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1-800-hellraiser · 3 years ago

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The Other Side Of Paradise

Requested by: No one

Words: 1,841

Aged up: Nope

Song: The Other Side Of Paradise- Glass Animals

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Pairing: David x Counselor!Reader

!TWS!: A small bit of swearing and mentions of suicide and manslaughter at the end.

(A/n: This chapter is kind of an alternate ending to The Order Of The Sparrow (s1ep12). Essentially what I think would happen if another counselor (aka Y/n) was there with David and Max. Also sorry if Max is a bit ooc, I can't write him well.)

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

"I know you don't but I, I know you don't but I still try. My thunder shook him down. My thunder came and shook him down."

When things couldn't get any worse, it started down pouring. "David, just let it go." Gwen says, standing beside you. "No no no! I can still light it, You'll see!" David says, as he goes back to trying to light the bonfire. The kids just stare at David with bewilderment. You hear Neil say "I can't belive I frenched a platypus for this!" Gwen sighs and starts herding the kids into the mess hall. "Come on kids...you coming, Y/n?" She asked, you shook your head. "I'll call for you if anything happens." You say as Gwen nods.

"Y/n! You understand, right?" David asks you with a desperate tone. "I do David, but-" you cut yourself off with a sigh, not knowing how to word the next sentence. You crouch down next to David, as he still tries to light the fire. You're about to speak but a certain jaded ten-year-old cuts you off. "Well David, you were right! This is amazing." You glare at Max, standing across from where David is crouching. "Max, you should be in the mess hall with Gwen," you say to the child. "If I could just, show you." David says, with a hurt look on his face.

"Do you really think a big fire and an outdated and honestly racist tradition is going to make anyone care about anything?" Max questions sarcastically. "Max..." you warn the small Indian boy. You stand up from your crouching position and kneel in front of Max. "If you don't go to the mess hall this instant, you will have double chores for a week and no pudding cups for the rest of the month. Got it?" You explain in a stern, yet calm voice. Max rolls his eyes and makes his way to the mess hall. You sigh and go back to David.

"I just wish people understood." David mumbles after an extended period of silence. "I may not understand what you're going though, but I understand what you're doing for the kids. It's admiring that you put in one hundred percent every day for these kids." You say, putting your s/t hand on David's shoulder. You feel his shoulders sag under your touch, your heart sinks to your feet. "It's just...times have changed. Whether I like it or not. The campers don't care, Gwen doesn't care, even the founder of this place has better things to do. That's why I'll never stop trying. Because somebody fucking has to." David says, you stare at him in disbelief.

"Davey, please...why don't we do this tomorrow? The wood won't be wet and you need a break from the kids." David sighs and nods his head. You two both get up and you walk David to the cabin. It wasn't exactly the end of the day just yet so Gwen was still in the mess hall with the kids. After you drop David off at the counselors cabin, you tell him you'll be right back. You open the doors to the mess hall and walk over to Gwen. Gwen was ranting to the kids about how they should respect David and everything he does to keep them safe and happy.

"Hey Gwen, just wanted to let you know David is at the counselor's cabin and he's taking a break from the camp tomorrow." You say, Gwen nods in agreement and continues to talk to the kids. You duck out of the mess hall and make your way back to the cabin. You open the cabin and notice that David is sitting in his bed, running a lanky hand through his hair. You gently close the door and sit next to him. Putting your hand on his back, you rub comforting circles into his back. David lets out a shakey sigh, "I just wanted to show them something cool, and they don't even care...what's the point anymore?" You almost stopped rubbing David's back when he says that.

"I mean, the kids don't care, Gwen doesn't care, Mr. Campbell doesn't care, you don't care, what's the point?" David sighs out, tears welling in his eyes. "David look at me." You say, putting a finger under his chin and gently moving his head to make eye contact with you. "I couldn't care more about you and everything you do for this god forsaken camp and these kids." You say, wiping a tear from David's eye. Without warning, David envelops you in a hug, sobbing uncontrollably into your shoulder. You continue to rub his back with one hand and you start to run tour hands through his hair with the other. You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, trying to get him to calm down.

After an hour of consoling him, David falls asleep in your arms. You gently move him onto his bed and pull his blanket over him. Gwen came into the counselor's cabin about a half hour ago. You tell her you'll be right back, as you forgot something in the mess hall. You exit the cabin and see Max, leaning on the right side of the door. "Max, what are you doing up past eight? You've been here long enough to know no-one can roam around past eight pm." You question, Max sighs.

