re almost at the elevator-” Adore began.

“Wait!”

Adore stopped, brow furrowed, holding up a finger to Courtney, who nodded and stopped walking, leaning against one of the lobby’s giant marble columns.

“Yes?”

“I just...I really hated how things ended and I...would really like to see you again.”

“You would?”

“Yeah! Of course. I think we should talk, And, um...we’re doing this whole Friendsgiving cocktail party thing tonight. Maybe you wanna swing by? Everyone misses you, so...but I know you’re at your sister’s, so don’t feel like you have to-”

“Well I guess…” Adore took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. Did Pearl want to get back together? “I guess I could head over for a bit. We’re done eating here.”

“Okay, awesome! Come anytime, it’s just like an open house party thing.”

“Sure, see ya soon.”

Adore hung up, a little conflicted about the whole conversation. As much as she wanted to see Pearl again, she wasn’t so sure that it was the best idea.

“So...what did Pearl have to say?” Courtney asked, and Adore had to hand it to her for keeping her face entirely judgment free.

“She wants me to come hang out. She sounded...sorry?”

“Well, that’s good, right? I mean, she should be sorry.” Courtney linked her arm through Adore’s as they walked into the elevator. “Losing you would make any rational person sorry.”

“Not that you’re biased,” Adore chuckled, dropping a kiss to the top of Courtney’s head.

“Not a bit.”

“...Do you think I should go?” Adore bit her lip, still trying to get her hopes up too much.

“Do you want to go?”

“Kind of. I just feel like...even if we can’t like, make the relationship work, it would be good to be on better terms...” She didn’t voice the next through out loud. That maybe, just maybe, they could make it work.

“Then it probably makes sense to see what she has to say.”

“Yeah...you won’t feel abandoned, will you?” Adore asked.

“Um, no. I’ll probably just help Bianca clean up and then take off. Back to my own palace,” she joked, making Adore giggle, since her apartment was the literal exact opposite of a palace.

As they stepped back into Bianca’s foyer, she pulled Courtney in for a tight hug.

“You’re honestly the best, you know that?”

***

“Anybody want more coffee?”

“No thanks.” Violet shook her head, a smile on her face as she watched Sutan walk around the small kitchen table, pot of coffee in hand. Violet was absolutely stuffed, though not as much as Raven, the model asleep on the couch in the den after three servings of pie.

“More pie Violet?” Murni held up the pumpkin pie, Sutan pouring another cup for Raja.

“No thanks.” Violet shook her head. “I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“You should be proud Bunda,” Sutan smiled, taking a seat next to Raja. “I can’t remember Violet ever eating this much.”

“Sutan!” Murni shot him a look, and Violet felt herself blush, warm rising in her cheeks. “Manners.”

“Sorry,” Sutan grinned, and Raja giggled too.

“He’s right though-” Violet didn’t know what came over her, but she didn’t want this tiny woman to think badly of her, didn’t want to seem ungrateful in any way. “You’re a very good chef.”

Murni’s cooking had been absolutely delicious, the Thanksgiving meal the best one Violet could remember ever having. Sure, they were served chicken instead of turkey, Raja smiling her way through the story about how Murni had first made the mistake when they were children and they all liked it too much to let go of the tradition, but it wasn’t the food that had made Violet eat so much.

It was the mood around the table.

Violet knew a lot of people saw her as picky, that Sutan probably thought that way of her too, but she wasn’t, she simply got nervous and then retreated back to the foods she knew.

It had been so nice to sit down with someone who felt like a family, to feel like she was actually genuinely welcomed at the table.

“Thank you sweet girl,” Murni smiled, her dark eyes filled with a deep warmth.

“See Sutan?” Raja turned to her twin, nudging her elbow into his side. “It isn’t that hard to bring home someone who isn’t a raging bitch.”

“Raja! Don’t talk like that!”

“Sorry,” Raja smirked, grabbing her coffee cup. “But she was an absolute cunt.”

***

“Darling?”

Patrick opened the door to their bedroom, waiting a second as he looked around. Fame had gone missing after dessert, giving some quick excuse about checking up on Charles, but when Patrick had actually found their dog happily munching away on his chef-arranged plate of leftovers, his wife was nowhere to be seen.

The bedroom was dark, and Patrick was just about to leave, when he noticed a sliver of light coming from underneath the door to the walk-in closet.

“Fame?” Patrick walked inside, closing and locking the bedroom door behind him, an unsettling sensation growing in his stomach.

His family was downstairs, watching football and grazing on the last of the several desserts Fame had ordered, his mother making a snide comment that if she couldn’t cook, at least she knew how to hire a chef.

Pareick grabbed the door to the walk-in closet and slid it open, catching sight of Fame, who was sitting on the floor, apprentently rearranging her sunglasses drawer, a glass of wine at her side.

“.... Fame?”

Fame looked up, only just noticing him, and Patrick realized how right his gut feeling had been.

“Patrick,” Fame raised her hand, quickly drying under her eyes, but it was too late. Patrick had already seen the streaks, his wife's ever perfect makeup marred by what could only be tears. “I didn’t see you-“

“What’s wrong?” Patrick sat down on his knees, not reaching out to touch.

“I’m fine.”

“Nothing says fine like rearranging your 2003 Guccis.”

“They’re not-“ Fame cut herself off and Patrick had to hide a smile, the sunglasses obviously Chanel, but if Fame was rising to the bait, whatever mood she was in was salvageable. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s never just nothing with you darling.” Patrick leaned back against one of the many closet doors. “Now tell me.”

“It’s just,” Fame picked up a pair of sunglasses. “I just needed a break from the accusations of robbing your mother of her grandchildren.”

“Ah,” Patrick cringed. He had always been clear to his family about not wanting children, but it seemed like his mother had gone deaf since her friends started having grandbabies. They had busy, fulfilling lives - their friends, their dog, their work. They simply didn’t want children.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Fame wasn’t looking at him, her blue eyes focused on the drawer. “I just wish… I wished she wouldn’t constantly tell me I’m not enough for you, that I’m the one who-“

“Hey-“ Patrick reached out, grabbing Fame’s hand. “You’re my forever Famie.”

“Patrick.” Fame looked up, and Patrick turned her hand in his, making sure she could see the sparkling diamond on her ring finger.

“You are,” Patrick squeezed her hand. “And we’re the ones who don't want kids. Both of us. Together. Unanimous decision.”

“You’re such a lawyer.” Fame smiled, leaning forward to place a sweet kiss against his lip.

***

Bianca’s reaction to Adore’s plan to see Pearl was slightly different from Courtney’s, her spine going rigid and teeth clenching at the news.

“If that’s what you want,” she said tersely, snapping the lid shut on a tupperware and shoving it into the fridge.

“B…”

Bianca looked up, giving a resigned sigh and opening her arms to her sister.

“Come here.”

Courtney watched from the doorway, a smile tugging on her lips as they hugged.

“Do what you gotta do, pussycat,” Bianca murmured, finally releasing her with an insincere, “And give Pearl my very best!”

“Will do!” Adore laughed, blowing Courtney a kiss as she headed for the door.

Courtney stepped into the kitchen, her hands full of the last few glasses that had been on the dining room table. Secretly, she was thrilled that they were now alone together.

“Where can I…”

“Oh, just stick it right there.” Bianca gestured to the huge pile of dishes next to the sink. It was hard to believe that the three of them had created this big of a mess.

“Can I help you clean up?” she asked.

“Uh...sure…Most of it can just go in here.”

Bianca opened the giant dishwasher and beckoned Courtney over.

“So…” Courtney bit her cheek, doing her best not to sneak glances at the lacy black bra visible through the slit in Bianca’s top, turning her attention instead to the apparently 47 glasses they’d gone through. She picked them up one at a time, carefully placing them in the top rack of the dishwasher. “Not a Pearl fan, eh?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Uhhh...yeah,” Courtney giggled.

“I just...I know she’s gonna hurt my sister again. Why? You think she’s great?” Bianca asked, the last word loaded with bitterness.

“No, I think she’s a cunt,” Courtney said bluntly, and Bianca let out a cackle of agreement, eyes sparkling with delight. “But...Adore really liked her, and it sounds like she feels really bad about how things ended, so...maybe it’s good that they’re gonna talk some more. Maybe they can even work it out.”

“You’re naive.”

“Possibly, but I prefer optimistic.” Courtney flashed a sunny smile, Bianca returning it slightly before shaking her head and reaching for her wine glass.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t deserve your optimism. And she doesn’t deserve Adore.” She drained her wine glass and then stuck it into the dishwasher with the others, turning to the plates.

“I think it’s really cute how protective you are,” Courtney said softly, fingertips brushing against Bianca’s shoulder.

“I’m not, usually,” Bianca explained with a chuckle. “But I know Pearl, and she’s...a player, you know? She goes through women like Kleenex, and I just don’t buy that she’s capable of any kind of meaningful commitment, which is what I know Adore wants.” She looked up and caught Courtney’s amused smile, adding, “What?”

“You know that’s what people say about you, right?”

“Yeah, and they’re right!” Bianca barked, eyes hard, and Courtney took a small step back. Bianca’s face fell, immediately looking regretful, saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s okay,” Courtney said. “I know you’re just worried about her.”

She went back to the dishwasher, now trying to Tetris in the various bowls and coffee cups.

“Who’ve you been talking to about me, anyway?” Bianca asked, the gruffness softening slightly.

“I’m not gonna reveal my sources!”

“Multiple sources, huh?”

“Perhaps,” Courtney twinkled, twirling a stray wine glass by the stem before putting it into the rack.

“Hm. Well, I’d ask around about you, but nobody knows who the fuck you are, so…”

“That’s true. I’m shamefully irrelevant in this city. Just another small-town kid trying to make it in the Big Apple.”

