#ok whatevs

[kittydykes]

something something older!jill saying that shes been filling girls w her strap since before u were born something

[songbirdstyles]

a case of you ... sneak peek

a/n: i’ll hopefully have this entire fic posted within the next week or two, but in the meantime, here’s a short little snippet of harry styles being head over heels for student!reader <3

word count: 689

It’s a Tuesday night, your 9 AM class for tomorrow is canceled ‘cause your professor is sick, and you’re sitting cross-legged on your bed across from Harry where he leans against the headboard, glancing measly into the red solo cup you’ve poured roughly a shot of blue raspberry Svedka into.

“Doesn’t smell t’good,” Harry tells you, lifting the cup up to his nose to sniff again, and he scrunches his nose. He’s so dramatic it makes you smile, but you hide the expression in your own red solo cup as you twist the cap back onto your bottle and lean down, resting it on the floor beside your bed.

It’s your emergency vodka. You bring it out if you have to pregame on a whim for a party with your friends and you’re out of the good stuff, or if you discover too late that an event you’re going to is BYOB, or if the boy you spend most of your time with tells you he wants to drink like college kids drink.

“Well,” you tell him, pulling yourself back up to your position on the bed, directly across from him, “it’s shitty vodka. This is how college kids drink, Har - doesn’t matter how it smells if it gets you drunk.”

“Hmm.” He swirls the vodka in his cup, and you’re struck by the thought that, yeah, this is probably the shittiest vodka he’s ever drank. You wonder if he’s ever really drank anything less than $100, let alone the bottle you’d gotten for a ten and a handful of ones at the corner store. “Want you t’try the good stuff, then. Maybe next time.”

“Trust me, after a few shots, you don’t even taste it. Goes down like water.”

He furrows his eyebrows with a smile, and you shift closer to him until your knees are knocking together just so. This isn’t your first time drinking in your dorm, and it won’t be the last, but you still feel oddly virginal doing it - you’ve had wine with Harry, but not vodka, and it feels rather brand new. Rather unique.

“On the count of three,” you tell him, lifting your cup to knock against his in a makeshift toast. “No chasing.”

“Feel like I need t’chase jus’ from smelling it -”

“One -”

“Okay, okay.”

“Two -”

You lift the cup to your lips, smiling when Harry mirrors the action, before calling the third number rather unceremoniously. 

You both down your shots at the same time. For as much Svedka as you’ve had in your time at college, it never becomes quite pleasurable to drink, and you groan when it’s down and your mouth lingers with the aftertaste - Harry, on the other hand, acts like he’s just drank rat poison, sticking his tongue out and screwing up his eyes.

“Jesus Christ. Tha’s foul.”

You can’t help but erupt into laughter at the drama of it all - what a performance he puts on, always trying to make you laugh - or maybe he’s not even trying - you can’t tell which idea you like better. 

“You act like you’ve never had vodka before,” you tell him, resting your cup between your crossed legs like Harry has his. “Unless you haven’t, and I accidentally took your vodka virginity.”

“I have,” he tells you, reaching forward to drum his fingers against your bare kneecaps. “Usually doesn’t taste like cyanide, though.”

You laugh all over again and then you lean in to him - press your palms against his cheeks to hold his smiling face steady as you land your lips against his. He tastes like vodka, and you know you do, too, but somehow it doesn’t taste as sickening on his lips.

His hands slide up your thighs to fiddle with your sleep shorts, and you pull away. It wasn’t an intense kiss by any means - just one to express whatever thoughts linger in your mind, about how you love the way he makes you laugh, or how you like him being here, with you, drinking shitty vodka on your bed when he could be literally anywhere else.

(You almost wonder why he isn’t. It’s something you’ll question later.)

“Get a bit f’alcohol in you and suddenly you’re affectionate,” Harry tells you, raising his eyebrows, and you roll your eyes - lean in to peck his lips again. “Should drink together more often.”

“I show you quite a bit of affection,” you say. “Like, all the time.”

“Y’think you’re more affectionate than me?”

You smile, because no, you’re not. Harry might be the most affectionate guy you’ve ever met - you don’t think you’ve ever gone more than five minutes together without his hand on your waist or in yours or his lips pressing all over your face, not leaving a square inch of skin uncovered, but you refuse to give him any props. It’s like your signature, at this point.

“Whatever.” You bend down to grab the bottle again and ignore the way he shakes his head. “Another shot, Styles?”

[caker-baker]

Bargain

The protagonist spat at the antagonist’s well made shoes, but was still made to kneel by the all too eager guards.

“Don’t be like that, my love. Weren’t you the one who wanted me here?” The antagonist grinned cruelly. “You pleaded so bad for me to take the position after the tragic fall of my parents and siblings.” They shot the guards a look. “Leave.”