"Yeah I know the stupid rules, I just wanted to talk real quick." You cross your arms and raise a brow at him. "Okay, walk and talk with me, I forgot something at the mess hall." You say as you proceed towards the mess hall. "I know how hypocritical this sounds coming from me, but I feel...bad. Bad about what I said to David earlier. And I want to make it up to him." Max says hesitantly. "Go on..." you say, pushing him to continue. "I want to do the dumb 'Order Of The Sparrow' thing." You smile, and ruffle Max's hair. He grumbles and sho's your hand away from his hair.

"Wait, Max, how are we going to do this if the other campers don't know?" You ask, looking down at the ten year old boy. "After Gwen left, I talked them into doing it. We'll wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and Preston will make the outfits and I already taped the staff back together. You just have to let Gwen know about the plan and wake David up at around five thirty am. Got it?" Max finishes, you nod. "Yes I got it, now get to bed kiddo, we have a big day tomorrow." You say, walking into the mess hall. You return back to the cabin, Gwen is awake and writing in her journal, and David is still passed out. Perfect. You let Gwen know about the suprise and ask her if she'd be willing to do it. She agrees and you both head to bed.

"Wake up Davey." You whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes flutter open "wh- Y/n? Why are you up? It's five thirty, we don't get up until six. " You blush at how deep David's morning voice is "I know today's you're day off, but I have a suprise for you!" You whisper excitedly. David rolls out of bed and you take a black piece of fabric put it across Davids eyes. "Y-y/n?" "It's a pretty big suprise, don't worry, I'll guide you there." You say as you take Davids hand and lead him out of the counselors cabin and back to the bonfire pit from last night.

As you and David make it too the spot, you quietly motion for everyone to get into position. Nikki shoots and arrow past David as you're taking his blindfold off. "Nikki! No. More. Arrows!" Gwen yells, "You can't control me, white devil!" Nikki yells before running off. David looks around at the campers and Gwen stunned. "...you're all dressed up as-" "Indians, like you said!" Neil cut David off. "We designed zie outfits ourselves!" Dolf added. "Do you love them?! I love them!" Preston interjects. "But, why..?" David asks.

"Alright I fixed it, everybody hurry up and...oh shit he's awake." Max says, holding the taped up staff. "Y/n, Max, did you-" "DO NOT LOOK TO DEEPLY INTO THIS!" Max says, pointing the staff at David. "You suck, this world sucks, and one day, we're all going to die and none of it will matter. But if we didn't do this, I'm pretty sure you'd kill yourself or something." Max finishes, David sniffs and wipes away a tear. "Oh you two..." "Or shoot up the camp, I don't know it was a possibility." Max says, shrugging. "Max!" You scold the boy.

"Thank you." David says looking at you and Max. "Whatever, just take your stupid stick." Max scoff as he tries to hand David the staff. The staff breaks in half for the third time. David pushes the staff back to Max with a heart-melting smile on his face. "Awww....lucky." Space kid says next to Max. Max smacks Space kid in the face with the staff, making him fall backwards. You stifle a laugh. You and David walk over to the raging bonfire. "Y'know, this is kinda nice." Neil says, staring at the fire. You hear the strum of a guitar and look over to Quartermaster and Gwen.

"There's a place I know that's tucked away, where we can go to laugh an play."

You look around at the smiling campers and they all crowd next to the bonfire. You and David glance back at Max. He rolls his eyes and smiles as we walks over to the fire as well.

"And have adventures everyday. I know it sounds hard to believe, but guys and gals it's true..."

"Hey Max, how'd you start a fire with wet wood anyway." You ask, looking down at the boy. "I'm not an idiot Y/n, I used gasoline." He says, your and David's face drops. "Wait what?" you both say in unison as the campfire literally fucking explodes. "WHOOO! DO IT AGAIN, DO IT AGAIN!" Nikki cheers, you chuckle and wrap your arm around David's shoulders. "So, do you like it?" You ask. "Like it? I love it. Thank you, Y/n." He says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Camp Campbell is the place for me and you."

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mourntheantagonist · 4 years ago

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#HarringroveApril Day 18: Heatwave

***

Billy was used to hot. He lived and breathed Southern California’s dry heat for nearly two decades that eighty-five degrees had to be comfortable, especially growing up with a father who nickel and dimed every facet of life, and the use of air conditioning dipped too far into his beer budget. Billy was left with only open windows and a fly swatter by his bedside to kill all the bugs who managed to pass through the mesh screen. And he had the beach. The perfect place to go and cool off when temperatures neared triple digits and he was drenched in sweat just sitting still.