“Teasing you is no fun. You always agree.” Bianca’s voice was low and husky, dimples appearing for a brief second.

“Sorry, I’ll try to be less agreeable,” Courtney shot back, stomach flipping as Bianca leaned towards her.

“Good idea,” she proclaimed, picking up a serving dish from the pile and putting it into the sink.

“So...since nobody knows who I am, I guess you’ll have to just judge for yourself, eh?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well…” Courtney swallowed, not entirely sure she was prepared for the answer to her question, before turning around to face her and bravely venturing, “What do you think?

“I think...that one day you’re gonna look in the mirror and own how absolutely extraordinary you are. And then you’re gonna be fucking unstoppable.”

It certainly wasn’t what Courtney expected, and she inhaled sharply, eyes glued to Bianca’s. And suddenly it was all too much. The lingering glances, the brief touches, the heated silence. Kiss me, Courtney found herself wishing, searching Bianca’s eyes for a sign…any sign, that she felt the same way.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me…

Bianca leaned in and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, and Courtney gripped the edge of the sink, an ache growing in the pit of her stomach. She desperately wanted to close the distance, to taste Bianca’s plush ruby lips. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat as Bianca cupped her cheeks.

“This is probably…a very bad idea,” Bianca said.

“Okay.” Courtney nodded slowly.

Bianca stroked her cheeks, leaning in closer. “I told you to stop agreeing,” she whispered.

“Right…” All Courtney could think about was the warm breath on her face, Bianca’s perfect curves so, so close.

“Fuck,” said Bianca softly, finally leaning in all the way, pressing her against the counter, letting their lips touch.

Courtney thought she was going to faint. Somehow, she’d expected the kiss to be like Bianca - aggressive and strong and maybe even a little bit scary. But it was the softest, sweetest kiss she’d ever had, the light and teasing brush of her lips making her crazy before finally deepening. She melted into Bianca’s arms, letting the whole moment envelope her as the edge of the counter dug into her lower back--the only thing keeping her grounded.

One of Bianca’s hands slid down, and now it was on her waist, fingers on her skin sending shivers all up her spine, a soft whimper falling from her lips as she arched forward into the touch.

Then, without any warning, Bianca sprung back, leaving her trembling, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry,” Bianca said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

It was a battle for Courtney to connect with her addled mind, her skin still tingling from where she’d been touched, and when she did, she still couldn’t make sense of it all.

Bianca continued to apologize profusely, even adding a regretful, “You’re not the first straight girl to get caught in my web. I’m...I’m really sorry.”

“I…” Courtney tried to respond, but it felt like her tongue was paralyzed.

“Um...why don’t I call you a car?” Bianca said.

“That’s not...you don’t have to-”

“No, I insist. It’s dark and you’re...you should take some food!”

“What?” Courtney shook her head, pangs of regret making her chest hurt, trying to understand what went wrong.

“Yeah, um...I gotta go out of town tomorrow and I don’t want it to go to waste, so-” She turned to the fridge and began pulling containers out, filling a Neiman Marcus bag she grabbed from a nearby cabinet.

Courtney still didn’t know what to say, so she just followed her numbly to the door, slowly putting on her jacket and scarf while Bianca called whoever it was in her life that made towncars appear. She finally stepped into the elevator, arms loaded with two shopping bags of food, watching her fantasies dissolve as the doors shut.

Downstairs, both the concierge and the doorman were expecting her, directing her to the black sedan waiting outside. It had gotten dark since she’d been out with Adore, the damp air somehow far more bitterly cold now. She took another step towards the car before hesitating, looking back longingly at Bianca’s building.

***

Bianca closed her eyes. The bewildered, stricken look on Courtney’s face as the elevator doors slid shut would be burned into her brain forever, she was sure of it. Along with the feeling of being absolute fucking garbage.

Flirting was one thing. Flirting was harmless fun for everyone. But the fact that she’d taken advantage of one moment of weakness--and with Adore’s best friend, no less. Adore’s straight friend. What the fuck was wrong with her?

In the moment, it had seemed so right: the softness in her eyes, lips parted, head tilted--it looked so much like an invitation, practically a dare. But it was a dare Bianca should have resisted. She knew better. Even at the time, she’d known better, known that she was making a reckless and irresponsible mistake. She’d done it anyway, though, hadn’t she?

She groaned, heading to the bar. She needed something much stronger than wine right now. She searched through the shelf, finally finding some Kentucky bourbon and picked it up, briefly considering taking a swig right from the bottle before pulling down a heavy glass and pouring herself a generous double shot. Possibly triple, she wasn’t measuring.

The liquor burned her throat, stinging her eyes. She pressed her palms to the top of the bar, blinking slowly, hoping the gross feeling she had would dissipate. It didn’t. She still felt Courtney’s petite body, shaking like a leaf under her hands. She headed for the stairs, thinking that a Silkwood shower was probably her last hope when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Del Rio,” Carson’s syrupy voice came on the line. “I have Ms. Jenek here. She seems to have left her phone in your apartment. Shall I send her up to fetch it?”

“Uh...yeah, that’s fine.”

Bianca hung up, looking slightly bleary-eyed at the dining room table, which was empty save for the massive vase of Fall flowers, and then moved onto the kitchen. Where else could it be? Den, maybe? She was about to go search when she heard footsteps in the foyer, the dogs bursting into excited yips as they ran to greet Courtney at the elevator. She followed, shaking her head apologetically.

“Hey, I’m not sure where your phone is. Maybe we should check the-”

She was cut off as Courtney rushed forward, dropping the bags in her hand, the containers inside clattering to the floor. And before Bianca knew what was happening, Courtney had flung herself into her arms, pulling her into a desperate, heated kiss.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #adore x pearl #vitan #bitney #adore delano #courtney act #pearl liaison #violet chachki #raja gemini #miss fame #bianca del rio #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

[purplesurveys]

1119

survey by icantloveu

Today:

Who was the first person you saw? It was my dad. I fell asleep in the living room last night and he was the first person to go downstairs.

Who was the first person who called you? I have not received any call today so far and I’m not expecting any to come through today, a Sunday.

Who was the first person you called? I haven’t called anyone, either. The closest is an eyewear store I messaged on Messenger just a few minutes ago to ask if they accept walk-ins, since I didn’t know they’ve mostly taken appointments throughout the pandemic. If they don’t, I’ll have to wait until Thursday to get a check-up.

What was the first thing you did? I was mad at myself for falling asleep early last night and kinda wasting my weekend, so the second I opened my eyes I got up and looked for a survey to answer, lol.

What'd you have for breakfast? Fried rice, eggs, hotdogs, kikiam, and danggit, with crab paste.

Lunch? Skipped lunch as always since we have late breakfast. I might make coffee.

Dinner? I’m still indecisive on whether I’ll have dinner at home or somewhere outside. In any case, I can’t tell what I’ll be eating just yet.

Who'd you hang out with? I’ll be just by myself today.

What'd you do? I plan on taking a couple more surveys after this. I also wanna do some work ahead of tomorrow and watch the newest episode of 2 Days 1 Night as well.

Favorite song you heard? I am finding Ravi and Lee Naeun’s Rain Drop preeeeeeetty catchy.

Did you see anyone you hadn't seen in awhile? Not today. But last Friday this was the case as I saw Al, Pia, Kyelle, Gab, and Sam for the very first time in well over a year. Angela and Hans were part of the group as well but we were able to see each other during the holidays.

Last:

Thing you ate? The last spoonful of my rice, which I think I topped with the last of my egg and hotdog.

Movie you saw? Midsommar, I think. Last Christmas. I don’t watch a lot of movies anymore.

Girl you hugged? Angela. We saw each other for like, 15 seconds yesterday afternoon so that she could return the abaca mat I lent her for her graduation shoot.

Guy you hugged? I believe it was Hans, when we were saying bye last Friday. If not him, it would have been Al.

Family member you hugged? No idea. Maybe an aunt.

Type of soda you drank? I don’t drink any softdrinks. I did drink red wine that turned out to be carbonated last Valentine’s Day, though.

Flavor of gum you chewed? It’s a gimmick-y kind of gum that is extremely sour when you first pop it in your mouth; but once you start chewing it the sourness dies down and it goes back to the classic bubblegum taste.

Time you brushed your teeth? Last night.

Time you showered? Midnight yesterday when I got home from the aforementioned hangout with friends. I wasn’t able to take a shower yesterday because it had been freezing cold all day, but I plan on having one today.

Time you rode in the car? Yesterday when I drove out of the village to briefly meet up with Angela.

Word you said? Not sure; maybe just a ‘hi’? I greet my dogs a lot.

Person you talked on the phone to? My mom called me last night to tell me dinner was ready.

Time you cried? Genuinely no clue. I’d say a couple or even several weeks ago.

Currently:

Wearing? I have on an olive green sleveeless turtleneck top, and a pair of shorts.

Eating? None at the moment but I do feel like munching on something. Salted egg chips sound amazing right now, actually.

Drinking? Nothing, but I am in the mood for coffee.

Thinking? What else I can do today to maximize what’s left of my weekend.

Doing? [besides this survey] Looking at possible frames to buy for my new eyeglasses.

Friends:

Last friend's house you stayed at? Eugh, I think it had still been Gabie’s. I haven’t stayed at anyone else’s place during the pandemic so far; I’ve driven by Angela’s house briefly a couple of times, though. Mostly to just like return stuff or hand her a gift.

Last friend who stayed at your house? Angela and Hans.

Who has the coolest siblings? Probably Rita. All her siblings have got their own things and gigs and passions going on and I find that awesome. Of course, their family is filthy, old-money rich so their parents have more than enough money to let them sustain their hobbies, so I guess that’s a crucial factor in this too. But even then, they’re all humble and insanely nice so they’re still cool lol.

Who's an only child? Angela, Jo, Luisa, and I think Blanch??