The protagonist’s hands shook, weaker than the rest of their body, weak from gripping too tightly to nothing at all. It was only out of instinct could they register the door closing.

“My so called parents.” The antagonist mused, admiring the scepter in their hand. “My so called siblings. I was content as a bastard, truly. You knew that.”

“I know!” The protagonist coughed out in a hoarse voice. “I know.”

A blood stained hand reached for the protagonist’s face, tracing the contours, gently pushing back stray hair.

“And I know you just thought I would be the best option. You were convinced I, ah, what was it? ‘Understood the people.’”

The hand turned under the protagonist’s chin, and gripped, hard.

“Ridiculous notion, my love. Bastard or not, I am more blue blooded than anyone you will ever know.” A half laugh. “Well, anyone you have met before. You won’t be seeing many more to compare noble blood lineage to.”

“So now you kill me?” The protagonist wanted to sneer, but the hand the hand threatened action against the slightest movement. “You kill me for believing in you?”

“No. It would be a lie if I said you meant nothing to me, and your adoration has been such a lovely gift, but your little secession party is…troublesome.” The hand released. “Here’s my bargain.”

The protagonist’s stomach clenched. “Your bargain?”

“Save your voice, my love.” The antagonist commanded, offering the same bloody hand to help the protagonist stand. “As much as I enjoy hearing it exhausted, I need your answer.”

At the protagonist’s cautioned stare, the antagonist continued.

“Stay with me. Be my strategist, not your pathetic rebel party’s. What can they offer, hm?”

Once again, the antagonist stroked the protagonist’s face.

“I’m the monarch now. I can do so much more than what you get working endlessly for the secessionists.”

“I am-” the protagonist managed to pry away from the antagonist. “Not betraying them. You’ll be no better than your parents.”

“They weren’t my parents.” The antagonist spat, collapsing into the chair behind them. “And I will be so much better. I won’t run us into ruination for my own greed.”

“No.”

“To which part, my love?” Even sitting, even looking up at the protagonist, the antagonist managed an air of superiority, especially with the damned scepter. “Choose your words wisely.”

“You betrayed us the moment you could use us.” The protagonist kept their hands wrapped around themselves, trying to hold together the pieces that couldn’t be seen. “You would use my party as a means to consolidate your power.”

“Perhaps. Which brings me to the next part of the bargain - I won’t slaughter them all if you agree to be my strategist.”

“The ones who welcomed you!” The protagonist tried to yell, to scream, to talk in any voice louder than they could. “You would kill the ones who spared you kindness! Who laughed with you, danced with you!”

“The ones who would rival me should they succeed.” The antagonist mused.

“We’re only the starving masses who want to use the production of our labor rather than send it straight to the crown.”

The protagonist watched the antagonist eye them up and down.

“I’m now in a position to fix everything, yet you still treat me like a villain. I’m being very generous. I could have you locked up so you wouldn’t leave. I could kill them anyways. What more do you want from me?”

The protagonist choked back a sob. Normally, they weren’t the sensitive type. It was probably the hunger and the exhaustion and the heartbreak.

“To treat us like people.” They pleaded. “To treat me like a person.”

For a second, the antagonist blinked in surprise, as if the thought never occurred to them.

“Your corruption will be the very same as your family’s, you just know to pretend to care where they didn’t-” the protagonist had to stop there, betrayed by their own vocal chords.

The antagonist stayed silent in thought, briefly pondering of the protagonist’s health.

“I like the quiet on you.” They said finally, switching the scepter between hands. “I’m not inclined to share your pretty thoughts with anyone else. I don’t want to share you. Now, my love-” they grinned. “Would you be swayed to accept my bargain?”

The strategist’s eyes snapped towards the moving scepter, and held up a shaking finger, silently asking for a moment of thought.

“Hm.” The antagonist hummed in disapproval, standing, their scepter in hand. “I don’t like the corner you have me backed into, my love.” They placed a delicate hand behind the protagonist’s neck. “I much prefer the other corners we found ourselves in.”

Without wasting a second, the protagonist pulled the antagonist forward, and kissed them.

The antagonist made a pleased sound, but mistook the protagonist’s wandering hands as affection, not a ploy to grab the scepter.

When the antagonist fell to the ground, their scepter, the source of their power now in a significantly stronger protagonist’s grip, glowed just slightly.

“That-” their voice, returned but weak, wavered. “Is what I think of your bargain.”

[bioaccumulation]

I cant believe the s/t and ilad represses are gonna take so long to come out. I will be 12 days away from the end of my semester that i havent even started yet

[mustcollecthorses]

um

btw I saw this at the fair

[shrimpcolour]

update: im too fucking addicted to this hell site to leave so???? im staying ig

[cnlightncd]

sometimes u take phonecalls and then when u hang up and look down to ur notes u find new stuff

[aventurinedraws]

random old sketches