He knew he would miss the beach when he was corralled into moving their lives to the Midwest, no ocean within any conceivable driving distance in sight, just land and lakes and rivers and the stench of nature uncorrupted by mass industry.

And there wouldn’t be the heat that left him drinking water like it was heroin to just replenish all that had sweat out of him.

But he was wrong.

Sure, the temperature didn’t really ever hit those astronomical, record setting highs, but just because the number on the weatherman’s screen read only eighty degrees, it was the humidity that made it feel like an actual hell on earth.

And when the unprecedented heat wave hit Hawkins, Indiana, in springtime no less, Neil continued with his tyranny over the thermostat, and let the house on Cherry Lane become just one large oven inside. And he was completely unfazed. He just kicked his feet up on the coffee table and drank room temperature beer and relaxed, just providing more evidence to the case that Neil was truly a cold blooded creature.

He couldn’t just open a window because it only made the place hotter, and fanning himself with magazines was barely doing a thing and he felt like he was just cooking in there.

So he did the one activity that hadn’t been taken away from him by the cross country move, and he got in his car and drove fast. The windows rolled all the way down as he sped through long paths lined with trees, the stream of air blowing his hair back and out of his face and unable to hear the sound of music with the loud roar as wind gusts entered his ears.

Billy didn’t normally pay attention to the signs on the road when he drove through the town, hoping for the day he got lost enough that he ended up in an entirely new city, but he saw the word ‘lake’ in that bold white lettering and made a sharp left turn down the unpaved path because it was about the closest thing he’d get to the ocean.

It was empty, he momentarily figured there would be at least someone else there to combat the heat, but there was more than one body of water in the town. Perhaps he’d just gotten lucky.

Billy pulled off his socks and shoes and shirt and tossed them into the passenger seat of his car, and slowly walked into the cold water, stepping on sharp rocks that made his feet ache, but he didn’t mind it when the low water temperature gave him a chill that ran up and down his body.

He walked in further and further until the water was up to his hips. He splashed some water up into his face and it all just felt so good. There weren’t crashing waves, or the fear of wiping out on his board, but it felt like the ocean on days when it was peaceful. Like the evenings he’d run out to the beach during sunset to the places nobody ever went to and he’d stand on the shore and let the tide wet his feet. Only the sounds of seagulls and small waves.

The lake was more peaceful. The birds here sang instead of squawked and the water only made small trickling sounds due to his own movements. He was protected from the sun by the canopy of trees above his head, and for a moment he forgot he was supposed to hate Hawkins.

Even with how quiet it was, Billy didn’t recognize the sound of a car driving down the same narrow path he took, too consumed by the blissful silence. He only turned around to the sounding of his own name.

“Billy?”

He turned around just to see Steve standing by his own car wearing a pair of board shorts and flip flops, and a copious amount of sunscreen on his skin.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, looking at him accusedly.

“What does it look like I’m doing here? It’s fucking hot out.”

“Aren’t you from California? I thought you all were just used to the heat.”

Billy just splashed some more water on his face. “Dude it’s over ninety degrees and eighty percent humidity, nobody’s used to that.” Steve just looked at him with a tilted head. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me all day?”

“Are you going to leave?” Steve asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“The lake is big enough for two people, Harrington. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve just rolled his eyes and threw his towel on the ground and entered the water about twenty feet to the left of him, as far away from him as he could get.

This wasn’t about the fight. Billy knew this wasn’t about the fight because he knew exactly what the ‘something else’ was. The ‘something else’ was last week. Billy stupidly kissed him behind the house at some Junior’s party. They were both drunk, but neither of them stopped the other from going further and further until they were in the backseat of the Camaro, and by then they were only stopped from stripping their clothes off by the sight of nearing headlights.

Billy drove Steve back to his car after that point. Both of them feeling so dirty for what they were doing that they didn’t talk or even acknowledge the others' existence. It was nothing but heat and regret.

And Steve was stealing glances at him from across the lake, those same eyes he gave him when he slammed the passenger door shut. Purely pissed off.

Billy could allow himself to wallow in his own self pity, swim in the lake until his toes cramped up and his skin pruned, ignoring the shirtless Steve to his left, but where was the fun in that.