Who have you gone on the most trips with? I don’t go on many trips with friends.

Who's met your family? Angela, and because of that one time my orgmates held a meeting at my house - Kate, Patrice, Jo, Jane, Aya, JM, and Edi.

Family:

Who's the craziest? There’s honestly a lot of chaos on my mom’s side, tbh. There’s past and current animosities, land issues, and general attitude problems among many of them. Of course, they try to hide it from the younger generation and everyone puts disagreements behind them during family gatherings; but the older I’ve gotten, the more my mom has let me in to some of the stories. That said, I can’t tell you who would be the craziest of them all.

Sanest? [is that a word] I would trust one of my aunts with my whole life, if it comes down to it. She has such a warm personality, is an amazing and sweet mom, and talking to her has always felt like talking to an old college friend that you’re having drinks with. I feel like I should do more for her as her niece, but yeah, I love her a lot.

Loudest? I will happily refer you to the entirety of my mom’s side, again. Everyone’s mode of communication seems to be yelling.

Lives the farthest away? Everyone who lives in the US.

Who do you live with? Both of my parents and my two siblings.

Has the most dogs? My dad’s immediate family, from whom Kimi actually came. There’s two dogs I can play with whenever we visit - Spike and Gucci - then they also have several other dogs but they aren’t too guest-friendly.

Has the most cats? My mom’s sister-in-law used to have like, 3 or 4 cats but I’m not sure if they’re still alive.

Has the most cars? I’m not sure. Most seem to have 1-3 which is the average for families anyway.

Random..

What color are your shoelaces? I’m not wearing any shoes at the moment.

Describe your sunglasses: I don’t own any.

Song you listened to last is...? Some jazz-y coffee shop-y tune I heard on YouTube.

Do you have a digital camera? Not anymore. I just use my phone to take photos.

What's the last type of cookie you ate? It had coffee and dark chocolate in it, but I can’t exactly remember what the name of the product is anymore.

Do you have your own computer? I have my own laptop. I never had a computer; I just went straight to having a laptop.

Describe your computer chair? I never had a computer chair per se but my work chair is nothing fancy, it’s just a plastic black chair that my parents bought initially just so that I had somewhere to sit on for my internship at my now-employer. Eventually I didn’t like how I was working in my room because I stopped being able to separate my personal life and my work life, so I’ve been working at the dining table these days.

Why is it called a computer chair anyways? I didn’t know this was a term, actually. I usually just keep hearing gaming chair.

What do you call the remote for the TV? Remote control, or sometimes just remote.

Do you have a crush on anyone? Nope.

What's on your walls? A few posters and wall decors. Some paintings from Gab towards which I have zero feelings or attachment anymore but I feel too lazy to take down.

Do you sleep with your door open or closed? Closed. It would be impossible for me to fall asleep otherwise.

Can you fall asleep with the TV on? Sure, but the program has to be something I was watching to begin with so I can be lulled to sleep. If it’s a show about something I don’t find interesting, I might just find it as noise.

What is the last book you read? I don’t know.

What's your least favorite class? I don’t go to school anymore but in my final semester I hated my business writing class. I hated all my journalism classes, actually; but it was business writing that made me feel the most nervous.

Are you cold? I’m just right. It’s chilly enough not to need the fan, but I’m not shivering either.

Where are you? I’m in the living room.

What is touching your foot? The couch.

Are you wearing any jewelry? Nopes.

If so, what?

What's your name? Robyn.

Do you like it? Sure.

Would you change it if you could? Not at this point.

[for girls] Are you going to keep your last name when you get married? I would hyphenate it, yeah. This is also so that I get to keep my middle name as well.

#survey #surveys

[imtryingthisout]

Sunglasses and Serenity

[a fic inspired by @nachosforfree @sanderssides-magicalgirlau check them out]

[Warnings: Descriptions of a Panic Attack]

[Pairing: Sleepxiety]

[Word Count: 2283]

——————————————————————

It was not a quiet night. The sky above was dark, the pearly stars hidden behind the neon verbosity of downtown. 24 hour shops and businesses had windows that never dimmed, pinpricks of artificial lightings blurred together creating an abstract mess of blended color.

The moon itself was distorted by the light pollution. It’s natural autumn glow paled in comparison to the vibrancy of the busy streets.

Remy both loved and hated it.

Growing up with summers spent in his family’s old Villa in Italy, secluded in a valley side miles away from the nearest approximation of a town, he had always known how the sky was darker blue than black. He and his cousins loved to climb upon the rooftop and find the stories hidden in the stars. The earth around them was quiet and peaceful, but never silent. The symphony of crickets and other night creature laid in the background of every night spent there. A distant murmuring, Tellus’s lullaby.

Moving to the city had been akin to dunking his head in a bucket of ice water and screamo pop.

Shocking, painful and utterly disorientating. But after the ringingness faded- strangely exhilarating.

Remy has thrown himself headfirst into the city’s night culture. Staying up late partying, trying all the best coffee houses, hanging around the hidden-and-not-so-hidden drag shows,gaining a reputation and a caffeine addiction along the way.

But this was not a night where he would be going out, not when everything he needed was with him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Virgil really was a sight to be seen, his skin was pale, like the white-petaled sunflowers that grew by the valley, that seemed to glow in the moonlight. But his starkness fit in perfectly with the gleam of the industrial lights. Heterochromatic eyes, green and purple, stunning as murano glass and pulsing as strobe lights.

Achingly familiar, yet enticingly foreign. Home and longing rolled up in one boy, a boy who has stolen one of his sleep shirts for his own nefarious (adorable) use.

And who probably wanted an answer. Quick Remy, think of some witty remark to be entertaining!

“You ever notice how bright it is sometimes?”

Damn it! Guess we’re being genuine.

Virgil quirked his head to the side, giving Remy a piercing look, before nodding his head slightly . “Yeah,” he said, “Used to overstimulate the crap outta me when I was younger.” Then he paused, debating with himself over continuing- but decided to press forward. “Is that why you always wear those stupid shades?” The last words said in jest.

A surprised laugh escaped his through before he could stop it- Virgil almost reaches out to comfort him, but tensed up, too many bad memories stilled his arm.

“Girl, I’ll have you know these are designer glasses right here” he made a gesture around his face, “Iconic one of a kind Remy Hypnos Original Shades. Don’t go dissing my brand babes”

Virgil just snorted and rolled his eyes, “Uh, I’m pretty sure the designer thing on your face are those-eye bags you have hidden under there.”

“Damn right, even the bags under my eyes are Gucci”

“Oh Gods did you steal that off tumblr you sleep-deprived asshat? Oh don’t give me that look you totally did.” Virgil’s words had started off biting, but slowly devolved into a giggling mess.

(He really was just too cute for this world, Remy thought)

“Oh Ha ha, laugh it up” he snapped, ignoring his blushing cheeks and hot ears.

(Virgil could always tell how flustered Remy was by how red the tips of his ears were. A dusty pink for flirty, A warm rouge signaled embarrassment or arousal. Virgil loved watching the colors bloom on his skin. Memorizing what each shade meant- he could take any cochineal-colored paint swatch and map out Remy’s mood in the margins. It made him so easy to read, and so much fun to mess with.)

Soon the laughing and jeering subsided, and Virgil turned to look at Remy, “But seriously man, Is that why you always have those things on? Photophobia?”

“Can’t it be enough that I look rad as all Hell’s in them?”

“Not with that deflection it can’t” Virgil wasn't giving up it seemed, so Remy let out a deep sigh and gathard his words. “Remember highschool?”

“Kind of hard to forget.” High school was an absolute trainwreck for Virgil, he’d been on and off meds that screwed with his moods- making the already hormone fueled circus that was over a thousand teens trapped in one building, like a pack of sardines- even more emotionally taxing.

But if High School was a disaster for Virgil, it was absolute Hell for Remy.

Remy and his cousins had been homeschooled by their many relatives since they were children. Growing up learning in his family’s study. Rich mahogany floors, dim golden lighting bouncing off the variety of nick-nacks and treasures that line the shelves. Learning to read in his grandfather’s library, his worn and wrinkled hands guiding his young fingers along the words.

His cousin Alessia longed to go to a public school, and pleaded with her mother for ages before she relented. With the condition that she would allow her to go- but only if one of their own went with her.

So Remy, proving himself as her favorite, offered to accompany her.

The blinding smile on Alessia’s face as she squealed thank you , thank you amata cugino, favorito benedetto, was totally worth it. ‘It’s only one year’ he thought, ‘how bad could it be?’

Until he actually got there.

Virgil could think back and recall in semi-perfect clarity the day Remy Hypnos graced the halls of Sandershore High. Roman had become a central hub for gossip , and he’d heard whispers that of new transfer students, which in of itself wouldn't be news. But Hypnos was a household name, owning some of the most ridiculously pretentious Itialian Restaurants in the country. The kind people got engaged at, those levels of nice.

Needless to say when Remy and Alessia strolled into Sandershore’s gate. With perfect olive skin, rich brown hair and clothes nicer than Virgil’s single mom income could ever afford. Virgil fell in hate easily.

(The kind of hate that has him staring at him out of the corner of his eye during Calculus. Thinking about what his eyes looked under those darkened glasses. The kind of hate that wasn’t really hate)

Remy had all the perfect components to rule to school. Pretty, rich, with a startling amount of charisma and people skills for someone so unsocialized.

(Know one knew how he picked up slang so fast in an attempt to hide to slight foreign tilt that laced his words. Never knew how when he first heard someone mock Alessia’s body he punched the guy’s lights out without ever thinking. No one knew how he hadn’t had a night's sleep since school started. How fake he felt, his mannerisms esageraged and twisted to suit the liking of the student body- till he felt like a caricature rather than a person.)