He made it a point to get Steve’s attention so that he saw him throw his shorts and underwear all bundled up onto the lake shore.

“Seriously?” Steve asked, unimpressed. His eye roll could actually kill people.

“Come on Steve. Have a little fun.”

“Why? Just so it can end up like last time?” Well at least Billy was right about the reason Steve had been giving him the death stare for the past ten minutes. “So you can kiss me, almost fuck me, and then not say a single word to me for over a week?”

“Quit being such a fucking girl about it.” Billy swam over to Steve, who made no attempts to swim away which was hopefully a good sign. He got all up into Steve’s personal space. They were chest to chest and Billy attached his lips to Steve’s neck slowly, and he wasn’t moving away. Just biting his lip and growing hard enough when Billy bit down that he could feel it through his board shorts. Billy moved up from Steve’s neck and kissed him, juxtaposed from the last time they did it. None of the frantic, messy, pushed up against a wall kind of thing. Just the gentle cradle of Steve’s jaw and soft press of lips that made his knees want to buckle beneath him. “Would it make you feel better if I talked to you this time?”

“Maybe.”

“Then take off the shorts.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #ficlet #harringroveapril #harringrove april #lemons #not really tho

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neilmfjosten · 4 years ago

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aftg quotes that make me go absolutely feral

“You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.” “I’m not a hallucination,” Neil said, nonplussed. “You are a pipe dream,” Andrew said.”

Thank you," he finally said. He couldn't say he meant thanks for all of it: the keys, the trust, the honesty and the kisses. Hopefully Andrew would figure it out eventually. "You were amazing.”

“Who said 'please' that made you hate the word so much?"Andrew gazed at him in silence for a minute. "I did.”

This,” Neil flicked his finger to indicate the two of them, “isn’t worthless.” “There is no ‘this’. This is nothing.” “And I am nothing,” Neil prompted. When Andrew gestured confirmation, Neil said, “And as you’ve always said, you want nothing.”

“I didn't think I was a personal problem. You hate me, remember?" "Every inch of you," Andrew said. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you." The world tilted a little bit sideways. Neil dug his shoes harder into the floor so he wouldn't fall over. "You like me." "I hate you," Andrew corrected him, but Neil barely heard him.”

“Andrew kissed him like this was a fight with their lives on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil’s mouth.”

“You know, I get it. Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court— yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you’re physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

“Yes or no?" "It's always yes with you." "Except when it's no." "If you have to keep asking because—I'll answer it as many times as you ask. But this is always going to be yes.”

“Better luck next time, Neil," he said. "I warned you once already, didn't I? I don't feel anything." “Anymore," Neil said, barely a whisper.”

“Ninety percent of the time the very sight of you makes me want to commit murder. I think about carving the skin from your body and hanging it out as a warning to every other fool who thinks he can stand in my way." “What about the other ten?”

“If it means losing you, then no.”

“Truth is irrefutable and untainted by bias. Sunrise, Abram, death: these are truths.”

“Don't look at me like that. I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.”

“Andrew flicked his pack of cigarettes at Neil. "Give me one good reason to not push you off the side." Neil shook a stick out and lit it. "I'd drag you with me. It's a long way down.”

“Let Riko be King," Kevin said, with the exaggerated enunciation of the thoroughly sloshed. "Most coveted, most protected. He'll sacrifice every piece he has to protect his throne. Whatever. Me?" Kevin gestured again, meaning to indicate himself but too drunk to get his hand higher than his waist. "I'm going to be the deadliest piece on the board."

“It's always been 'go'. It's always been 'lie' and 'hide' and 'disappear'. I've never belonged anywhere or had the right to call anything my own. But Coach gave me keys to the court, and you told me to stay. You gave me a key and called it home.”

“"No, but really," Nicky said, looking wide-eyed at Neil. "What happened?" "Neil hit Riko," Matt said. "It was beautiful.”

“Kevin was silent for an endless minute, then said, "You should be Court." It was barely a whisper, but it cut Neil to the bone. It was a resentful goodbye to the bright future Kevin had wanted for Neil. Kevin recruited Neil because he believed in Neil's potential. He brought him to the Foxes intending to make a star athlete out of him. Despite his condescending attitude and his dismissals of Neil's best efforts Kevin honestly expected Neil to make the national team after graduation. Now Kevin knew it was all for naught; Neil would be dead by May. "Will you still teach me?" Neil asked. Kevin was quiet again, but not for long this time. "Every night.”