By second quarter Virgil and Remy’s seeming distaste for one another had spread far and wide. They couldn’t be in the same room together without having some sort of verbal showdown. If you asked Virgil he would say that Remy was a self absorbed prick with an ego the size of Mt. Rushmore. If you asked Remy he’d say that that Virgil was a clingy mood-killer who couldn’t see past his own issues.

(Remy didn’t know how empty Virgil felt. How much the crushing weight of his own thoughts threatened to pull him down under. How his dependency on Patton was more sinister than a clingy best-friend. How sometimes his nightmares left him gasping and clawing- begging for them to come back. How his mother never really could fill the emptiness in his house. How Virgil sometimes felt like a puppet going through the motions.)

As the eye bags under their eyes grew darker and heavier, and autumn grew colder and colder. Both boys felt the pressure crushing them under its weight.

(Turns out they both used their arguments as cathartic release from the world around them.)

(Some things never change.)

It was winter when they found each other. Both on the verge of a breakdown-

(It was always too bright. There were no warm wooden floors just chilled title and harsh- fake- lights. The entire building smelled like body odor and cleaning supplies. The teachers were strangers, uncaring distant- he heard what the girls were saying about his cousin. He just felt so-)

(Empty. Hopeless. Patton was gone where did Patton go? He was lonely. And so so pathetic. He needed to get himself under control needed. Don’t be a burden- they all hate him- don’t slip up. They’re going to leave him. Everything felt so distant- drowned out by the static- he was drowning-)

Where the fate’s looking down on the two powder keg boy. A spark away from igniting. Weaving their strings together for a happenstance in counter. Or was it merely coincidence that they went to the same storage closet, to have a moment's respite.

Was it just chance that the door was automatic-locked.

“This is just great” Remy hissed under his breath, he just wanted one moment- just one! Of some cooled peace and solitude. Away from the buzzing gossip and fake friends. Away from the sensory hell outside. A little kernel of bitter anger swelled within the pit of his stomach. One moment, just one.

Then he turned to look at the other person in the room.

Remy had seen lots of sides of Virgil Anxiti, the sarcastic commenter, the horrible-yet oddly insightful- student, the debater .

(He hadn’t seen the devoted son, the caring brother, the friend who would do anything for his loved ones)

But he’d never seen him… blank.

Curled up in the corner of the closet, arms hugging his knees as they were pressed into his chest, was Virgil. Eyes dead and dulled as stone. The muscles in his face were relaxed completely- which unsettled Remy more than crying would have.

Remy wasn’t a Knight in shining armor, or even a comforting person in general- but unqualified as he may be, he couldn’t just let his favorite rival just sit there and do nothing to help.

Alessia needed physical touch when she was upset , their whole family was practically comprised of touchy people. So when one of them was sad, it was a one way ticket to hug time. Somehow Remy didn’t think that would be well received.

“Hey, babes I’m going to touch your arm- that good with you?” He didn’t reply, not that Remy thought he would- but still. So slowly, cautiously, he layed a single hand on Virgil’s arm.

The change was gradual, but noticeable. Hear bloomed under Virgil’s complexion, bringing back warmth into his skin. The glassy oversheen of his eyes subsided, and his entire posture just… relaxed. And so did Remy.

When he had gathered enough of himself, Remy guided Virgil though his breathing exercises. In and out, In and out. Hand never leaving his arm- grounding him to the world.

The door was still locked when Virgil regained his senses. “Guess we have to wait until someone notices we’re missing” Which nearly set Virgil off into another spiral. Until they rembered that technology exists. And so they used Virgil’s phone to text Logan to come and unlock it.

“He’s the only one who won’t make a big deal about us being locked in a closet together”

But there was time between then and there. Time to talk, if only to fill the awkward silence.

To talk about school.

“Girl I have no idea what they put in those ‘school provided lunches’ but they are not food.”

“What rock have you been living under? I once got food poisoning from drinking some of the milk in 6th grade- and that still wasn’t the worst thing I’ve eaten from there.”

About Friends.

“I met Patton when I was six and we’ve been best friends ever since. Dee joined in when we were all about nine and we first saw Lo’ and the twins when they started freshman year”

“I cannot honestly tell you the names of half the people who hang around me”

About Family.

“Hon you could bust down every wall in this building and still wouldn’t have enough room to put all my fam”

“It’s just been my mom, little brother and Patton since I was eight and my dad walked out. Still don’t know who I hate more for it- him or me”

If Logan took just a tad longer route to the closet- he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t mention when Remy started joining their table for lunch. Matching Roman and Remus in all their theatrics- offering to set up a ‘play date’ between some of his younger cousins and Dee’s many siblings.

(If he noticed how much happier the two were after that, how much more healthy Virgil seemed, how more secure in himself Remy acted...well that was just one more thing he didn’t mention.)

Present Day Remy took off his glasses, letting them rest gently in his hand. “My Nonna gave them to me the day before I started school. Said they would come in handy. They did of course.. they just kinda.. became more” he rubbed along the temple’s rubbery tip. Eyes focused in on the way his fingers move up and down the slender frame.

Virgil gently takes the glasses into his hand, and sets them down on the bedside table. He has to stand on his toes to reach Remy’s face, but when he does he tenderly places a hand onto his cheek, gazing into his deep brown eyes- the same shade as his espresso cups and just as rich.

And Remy melts into him. Allows himself to be led away from the window. From the bright lights and traffic noise, and into Virgil’s embrace.

#sander sides #sander sides fic #fic #writing #remy x virgil #Virgil Sanders #sander sides anxiety #Remy Sanders #Sander shorts sleep #sleepxiety #sleep x anxiety #Logan Sanders #deciet sanders #roman snders #remus sanders #patton sanders #ocs #oc alissa hypnos #oc Nonna Gina #tw panic attack

[sublimestarker]

Starker smut - Trim my hedges

Peter Parker was loaded. Most of it was family money, inherited by his parents and his uncle, but he still managed to double that amount. He worked on apps, and sometimes invested in properties and stock, with his aunt’s permission. “You’re only 19, Peter live your life while you’re young” she’d say and if he had a penny for every time he heard it and rolled his eyes, he’d be even richer. But even she couldn’t deny that their luxurious lifestyle had it’s perks - a nice apartment in Queens and a vacation home in the Hamptons. They were currently there, the July sun shining on Peter’s Ray-Bans as he watched his aunt showing the new gardener around. He knew that the staff never stuck around for too long, so he opted for scrolling through his phone instead of watching the man. Peter was forced to meet him later, when May introduced them.

“Peter, this is our new gardener, Anthony Stark.”

“Please call me Tony.” He said and stretched his hand out to the younger man. Tony, in his tank top and his dirty gardening gloves shaking hands with Peter who was dressed in Gucci pants and had a new Rolex on his wrist was a sight.

“Alright boys, play nice.” May ordered, before going back in the house.

“Kid, you should go in too, I’m gonna trim the hedges and it will get pretty loud.”

“Don’t worry, I have these.” Peter fished out a pair of Airpods from his pocket, and placed them in his ears, his music on low volume, so that he stayed focused. He wanted to observe the gardener a bit more. That guy wasn’t May’s usual type - tall, blonde, with muscles and blue eyes, like the precious ones. Peter particularly missed Steve Rogers, or Captain America,as they called him and a guy who he just called Thor. He had fucked them both, leading to their unemployment, thanks to his aunt. He still remembers the vicious arguments they got in.

“If you didn’t want me to have sex with guys who are twice my age you shouldn’t bring them over.” Peter yelled as he saw that May had fired Steve. His nerves got the best of him and he knew it.

“I didn’t bring them over, I asked them to work for me. You should really think of who you’re seen with, your little hookups can lead to bad press.” May shouted back. He hadn’t seen her this angry with him since he gambled last year.

“Bad press? What is this the 60s. I can sleep with whomever I want and the paparazzi won’t bat an eyelash.”

“Though you should be free to do whatever you want with your body, I’m still the adult here, Peter. There should be some limits. I just want the best for you, I don’t want you to get hurt like last time.”

“We’re still on that. I told you it was just a one time thing.”

“Is that why you were cooped up crying in your room for months. Because of a one time thing. Look I don’t want another Bucky breaking your heart.”

“Don’t call him that. Only I can say that. To you and everyone else he’s James.”

“But he wasn’t, wasn’t he. He was Bucky to his wife and kids, wasn’t he.”

“Get out.”

“Peter I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

“I said get out.” He screamed, face red and tears welling up in his eyes. He even threw a framed picture at where May stood moments ago.

Peter was snapped out of that memory when he felt his gardener tapping him on the shoulder.

“You’re so deep in thoughts that you didn’t feel that the first few times, huh kid. Anyway, I need to mow the lawn, so I’d suggest you move.”

“You don’t make the suggestions here. If I wanted I could get you fired right here on the spot.”

“Nice try kid, but I know that your aunt’s the boss here. Plus what are you going to do after you fire me? Replace me with a blonde, blue eyed muscular jock.”

Peter clenched his fist in anger.

“May told you.”

“Yeah, she didn’t want me making the same mistakes as the previous gardeners. Though looking at your attitude, I’m sure she won’t have a problem.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, I know everything about you. Because I was you. I was a rich brat, with lots of cash and lots of fuck buddies.”

“Anthony Stark, Tony Stark, my father used to know your father. Wait, the Wikipedia article said that you ran away from home one night and that you’ve been MIA ever since.”

“Yeah kid, I know what it says, I wrote it. The truth isn’t that glamorous or mysterious. One night my old man saw me sneaking in my boyfriend. He banished me, it was a different time then. And I’ve been on my own since then. I was 18 and on the street, it was literally rags to riches, but well riches to rags. I tried a lot of things. Took a few odd jobs, went to community college, even tried to get back into the family business after my dad passed. Well nothing worked and here I am, in what I’m convinced is my personal hell on earth.”

“Why did you take this job then? You knew what you were getting into.”