“You never explained the change of heart." “Maybe I got tired of seeing Kevin bend. Or maybe it was the zombies. A few weeks back you and Renee argued contingency plans for a zombie apocalypse. She said she'd focus on survivors. You said you'd go back for some of us. Five of us. You weren't counting Abby or Coach. Since you trust Renee to handle the rest of the team, I'm guessing the last spot is for Dobson. I didn't say anything then because I knew I'd look out for only me when the world went to hell. I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to go back for you.”

“Is your learning curve a horizontal line?”

“I won't be like them. I won't let you let me be.”

“I will ask you only once to tone down that animosity." "I can't," Neil said. "I have a bit of an attitude problem."

“My name is Nathaniel Wesninski," he said, "and my father is dead." It wasn't at all funny, but a second later he was laughing. It sounded hysterical but he couldn't stop.”

“You couldn't at least use an Exy idiom? I hate baseball.”

“Neil sucked in a deep breath that ripped him open on its way down. "I'd ask you how it feels, but I guess you've always known what it's like to be second, you worthless piece of shit.”

“This was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and Neil was never letting go.”

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comrade-meow · 3 years ago

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GERMAN CHILD-PROTECTION REGULATORS are on the verge of blocking one of the world’s largest pornographic websites. The officials are set to issue a blocking order to the country’s biggest internet service providers saying a pornographic website, believed to be xHamster, should be made inaccessible to Germany’s 83 million people.

The blocking order, which may be issued in the coming weeks by the Commission for the Protection of Minors in the Media (Kommission für Jugendmedienschutz in German, or KJM), follows a failure by xHamster to introduce age-verification checks to stop under-18s from accessing pornography. The order is the latest salvo in a two-year campaign by regulators to compel all pornographic websites accessible in Germany to implement age-verification checks.

Legislators around the world—including in Canada, France, the UK, and some US states—are looking to introduce more measures aimed at stopping children from accessing adult material online. But the move by Germany is one of the most sweeping measures taken so far, with critics comparing it to censorship.

German officials are taking action against four major pornography websites, says Marc Jan Eumann, chair of the KJM. The group, which represents the country’s 14 state media authorities, is responsible for enforcing a broad treaty agreed upon by all states around the protection of children. It is in addition to other German laws on child protection. Eumann refuses to confirm the four websites the KJM is taking legal action against. However, German reporting says the cases are against xHamster and three websites, YouPorn, Pornhub, and MyDirtyHobby, all of which are owned by MindGeek.

The regulators have been trying to force pornographic websites to introduce age-verification checks—which can involve the uploading of identity documents—since September 2019. Much of this has been pushed by one state regulator, Tobias Schmid of the State Media Authority of North Rhine-Westphalia, who has been criticized for his views on sex, but the matter is now also being handled by the KJM.

Eumann says companies should put in place age-checking systems to make sure their visitors are not children. The law says pornographic content should be accessible only by adults, Eumann says. In all four of the cases the pornography websites, which have German-language versions, are accused of not introducing age-verification systems.

One pornographic site, thought to be xHamster, was first contacted by regulators in March 2020 and then the others by June 2020. The requests for age verification have now turned into a legal tussle, and three cases are waiting for hearings in one of Düsseldorf’s administrative courts, Eumann says.

In the case of xHamster it is believed there was no response from the website’s owners. As a result, the case is thought to be the most advanced and could result in the order issuing the site to be blocked in Germany in the coming weeks. At the end of June 2021 the KJM identified the company that hosts xHamster and asked it to make the website unavailable. “We have a blocking order for the hosting provider, which is based in the Netherlands,” Eumann says. “If the host provider does not comply, we will take the last step.” That order expired at the start of this week, the KJM has confirmed. “The last step is taking actions, a blocking order, against German access provider,” Eumann adds.

In reality this means issuing a blocking order to Germany's biggest web providers—including Vodafone, Deutsche Telekom, O2, and 1&1—demanding that they block the website for people trying to access it in Germany. The largest providers will be targeted first, with smaller ones following, and it is likely a block would happen at the Domain Name System (DNS) level. When you are browsing the web, the URL that you type into your browser’s address bar is converted to an IP address by DNS. Imposing a DNS block would mean anyone typing the pornography site’s address into their browser wouldn’t be able to see the page.