“Because it’s the only way I can get money.”

“You see that little garden over there - Steve planted marigolds for me when he was still here. They should bloom in a week. If you stay at your job until then, you’re free to leave and I’ll even give you an extra 10 k. But if i seduce you before that, you’ll have to work here, all summer, every year. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure kid. Just don’t go crying when you can’t afford to get a new Audi because I can keep it in my pants.”

The next day Peter set his plan in motion, thanking God that May had to go back to New York to handle some unexpected business. He was going simple - sunbathing while Tony was working. So he sat in his chaise lounge, Versace sunglasses on and a tiny pink thong. Better to leave somethings to the imagination. Plus skinny dipping in his pool was one of his other options.

Seeing that his gardener was coming, Peter rubbed some tanning lotion on his milky white skin, before saying seductively.

“Hey, can you help me with the back.”

“Sure kid.”

He spread the lotion down the younger man’s back, obeying every command to go lower.

Tony’s hands were millimeters from Peter’s ass, when the older man leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“Why don’t you get dressed before your neighbor comes over to greet you.”

“Neighbor? Wait someone’s coming over for the summer? Which house is it, the one on the left of the right?” Peter asked frantically as he covered himself with a towel. It couldn’t be, right. He wouldn’t come back here again.

“Right. Why?”

“Did you see who was there? Was it just a woman, or a man, or a couple with kids?”

“It was a couple. What don’t you know your neighbors? If it helps jog your memory, the man had a sleeve tattoo of a biomechanical arm, can’t miss it.”

“Bucky.”

“You do know them. So, what is Bucky some old guy, whose son you fucked or something?.”

“He’s my ex. And he absolutely mustn’t see me.”

As if on que, there was a ring on the doorbell.

“Please get it.”

“Kid you have to reap what you sew. I’m not bailing you out.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Get in the house before he can see you.” Peter flashed him a smile, before jogging into the house. Locking himself in his room, he peaked through the curtains to see what was going on. He could spot Bucky and Tony arguing, then his ex leaving. His gardener then climbed up the stairs and knocked on Peter’s door.

“Thank Tony. I owe you one.”

“Cash rules everything around me, kid. Now come on, give me the money, Parker.”

“How about a blowjob, it’s worth more than I could ever give you in cash.” Peter tried his luck.

“The money, now.” Tony said through his teeth, one hand gripping Peter’s throat.

“Yes daddy.” The younger man replied instinctively, and made a mental note of how Tony bit his lip at that. Peter grabbed a pen and his checkbook, writing a quick cheque to Tony.

“There’s an extra grand for your silence on everything that happened.”

“Pleasure working with you kid.”

Peter could see Bucky’s car driving away, thanks to someone telling Ms. Barnes exactly where her husband had been earlier.

A few days passed and Peter tried his best to seduce Tony. From skimpy outfits to touches that lingered on for more that they should have, nothing seemed to work. But he had some tricks up his sleeve.

Tony had almost forgotten about the younger man’s seduction attempts and didn’t think much before accepting his proposal of a movie night. He was lounging on the expensive white couch with Peter in gray sweatpants beside him. The movie was Beach rats, Pete’s pick of course. But when them first sex scene started on the screen, Tony noticed something unusual, Parker was moaning. Taking his eyes from the screen Stark noticed that not only was the younger man moaning, he was touching himself. He didn’t stop stroking his cock when he noticed the gaze on him, he even started thrusting faster.

“Peter that’s indecent exposure.”

“But I’m not exposing anything, Mr. Stark. There’s a perfectly good movie and you’re watching me. Seems like you want to sleep with me.”

“Fine, if that’s how you wanna play it, I’ll watch the movie.” Tony said as he glued his eyes to the tv. He was staying focused until

“Tony” a desperate breathy moan cane from Peter’s lips. Ignore it, your will is strong.

“Mr. Stark, please.”. He’s just some little bratty twink.

“Fuck me, Tony.” You could be his dad.

“Daddy”. With that Peter came, his eyes were closed and his cheeks were a rosy shade of pink. Tony still kept his eyes on the screen, but there was a bulge in his jeans. Peter didn’t miss that and quickly came up with a plan on how to work with that.

“Well I’ll have to do laundry now. Mind if I squeeze past?” He said and accidentally fell into Tony’s lap, grinding his hips, feeling the throbbing member beneath him.

“Wow, Mr. Stark, you’re packing. You know I usually don’t care about size, but damn I’m sure you.” Before he could finish his sentence, Tony pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me, kid.”. Well plan failed.

Tomorrow was Peter’s only chance to seduce Tony. It wasn’t about the money anymore, nor was it a matter of pride. The younger man was genuinely in love and that terrified him.

Maybe if Peter fucked Tony all these feelings would just disappear. He was determined to find out. That morning they didn’t even exchange words. Tony was working by the pool when Peter jumped in. He swam a lap, before tossing his swimming trunks by the other man. Then he decided to practice his backstroke, showing off his “technique”.

“Care to join me? You don’t need a swimsuit. Come on daddy.”

Tony just sighed and started stripping. Peter’s eyes sparked up with joy. He was winning. And more importantly he was going to be fucked in his pool. Looking his crush up and down, he bit his lip. For an old man Tony had a nice body. Toned abs, big biceps, that perfect v that drove the guys crazy and his dick. Peter couldn’t wait to have it in his mouth, running his tongue over the uncircumcised length.

“Earth to Parker.” Tony was right next to him, oh god, he was so hard for the older man. “You know this week I realized that you get flustered by me. You, Peter Parker the handsome rich boy who can have any guy, likes me, an old man.”

“You’re not that old.”

Tony took steps forward and Peter backwards, until his back hit a wall. Peter’s breath hitched and Tony leaned into him, their lips millimeters apart.

“Is it worth it, if you loose all the money.” Peter asked, clearly taunting the other man.

“Everything’s worth it for you, baby boy.”

Peter closed his eyes and pressed his soft lips against Tony. But instead of feeling lips, he felt a hand. Anthony had placed his large palm between them.

“Psych.”. He said, before exiting the pool and drying off with Peter’s towel. Peter shamelessly rutted his hips against that same towel before cuming with Tony’s name on his lips.

The next day the marigolds had bloomed. Peter picked one and placed it behind his ear, as a sigh of defeat.

When Tony arrived he wasn’t dressed in his usual gardening clothes, but instead he was in a rainbow crop top and booty shorts.

“Parker where’s my cheque. I’m dying to go to the bank like this.”

“Oh, I was prepared to give you cash.” Peter said, opening his Balenciaga fanny pack to reveal stacks of 100 dollar bills.

“I want a cheque. I want to have physical proof that Peter Parker couldn’t seduce me.”

“Fine.” Peter pouted, stomping his feet up to his bedroom, followed by Tony. When he wrote the cheque, he handed it to the older man.

“Oh, Peter, one more thing.”. Before Peter could say anything, Tony pressed his lips against his. The kiss was hungry and sloppy, all tongue and teeth clashing together. The older man almost ripped off the buttons of Peter’s shirt, playing with his nipples. Tony pulled down his lover’s pants.

“Going commando? I bet you were watch me work and play with yourself, wishing that I was touching your sensitive cock, huh baby.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Well you don’t have to wish for it any more, cause it just came true.”. Tony palmed Peter’s erection, swirling the precum from his head to the base.

“Need to taste you, baby boy.”. With one bob of his head Tony could deepthroath Peter. His cock was sensitive, he was ready to come just from that.

“Daddy please.”

“Fuck, baby boy, you have to be needier than that. As much as I like having your pretty cock in my mouth, I want you. Get on your hands and knees for daddy.”

“Lube and condoms are in the bedside drawer.”

Tony kissed Peter reassuringly, then coated his fingers in lube. His finger slid in easily.

“Baby boy, did you play with yourself this morning?”

“Yes.”

“And who did you think about?”

“You, daddy.”

“You know that bad boys get punished. Count how many spanks I’m gonna give you.”

Tony’s hand struck Peter’s bottom, loving how the younger man’s hole tightened around him. After 5 spanks Peter was a mess. His ass was red and he was drooling on the pillow, begging for Tony’s cock inside of him.

“Just a but more, baby.” said the older man. He couldn’t take the teasing either. He had to have his baby boy, now. So he just added two fingers and scissored them, opening up Peter. As the younger man moaned, Tony opened the condom and lubed it up, before entering his lover.

“Fuck, baby boy, you’re so tight for me.”

“Daddy, you’re so big, you feel so good.”

“Beg for me, Peter.”

“Daddy, please harder. I need you, please.”

“Okay, baby.”. Tony bottomed out, causing Peter to let out an almost pornographic moan.

“Right there. I’m gonna cum.”

“Say my name.”

“Tony.”

“Try again, baby boy.”

“Mr.Stark.”

“I won’t let you cum if you’re wrong one more time.”

“Daddy.”

“That’s right, baby boy. Now come for me.”. Peter came, making a mess on his bedsheets. He rode it out quickly, cock softening.

“Help daddy come, Peter. Touch yourself.”

“But I’m still sensitive, it hurts.”

“Do you want me to feel good?”

“Yes daddy.”. Peter touching himself and let out a whimper, his hard cock already twitching in his hand. Tony wrapped his fist against him, causing him to groan out and slow his pace.

“Don’t stop ,baby, I’m almost there.”. Just as Tony came, he could feel Peter’s hole tightening, the boy had come again.

“You did so good, baby boy. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you daddy. Can you help me wash off, all this cum is sticky.”

#starker #tony stark #peter parker #ironspider #iron man #spiderman #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #starker smut #smut #lemon

[ill-skillsgard]

Patterns in the Ivy, Part 8 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Patterns in the Ivy

Description: A continuation of Smoke & Money. Ghosts from the not-so-distant past come back to threaten her. She must choose between a lavish life of servitude or have everything she ever loved stripped away.