It’s likely German web companies may challenge any blocking orders through the country’s legal system—meaning the battle over age verification could be dragged out for years to come. Officials initially tried to get the web companies to voluntarily impose web blocks on xHamster in August 2020, documents show. The internet providers refused to block the sites voluntarily, potentially setting in motion a lengthy legal showdown. “We've already talked to them, they are not happy,” Eumann says.

A spokesperson for 1&1 says it would “assess” any blocking order as and when it is received. “Legal requirements for website blocking orders are quite high according to the Supreme Court (BGH) Judgements,” the spokesperson says. A Vodafone spokesperson says they would look at any order if and when it is received. None of the other web companies replied to a request for comment. MindGeek did not respond to a request for comment and xHamster declined to comment, citing ongoing legal proceedings.

Making pornographic sites introduce age checks to make sure people accessing them are over 18 isn’t a new suggestion—but it is one that’s proved controversial. In 2017, the UK passed the Digital Economy Act, which required adult websites to introduce age-verification technology for all visitors from the UK. But the law, which was dubbed the porn block, was delayed multiple times before collapsing altogether in October 2019.

History could repeat itself in Germany but the idea of age verification is taking off around the world. Europe’s Audiovisual Media Services Directive requires companies to put measures in place to protect children, a bill in Canada is looking to introduce age verification but has faced privacy concerns, Australia has recommended using digital IDs to access pornography and officials in Utah have been pushing a law that would require new smartphones and tablets to have pre-installed and on-by-default pornography filters. France has also threatened to block pornographic websites that don’t put age-verification systems in place.

But German regulators are the closest to introducing any blocks—and the approach is proving divisive. Paulita Pappel, a cofounder of adult site Lustery and the curator of the Pornfilmfestival Berlin, says the worst-case scenario would be if Germany “creates this firewall, that they start blocking sites and say France follows suit. That would push production companies even further to the margins. They would probably move their servers”.

Pappel says that such moves are “comparable to China's censorship” and could put the pornography industry back decades in terms of its reputation. She worries the focus on age verification will filter down to adult companies with less resources to implement them. “Smaller companies, queer performers of color, these are the people that are going to suffer the most,” Pappel says, adding that there should be more of a dialogue between regulators and the industry to ensure positive outcomes and provide young people with better education around sex.

Eumann argues that the actions it is taking are not about pornography itself, but rather protecting children. “We're not going from this perspective that we have something against pornography,” he says. “It's not against net neutrality, it's not against freedom of speech. It's just for protection of the minors.”

Since the UK proposed age-verification checks around half a decade ago there have been questions about the effectiveness of any such systems. A multitude of age-verification technology companies have sprung up, and experts say to best protect people’s privacy and security there need to be consistent standards in place. This also applies to laws around the world: it is easier for pornographic websites to put age verification in place if multiple countries have the same requirements. One point of tension is social media: Some proposed age-verification laws focus only on commercial pornography websites and ignore the huge amount of adult content on websites such as Reddit and Twitter.

“There is a legitimate question about how effective this kind of legislation will be,” says Neil Thurman, a professor in the University of Munich’s department of media and communication, who has studied pornography regulations and people’s opinions on them. Thurman recently surveyed 1,000 16- and 17-year olds in the UK and found that 63 percent of them had seen pornography on social media, while 47 percent of them had seen it on dedicated pornographic websites. (It also found those seeking out pornography would be more likely to do so on dedicated pornographic sites).

Then there’s the question of how well any such systems work. Simply using a VPN or Tor allows you to get around location blocks that are placed on content. Someone in Germany can easily set their location to the UK to avoid local restrictions in much the same way that some people use VPNs to access US Netflix in the UK or BBC iPlayer in Europe. And both teenagers and regulators are very aware of these limitations. Thurman’s research found that 46 percent of the teenagers surveyed had either used a VPN or Tor in the past—another 23 percent knew what they were. The KJM says it doesn’t expect its age-verification laws to stop every person under the age of 18 from accessing pornography.

To date, only one major international pornographic site has introduced age-verification checks in Germany. On May 25, subscription-based website FanCentro, which lets adult performers sell access to their content and has ten million users, introduced age checking developed by UK-based firm Yoti. Nicholas Hörger, FanCentro chief sales officer, says the US firm decided to follow German rules to protect its adult influencers who could potentially be held liable if their subscribers don’t complete age checks. The company spent six months reviewing different age-verification options before picking Yoti’s.