Warning: 18+ smut/swearing/mentions of drugs/kink & fetish themes

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

It didn't take long to the transition from our tiny little home out East to Bill's estate, in fact, it felt strangely seamless, especially for Ivany. Not only that but Bill was good at painting himself as a picture of the perfect father and lover. It was like he was born to raise Ivany and I had but to stand back to appreciate how beautifully and completely they fell in love with each other. He fulfilled every little promise he made to her and she, in turn, became more of a delight to be around than she already was. The both of them together was enough to reduce me to tears on some days. The way he looked at her was pure and unwavering, a savior dressed in Gucci who had come to enrich our lives with his love and money. He started by buying her a horse- a white mare named Winterwind, just like what she had asked for, with black marbles for eyes, soft silvery hair and a very calm demeanor according to what the breeder told us. Winterwind was a perfect match for Ivany even though she was still too small to ride by herself. Bill made sure to hire the best hostler to care for her and a riding instructor that came every Wednesday to teach Ivany. It didn't stop there. Bill had her room completely remodeled to suit her. She chose a pastel purple colour scheme, matching drapes to hang from the massive windows and violet carpeting. The walk in closet was gutted and restructured so Ivany could reach all of her new clothes and shoes. Her en-suite bathroom was redone in powder pink with a lowered sink and a massive scallop shell mirror with a real abalone border framing it. Every little inch and detail was tailored to her. Bill even had a dollhouse made for her that took up six square feet that she could practically stand in. We chose paintings of unicorns and mermaids to hang up on the walls. It was a royal underwater room for his little princess complete with a coral light fixture, bubbles painted on the ceiling and swaths of turquoise tulle wrapped around the posters of her bed.   When I first saw it I was speechless. He really went all out, sparing no expense so that by the time he brought her to the entrance with his hands over her eyes, she was giddy with excitement, jumping up and down and when he took his hands away she screamed at the top of her lungs. He stood at the door and watched her bounce around the room, talking at us and looking at everything with the most genuine sense of joy that I had ever seen. Ivany had to touch everything but nothing held her attention as long as the dollhouse did. She clung to his leg and told him just how much she loved everything and he replied with, "I love you, princess. I hope you like it." When he noticed I hadn't said anything and had been standing by with my hand over my mouth he took me by the wrist and shook me out of my trance. "What do you think?" He asked. I fluttered my eyes in disbelief. "What do I think? I think it's insane. It's amazing!" Pulling me close to him, he wrapped his arm around my hips and pressed a kiss behind my ear, nuzzling his nose into my hair, inhaling and sighing softly. He had an easy look of satisfaction on his face accompanied by a smirk. When he had ripped my attention away for a moment he kissed me as if to say I told you so. It wasn't only Ivany who received the rewards of his attentions either. He had made sure that I was well taken care of, which in his eyes, meant that I needed a completely new wardrobe and a massive vanity table to house all of my make up and expensive perfume. It was a vast white table with an arcing mirror, gold-brushed handles adorning each drawer and a matching bench for me to sit on in my sheer dressing gown while I got ready. Bill had taken a liking to watching me sit at that vanity table. If I was in my room getting ready or fresh from the shower he would stand at the doorway sometimes with his arms crossed and watch me as I massaged lotion into my skin or applied lipstick in the mirror. Even when he wasn't home to see me I liked to put on the fine undergarments he had chosen and sit on the bench, pretending like he was watching me drip honey and rose eau de toilette on my wrists. The Summer came in full bloom and we spent most mornings together on the red jarrahwood veranda. Beyond the platform that we lounged on eating our breakfast, the grass sprawled for acres to accompany the stable and a fenced in plot for horses to run in. Further than that, there were trees and a guest house that was bigger than any house I had ever lived in. It was surreal sitting out in the sun with my sunglasses on, looking out onto all of Bill's property, his car garage, pool and cabana and unused tennis court. It was really all too much to take in sometimes. One early evening, Ivany's riding instructor came and took her to the stable to spend time with Winterwind and Bill and I stood at the fence watching them. He was wearing a light leather jacket over a light blue button up shirt and dark washed jeans that ended just above a pair of black boots. I looked at him and thought to myself that I had hardly ever seen him wear something so casual. I wanted to view him as a regular person but it was hard when he was always decked in his suits with his hair perfectly styled in that I-didn't-try-to-look-like-this way. When I watched him watching her, I got up the courage to strike a conversation with him. We had been living with Bill for nearly a month at that time and him and I had hardly spent any time talking. Bill did leave almost every day for work and when he returned in the evening we had enough time to spend with Ivany before her bedtime and almost as soon as she was down, he wanted me. After he was sure Ivany had fallen asleep, Bill would light a cigarette, smoke it to the filter and once that was done he would have a drink. It was almost like a ritual and as soon as the last drop hit his tongue, he would be ready for me. His sexual appetite was  insatiable and every night I found myself in the master bedroom with no opportunity to speak much besides to answer all of his filthy little questions. "How was work today?" I asked him. He gave me a side-swiping look as though I had just pinched him. I had never bothered probing him for answers much but I felt like our new life together warranted at least a little bit of information from time to time. After all, he was my partner and the father of my child. It wasn't a sense of entitlement, more an urge to know what was going on inside of his head since he only liked to divulge things that he deemed necessary and what fell underneath that definition to him was still unknown to me. "It was fine." He replied. "What did you do today?" "Meetings." I caught the sense that he was getting uncomfortable answering my questions and it didn't settle quite right with me. I wanted to know why he had such a problem with me knowing anything about him besides what he liked to eat, what he wore and what made him hard. "Is that all you do is have meetings?" "Yes." I sighed and turned to lean my back up against the wood fence. He eyed me again but didn't turn his face away from Ivany and Winterwind. "Are you ever going to talk to me about anything?" "We're talking right now, aren't we?" I knew if I tread too hard on him it would make him upset. I had to choose my questions wisely to avoid tipping his scale. It seemed almost anything could set him off into a bad mood and then I would receive the ass end of it in the bedroom. It was just another thing about him that was unsettling. He had to use sex to express himself and sometimes it left me with colourful reminders that I wished he could just form into words instead. Not that I didn't enjoy his punishments, it was only that his being secretive was quickly growing old. "Look, I know you like your privacy but... We live together. I'm not going to pretend I'm not curious about what goes on in your life. We live in our own small country practically and people come and go to make our food and clean the house. You do realize how foreign this all is to me, right?" "I don't blame you for having questions but I've already told you. I own hotels and make shit-loads of money because of it. I sign papers and go to meetings and then I come home and all I want is to spend time with you and her. There's nothing glamorous about my job. The most exciting parts of my days are getting to see her." His dismissive tone was heavy enough for me to understand that if I pried anymore he wouldn't be happy about it. I offered nothing back but my silence punctuated with a sigh here and there. Ivany came around seated on Winterwind, her instructor reigning her up so they could stop near us. Bill's demeanor changed immediately as he waved to Ivany. "Hi, Daddy!" She cried out, cheeks pink with excitement. "Hello princess! Have you had enough riding for one day?" He called out to her. "Nope!" The riding instructor was a stoic woman with braided brown hair who seemed to only have a soft bone in her body for horses and for Ivany. She hardly ever addressed me and made minimal exchange with Bill but I did see her talking quietly to Ivany any time they had their lessons. The woman seemed dedicated, proud and maybe a tiny percent resentful of us as parents for having purchased such an extravagant animal for a four-year-old child. Nevertheless, she came and went each Wednesday with hardly a complaint. That night after Ivany went to sleep, Bill didn't bother with his usual routine. He did smoke a cigarette and had a drink but instead of dressing the night all up like he normally did, he simply encircled me in his arms and asked me to come to bed with him even though it was only just passed eight o'clock. There seemed to be something floating around inside his head that was bothering him so I didn't press anything further, I just got into bed with him after getting undressed and let him do what he wanted. He trailed his fingers up and down my spine as we laid under the duvet, skin touching and limbs entangled. He kissed me slowly, scooping up a handful of my left breast and kneading it in his palm. When he was satisfied with that he rolled me over so I was facing away from him but pulled me in close to his chest, letting his hand fall down my thigh to my knee. He raised my leg up and that was when he pressed his hardness up against my ass. He let out the slightest of whimpers as he entered me from behind and I replied with a quiet moan. It was all so very drawn out and sweet and when he started rocking his hips into mine to get in deeper, his body relaxed into the motion. "Oh..." He groaned. "I love you." His arms wrapped around me and his lips kissed up and down the curve of my neck and my shoulder. I writhed back onto him, enjoying the feeling of how slowly he pushed in and out of me and the softness in his voice. "I love you, baby." He whispered again. "Do you love me?" "Yes. Yes, I love you." "How much?" He asked as he tantalizingly pulled his cock out of me. His hand reached down to angle himself back up against my opening, awaiting my answer before making any other movement. "I... I adore you. I love you more than anything. Oh-" He plunged back in as I told him that and purred against the back of my neck. "I love you. I love your pussy. I love how you get so wet for me. I love putting my cock in you every single night." "Yeah?" "Yeah... You know what else I love?" He asked. "What?" He reached under my raised leg and circled my clit with the pads of two fingers. I moaned under the sensation and when he kept going I felt my body coming alive. He licked and nibbled on my neck, moaning as well. "I love making you come." "I love making you come, Daddy." The pattern of him massaging me, penetrating me, kissing me and whispering in my ear was a quickfire way to get me to the edge. He knew it, too. There was no speed to be picked up, only the deliberately slow actions that looked a little more like love-making rather than our usual rigorous fuck sessions. It was a nice change of pace and I felt my hairs stand up on end as he breathed close to my ear, low panting only interrupted by his mouthwatering praises. Sometimes, Bill just worshiped my pussy instead of using it and those were the nights I fell deeper and deeper in love with him. Those were the nights I told myself that I didn't care he was so furtive and withdrawn. He was my King and if I could have him all to myself for the rest of time I knew I could die happy. "Come with me, baby. I want to feel that pussy tighten around me." I hooked my leg over his to pull him in a little harder and he took that as a sign to haul me on top of him completely so that he could use both of his legs to buck up into me while his fingers