Hörger says the move has gone down well with its German influencers but says he suspects other companies are waiting to see the results of regulations and legal challenges before they adopt any such technology. “In addition to the potential loss of adult consumers, a platform must pay for each verification attempted, which can become costly, depending on your business model and platform,” he says.

So has the age-verification tech made any difference? Hörger refuses to share specific numbers on whether it has resulted in a decrease in users but admits there has been a difference. “There is a percentage of adults who still don’t feel comfortable uploading their ID on an adult site,” Hörger says. “FanCentro’s age verification check happens after they’ve input a credit card or bank details, so we know it’s not an issue of age, but rather concerns about privacy. It’s possible this will change over time.”

#Anglo.txt

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

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Starker 007 AU >>

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The painting is hideous, there are no two ways about it.

The longer Tony stares at it trying to find a justification for the thirteen-thousand dollar price tag, the more dumbfounded he becomes. Affixed to the wall it presents like a gaudy canvas banner, a bewildering clutter of haphazard spills and splotches that might have a certain panache adorning the walls of the penthouse of the pretentious elite, but Tony can’t make sense of it.

The gallery is lined with paintings of a similar aesthetic, abstracts that look like psychedelic blood-spatters, moody self-portraits and ten-feet-tall modernism canvas of writhing, spaghetti-lines that looks like it belongs in a first grade art class.

Maybe Tony is a simpleton, but he has at least some taste.

A man slips beside Tony to observe the painting, head tilted up to peer at the artwork in quiet consideration. Outside the corner of his vision Tony can tell the man is stunning. Suit expertly tailored, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones beautifully chiseled, milky skin brushed with a hint of gold and long, long that fingers that wrap around a perspiring glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

Tony sips his whiskey, a smooth burn down his throat as his interest is piqued. He’s seen a hundred, a thousand of men just like this one - well dressed and impeccably styled - but however girt by the exquisitely woven threads he may be, the unconscious tug of the mans smile seems genuine in partner with the down-to-earth brown of his eyes. He’s beautiful but doesn’t flaunt it.

It takes only a beat for the man to notice Tony’s staring, the mellow harmonic chords of the piano lulling away in the near distance. He offers a shy smile at the attention, turning his gaze back to the painting to resume his quiet scrutiny, eyes flickering over the slapdash strokes.

Oh yes, Tony thinks. He’ll do just nicely.

He clears his throat roughly, catching the startled gaze of the younger man, mouth falling open in quiet surprise.

“Stark,” Tony introduces himself, holding his hand out in greeting. The man's grip is pleasingly firm when he shakes Tony’s hand after a moment's still contemplation.

“Parker,” the man smiles, eyes crinkling adorably at the sides. “Peter Parker.”

He tries to not find himself charmed by the way the hairs of one of Peters’ eyebrows are swept skyward like he’d rubbed his face, or the way his long fingers tap at the stem of his wine glass as he sips from it, licking his bottom lip to catch a wayward drop.

“What brings you here, Mr. Parker?” Tony inquires, surreptitiously tracing temple of his glasses to activate the sensors built within them.

His vision goes blue for a prolonged moment as the AI brings up schematics and data in a blinding stream of text and symbols. Another tap has EDITH zeroing in on the younger man, registering his heat signature in blistering oranges, his recent social media and his squeaky-clean criminal record.

PETER BENJAMIN PARKER

24 YEARS OLD

PLACE OF RESIDENCE: QUEENS, NEW YORK, UNITED STATES. CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CIVILIAN

A quick skim of the hurried cascade of information informs Tony that Peter was tardy eight times in high school and is now currently an engineer for Oscorp.

That’s a shame. Tony guesses being pretty doesn’t account for taste.

“My employer is a patron of the arts,” Peter smiles. “What about you Mr. Stark? Is this business or pleasure?” He gestures with his half-empty glass to the sea of people, a motley swarm of greasy politicians, haughty high-flyers and glittering socialites.

“A smart man finds a way to do both at the same time,” Tony winks, giving the younger man a deliberately slow once over, warming the hollow patch behind his ribs when the man's cheeks bloom pink. Peters eyes drops to Tony’s lips when he licks the residue of whiskey off them, lingering there for just a moment before politely looking away.

Play indeed. Sure, the auction for the artworks is set to begin at any moment and Tony’s mark is idling somewhere in the background - but there is always time to enjoy himself, Tony justifies as he turns in towards Peter and gives his best charm.

Potts always did drone on to him about having a proper work-life balance.