continued toying with my clit. I laid on top him, my back to his chest, knees bent, spread and eyes closed, zeroing in on the pleasure he bestowed with his long fingers. The added penetration mixed so well that I knew it was entirely possible he would have me coming in seconds as long as he kept doing exactly that. "Come for me. Come for me. Come all over your Daddy's cock. I want you to." "Mm, yes, Daddy. Yes-" "Come. Right now. Come for me." I didn't know whether his power over me should have been frightening or not. When I finally tensed up to orgasm, Bill pounded into me until he started to lock up as well. Our tandem climax hit hard and as much as I moaned over feeling him pump me full of cum, he moaned even harder, luxuriating in another beautifully orchestrated mess that would dry up by morning. That's what life was like with Bill. He would wake up before me to have a shower and get dressed then come back into the room to wake me up so I could have a shower as well. While I was getting cleaned up from the nights we spent making each other come, he would wake Ivany and get her ready for the day as well. We would convene on the main floor and eat breakfast together and he would kiss us both goodbye before leaving for work in his ebony Lincoln or his gunmetal BMW or his jet black Mercedes. When it was just Ivany and I, we spent the hours doing whatever she wanted which usually meant going outside to see Winterwind, playing hide and seek on the grounds or dressing up and having royal tea parties in her bedroom. A team of maids came every day to spruce up the house, though most of the rooms were completely unused. They didn't speak much English and I hardly ever crossed paths with them as Ivany and I were usually enjoying the Summer weather or in town having lunch and shopping around. By the time we went back inside they were usually gone or just finishing up. There were about five of them, sometimes six and three handled the kitchen and dining room and the others went upstairs to change bed sheets, vacuum carpets, clean bathrooms and windows and dust any surface within reach. One day, Ivany didn't feel well and asked if she could just stay in her room with an iPad, some blankets and her favourite dolls. I felt so sorry for her after she threw up her breakfast that I arranged her comfortably in her bed, set up a movie on the tablet and tucked her bunny rabbit in beside her. She asked for me to stay and watch the movie with her and I did gladly, until we both dozed off. I caught myself flitting in and out of sleep before long and shook my head to keep myself from drifting off entirely. Ivany was passed out, mouth open, the movie only half way through so I turned it off and quietly left the room so she could get some rest. I found myself unbelievably bored soon after shutting Ivany's bedroom door. The din of the house was strong and it was the first time that I had found myself wandering around by myself. I was drawn in further after the maids had come and gone. I had seen the inside of Bill's master bedroom enough to know that he had a massive walk-in closet and an en-suite bathroom bigger than most people's apartments. It was no adventure exploring his room because I had spent most of my time in it anyway, but once I started further down the hall, my curiosity was purchased. There were so many doors that I had never opened before. One by one I tried the handles, finding that most of them were locked. The rooms that were unlocked were only bedrooms, staged very similarly to the ones that Bill had given to me and Ivany but not so luxurious. I mean, they were still beyond lavish but by the standards I was used to seeing in Bill's estates, they weren't as extravagant. I counted about five other bedrooms on that floor and the further into the East Wing I went the emptier the rooms got. The few doors that I could not get into were smaller doors. I noticed they had less of an antiquated look to them and appeared to have been updated and fitted with brass knobs that unlocked with a key. The wood, I remarked, wasn't as heavy as any of the other doors either which only confirmed my suspicion that they were much newer. Once I was satisfied with what I was able to see upstairs I made my way to the main floor, into the foyer that split off three ways; the staircase going upstairs, the passage way to the dining room, kitchen and back doors and then there was a pair of doors that opened up into what appeared to be a library by first glance. There was a grand fire place with a marble mantle surrounded by legions of shelves stuffed tight with all manner of books old and new. In the center of the room there was a hand-carved pool table with sapphire blue baize and four lions each representing a leg of the table. The wood had been polished and lacquered so finely I could see my own reflection in it. I couldn't help but wonder what Bill did in his spare time, what he did to fill his nights before Ivany and I came to stay with him. As I circled the pool table I envisioned him leaning over it, pool cue almost as long as he was in his hands, poised to snipe a billiard ball into one of the suede pockets. Did he like to read the books, or were they only for show? I approached the fireplace and stared into it to see if I could tell when it was used last but it was as clean as anything else in the house. There were plenty of books to choose from so I ascended the sliding ladder to pick one that caught my interest. With nothing much else for me to do and the realization that I could feel bored in such a place, I began to feel disheartened. I had nobody to talk to and nowhere to go, so I settled for reading out on the veranda in the bright sunshine. It had been far too long since I had picked up a book. Bill came home a couple hours earlier than he normally did and brought with him a stack of papers. When he found me I had just settled back into a lounge chair on the deck after having checked on Ivany to see if she needed anything. He cast his glance around, trying to locate his daughter before he realized she wasn't with me. "Where is Ivany?" He asked. "She's in her room. She hasn't been feeling well at all today." Bill's eyes only widened a little bit but I could still see the concern filtering through. "Oh... Is she alright?" "She will be. She has a bit of a fever and upset stomach." "Does she need a doctor?" "No. She's going to be fine." "Are you sure?" I cocked my head at him and tried not to downplay his paternal instincts but I did find it cute that he had never dealt with a sick child before. With a slight grin I replied, "Bill... She's going to be alright. Kids get sick sometimes. Why don't you go check on her? I'm sure seeing you will make her feel a lot better." He glanced down at the papers he had in his hand. "I will, but first I need you to sign some things." There were small red tabs stuck to some of the sheets to indicate which lines I was to sign my name on but when I looked up at Bill he knew that I wouldn't blindly sign anything without an explanation first. "These are for Ivany's name change. You can look over them if you want to." Bill handed the stack to me and pulled a gold-plated pen out from one of the pockets in his suit jacket. I looked up at him as I took the pen, feeling his green eyes burning into me with an urgency. Wordlessly, I scanned the first page which had already been filled out. Ivany's full name, her age, birthday, place of birth, my birth place, my age, my name, our former address. It was all there already scrawled in black ink and when I looked up at him again I couldn't help but feel a little insulted that he had gone ahead without telling me. "Are you sure this is all right? I don't mean to sound rude but... you weren't there for most of her life. Are you sure all of this information is correct?" "I'm positive it's all correct but like I said, feel free to go over it, if you please." Bill noticed my hesitation after I scanned over a few more pages, skipping the tabs where I was supposed to sign. It wasn't that I didn't want Ivany to be a Skarsgård, it was just that I hadn't taken any time to mull it over in my head. Now that the documents were in front of me I had an odd taste on the back of my tongue. "J... What's the problem?" I rested the ball of the pen on the first line requiring my signature. "I don't know. It's just... Strange." "She's a Skarsgård in all ways but in name. What does it matter whose last name she has?" "Well, it obviously matters to you." "It does matter to me. Do you realize the opportunity she will have in the future? She's an heiress, J, and so are you." There was no way for me to describe to him the way I was feeling without coming off as selfish. What I wanted to say to him was that she was mine and had been for her entire life and that he should have consulted me before going through with the paperwork. I feared that once I signed those papers and Ivany's name reflected her Swedish half, Bill would have all of the leverage if things between us were to ever go awry. "I just want what's mine. Don't you miss being mine?" His words echoed in my memory. I remembered his threats when he had come to find me at first, before he had ever met Ivany. "Try to run and I will rain Hellfire down on you." I signed the pages. There was a nagging in the back of my head telling me that I was making a mistake but I chose to ignore it. My instincts weren't always reliable anyway and when I scrawled my signature by each red tab, Bill relaxed a little bit more. After all, I was content and Ivany had never seemed more happy. Bill had made good on his promises and when I looked up at him he gave me that smile that shone down on me warmer than the Sun ever could. The way his dimples flashed made me shiver in my chair and the kiss he gave me after accepting the papers back was laced with desire and a thankfulness that I knew he would rather show than say. "Thank you, my love." "You're welcome." "We will have to discuss her school enrollment very soon." I looked out over the terrace and sighed. "I suppose you're right. Summer is half over." "I have already looked into schools for her. There aren't many around here but there are a couple upstate that seem promising but what I would really like is for her to go to school in Sweden. Perhaps the same school I went to-" "Sweden?" I interrupted. "Yes. The education system is much better. I don't quite a agree with how children are taught in North American schools. There is a major lack of intimacy between teacher and student. It's almost like factory farms for children over here." "You want to move to Sweden?" "Of course not. I wouldn't be able to run business so soon." "Then how would she go to school there?" Bill cocked his head at me. "We would fly her there, of course." I stumbled over my speech a little before righting myself, spine straightening in my seat. "Do you mean we would send her away to school?" "Yes, it's a boarding school. I went there as a child. It's a fantastic school. Very prestigious and highly revered." "We are not sending Ivany away." Bill crossed his arms behind his back. "She needs to be educated properly." "She can be educated here." "I don't think you understand the level of honor it is to attend that school." "I don't really care. I don't want to send my daughter away, Bill! Jesus! I know you're her Father but you can't just make these decisions without me!" "No decisions have been made, so just calm down. There are plenty of schools to look into." I breathed in heavily through my nostrils. "Okay, but just... Don't freak me out like that." "There's nothing to be freaked out about. Ivany is going to the best school we can put her in. That should make you happy." "I am happy, trust me. I'm more than happy. I just cannot fathom sending her away. I can't." Bill set the papers down on the glass side table beside my chair and placed his hands on either of my shoulders. Squeezing me gently, he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Don't worry," He chuckled, kissing my temple as he massaged my tense shoulders. "It was only a suggestion. You get fired up so quickly." "I'm sorry." "Don't be sorry." "But I am." "Oh, my love. What ever will I do with you?" I raised my face to receive another kiss from him. "I can think of a couple things." Bill bit his bottom lip as he stood up and grabbed the stack of papers from the side table again. "Well... Later on... I would like to see you in that new set I bought for you last week. The red one." "If you desire." "I do desire. I desire very much. Now, give Daddy another kiss. I'm going to go check on our sick little angel." His lips graced me with another slow, languid kiss. When he stood up I felt a burn lingering on my skin and as he left me to my book, I smiled.

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard smut #fanfiction

[ricorper-tow-blog]

but for you it would never be such salvation.

The ghosts are loud tonight.

Schmendrik stands surveying candles and lesson plans, his back to the magnificent windows of his house's private study. Moonlight streamed in; through the gossamer curtains and sepia, stained figures only he could see. Could feel; gaseous hands curling into the folds of his clothes, cold lips pressing whispers of hate to his ears. There is nothing he can do. Given the state of the world, it's all he can do to hold o to the desk and shut his eyes. To allow them to grieve and rend his hair and shirt, tearing at both with their spindly fingers. Warped mouths twist and moan, abyssal hurricanes of icy regret. Should've fought harder, murmured one. Why us? Hissed another. Schmendrik swallows, twisting in their grip.

“What can I do?” He asks the wraiths. Their tattered figures dissipate and writhe; forming smoky symbols on the air. Words inscribed in their faces; etched with fury and lined with pain. Old men; children, young women, countless others who stretch for miles beyond what he can physically see before him. A little girl takes his hand with an icy squeeze and Schmendrik feels her last breath as if it is his own. Tears prickle; bloody and raw at the edges of his eyes. She points, but at what, he does not see.

“What can I do?” He repeats himself desperately. A teenager stumbles toward him silently, limping. His face is a mishmash of scratches; as if someone had tried to blot his existence out of photographs. His head jerks to the side and his arms lift, motioning that same, defiant gesture that implies action. Yentl’s face shifts to an expression of despair. No voices are consistent enough for words; but all are loud – clamoring, gongs and groans, cymbals and song. They are mourning.

“I’ll go home,” he promises weakly, sinking down behind his desk. Perhaps that is what they want. Back to America. To stop what he can. To do what he can. The ghosts fall in as a cascade, silvery and soft. Their pressure builds across his shoulders, each tightening their grip. He feels the energy in the room change as the noises increase. The walls are shaking. The lights are brightening; then dimming – a pulse; the only pulse a ghost can have. The choir of wandering apparitions howls.

“I’ll go,” Schmendrik manages to say, trying to lift his head. It is pushed into the desk and his hands are drawn behind his back. The poltergeists keep him hostage. One stoops low to press her lips to his ear again, and finally, he discerns words for human ears,

“Do not let this happen again,” it says.

When he opens his mouth to respond, he finds he has no voice – his study is plunged into blackness and he wakes from a nightmare; stricken and sick.

Around him, the walls feel very small.

And all is far too silent. - I don't deserve to speak the name of G-D. Being who and what I am, I have revoked my right to approach the word of the Lord aloud.

No one would guess a man with the name of Etienne J. Murray to be who he is – a formerly Jewish, formerly human, formerly prospector of gold who likes the occasional whiskey and singing session. Liked. Well. Likes. I can still (somewhat) enjoy whiskey, at any rate. Gold and humanity are behind me, of course, but some things cling on – while I don’t always sing, I can (sort of), and Judaism is too deeply rooted in me to ignore.

But I’m getting off-topic. I can feel it. Shockingly I’m not much of a talker, but here we are. You did ask.

You asked me how I feel about my faith. Well. Given the recent difficulty of things, it’s hard. It’s hard for me personally because I’m so estranged from, you know, religion and all of that I don’t even know if I have a say. ‘You feel me’; as Chad would say? You don’t know Chad. That’s fine. Nobody needs to know Chad.

Anyway.

I’m pissed. Quietly; deeply pissed. I’ve made it my sole focus to go after assholes and take care of my own that way. Not so much avenging angel as I am Very Hungry Hippo with a lotta smaller hippos to feed, though – you haven’t committed any crimes, though, right? You’re just a reporter. Fuck it, I’m fucking with you. Don’t look so stressed. One wrong word and I’m afraid you’re gonna snap, twigs.

It’s so easy to hate. It’s lazy. It’s uncouth. I spent four fucking years following the Yukon gold rush to the end you see before you – four miserable, damp, bloody years panning for nothing. For shit. I traded blows with so-called men of faith over their treatment of Algonquins and black folks – doesn’t make me a good ally. I could’ve done more. It was the 19th fucking century; sure, but I’m still angry at myself for not doing more. But greed owned me more than the G-D I kept praying to, somehow. The off prayer of “fuck don’t let me fall down this big hole” that I finally forgot to ask the day…it happened.

Doesn’t make me hate G-D though.

I don’t hate much, anymore. I used to be full of it. Greed and hate. Now it’s just gluttony; hunger. Endless. I had to have something else to fill the hole when…arguably, I shoulda died down there in the mines. Or, I shoulda had faith somebody would find me. Or faith in G-D or whatever.

But there again, faith only gets you so far – hard work and determination; standing up for yourself and your beliefs? That’s something else altogether. Faith will back that, I think.

So I have faith in my methods now. G-D might not support everything I do, but I don’t even know if I’m fully His anymore.

And I’ll keep removing scum from the bottom of the fucking pond up if it means there’s a little less garbage in the world G-D did (or didn’t) make.

-        E.J. Murray as interviewed by Dusek Reznik

- He turned off the news and sat motionless in his chair, staring into the dark space where the living room sat vacant and bare.

 In this cool, quiet void, Byron knew he existed, and for a moment, everything felt…safe.

 It crashed upon him with a suddenness; a wave that swept beneath him and carried him away into the hushed nothing – a gap where God ought to have been; perhaps, were he still worthy of faith and acceptance and acknowledgment. He had lived the past several years as a shell of a person – only now coming back to things such as a personality, a future, and a voice – none of which he still believed he fully deserved.

 Upstairs, Kegan slept, unbothered by most things save the absence of Byron beside him – Byron; an insomniac and a restless spirit by nature, had taken the liberty of looking up global news to follow just in case someone, say, exposed supernaturals or threatened to invade the supposed “safe-haven” they all inhabited (albeit just how ‘safe’ that haven was still remained to be seen).

 In doing so, Byron had witnessed not any preternatural destruction or threat of war between species, but rather, a war between humans that was not so much blossoming as it was reigniting. The torches and pitchforks were reminiscent of ancient days; better-covered and more widely-distributed. The hatred spread with diseased intent; an inflammation that fanned over the globe and sought to burn alive any who dared try to put it out.

 When he’d stopped shivering long enough to come back to himself and remember who and where he was, Byron swallowed the barbs and needles in his throat that came from outright terror – and, shutting his eyes, tried to find something in the dark. He groped blankly for a handhold or a foothold in the bleak absence of light – numbly shuffling forward in his mind to seek what made him; him. Who he was, what he was, and where, why, how – what could he do? Helplessness was another wave that broke upon him and left Byron in an ice-cold sweat.

For the first time since his turning, Byron Jones sat down, faced the east, and began to pray.

 -

I stumbled into faith the way a blind man finds an oasis in the desert – sheer luck, or misfortune, depending on whether he drinks or drowns.

My cross was the one I wore to burn my fears away – a pair of Gucci sunglasses to deflect the light and a boatload of sunblock to hold me closer than moss to the gravestones of my predecessors. Though I rose up from blood; I was not a savior – though I came from a war, I was not a soldier.

I was, for all intents and purposes, not someone you’d expect to care about the comings and goings of all things religious.

Neon churches on a Nevada strip that was bare in more ways than one I called my covenant. My congregation was the unfortunate; sex workers, tourists, violent criminals, hustlers, bouncers, semi-automatic-toting gangsters. I was in the midst of a den of thieves and miscreants; loving every ounce of it. Blood money; sweat money, tears weren’t allowed – I thrived in the leather backseats of cars so expensive they’d drain the bank accounts of Dubai and the Swiss alike.

I was…who I was. I still am.

I find myself surrounded, nowadays, by these people – agents of chaos (or Khaos) all; supplementing success for fame and empty promises.

And then faith found me a home in a kosher deli where the old man working there didn’t mind giving me buckets of the blood he drained from paring animals. He didn’t speak English; so I learned Hebrew. He didn’t want to talk, I sat in silence with him. We watched the news together and eventually, he began to open up.

His name was Aaron; he was a Jew from Utah who’d wandered down to Nevada on a pilgrimage after his wife had passed away. He thought he could do some good here; provide people with something genuine and well-meant. Well-made, too, as he did all the work himself and refused to ask for help. I could respect that about him, being much the same way.

He taught me, slowly and roughly, about the faith, and I was fascinated. Imagine; me, a vampire, meandering into Judaism. It’s not bad though. It’s not necessarily good, and I don’t recommend it on a daily basis (because…ow), but. It’s something real. Something I could sink metaphorical teeth into and feel the pulse of without the fear of draining it dry.

Faith was a well.

Faith was an oasis in the desert.

And when Aaron died; because he would not let me turn him, I mourned in the way he would’ve wanted.

And I keep his faith alive some forty years later.

The Star somehow doesn’t burn the way a neon cross does.

#drabbles #blugh #I'm sorry #this should probably belong on my personal #more than here but #sensitive materials for religious topics #e.g. Rico's Jewish characters talk faith for a bit #none of you are obligated to read this obviously.

[simonspier420-blog]

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