“What do you think?” Tony asks, pointing to the abstract artwork, analysing Peter as he breaks from their stare and assesses the nervous mess of brown and splintering white acrylic.

“The Delicate Spider,” the man orates expertly, not missing a beat. “Ruth Bauer Neustadter.”

“Wow, just rolls right off your tongue there,” Tony blinks, mildly impressed. “You some kind of art aficionado or something?”

“Nah, I just like spiders,” Peter shrugs, looking over the piece appreciatively. “What about you, Mr. Stark?”

“Me? No thank you to anything with more than four legs and whatever this is,” Tony says truthfully, lifting his hands sheepishly. “Although I couldn’t tell the difference between a Pollock or a Picasso if you paid me, so.”

Peter seems amused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he rocks on his feet. He’s adorable and would look far more inspired contrasted against Tony’s black silk bedsheets than any one of these works of art.

“That’s a shame, Mr. Stark.”

“It is,” Tony concedes with a smirk. “It’s a very hard life being so uncultured.”

“I can tell. Maybe I can give you an education some time.”

Tony grins, catching Peter’s gaze. “I’d like that very much Mr. Parker.”

The spell is abruptly broken when the interface of Peters smartwatch lights up, distracting them both. He looks to Tony sheepishly after reading its contents, using his pinky to tap away at it. The wriggle of the small finger shouldn’t be charming, honestly.

“Ah, I’m afraid I must be heading out, Mr. Stark. Auction’s starting.”

Damn.

“Don’t let me hold you,” Tony supplicates, raising his glass to him, even if he is sad to see him go.”It was a pleasure.”

He can’t help the quirk of his lips at the word, nodding politely at the other man whose smile is tinged with regret this time, and the modest sweep of his gaze over Tony’s body tells him everything he needs to know.

Not that it matters, when a warning red flashes alarmingly over his smart-glasses. His mark is moving, which means he needs to get moving himself.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony,” he calls out when the younger man waves and moves to leave, offering a roguish smile. “Maybe we can catch up afterwards. Get a start on that education.”

A chestnut curl falls delicately over Peter’s forehead when he turns to peer back at him. “Maybe,” he nods, waving again before departing for good.

He takes only a second to leer at the generous swell of Peter’s ass and mourn the missed opportunity, sighing to himself. This is what he gets for having a bonafide actual work ethic - if he were any of his sloppy, bone-headed colleagues he’d have had his tongue buried in that ass five minutes ago.

Nonetheless once he’s out of sight Tony taps his glasses again, following the transparent map that pinpoints where his mark is.

He’s got a job to do.

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Neil McGarrett was a wealthy, eccentric billionaire. A media mogul who made his fortune from humble beginnings, starting from the sale of a single newspaper and now has his name splashed over his own cable news network.

Decidedly right-leaning, McGarrett had an inclination of sensationalism over what some might traditionally label journalism, but it was undeniable that he was favoured by the republican voters in droves, if prime-time ratings were anything to go by.

The man regularly made headlines himself - from his sixth marriage falling apart, to his more unsavoury public affairs. Being photographed naked whilst snorting cocaine on his ten million dollar yacht every other week was commonplace. He’d been photographed dining with sex-offenders and simpering politicians and the wall street elite, caught on film talking about underage women and applauded for it by his peers.

He was a misogynist and a xenophobe and all of supporters loved him for it, dressing it up nice and pretty in what they called classic American values.

For all of his questionable morality McGarrett was also a patron of multiple charities. He gave his time and money to various causes, was caught strolling the red carpet of many a gala and fundraiser and, sometimes, on occasion held a fundraiser - or an auction - of his own.

And that leads Tony to his current assignment, dressed to the nines and brushing shoulders with the obscenely wealthy, pretending like he knows a damn thing about art.

McGarret had decided to generously place a portion of his infamous art collection up for auction and donate the earnings to charity - for the veterans, he had proclaimed, an endearing cause no one could fault him for - even if the charity receiving the funds was for-profit and only repurposed fifteen percent of their donations to actual veterans and its founder was vitriolically transphobic.

It only makes the reconnaissance that much more satisfying.

One of those sparkly big names that McGarret had been associated with was one Justin Hammer, a weapons developer. Whilst the two have little outward affiliation outside the sphere of the billionaire-boys-club, government intelligence suggested that their association may be something more than meets the eye.

Which led to Tony’s mission, scouring McGarrets’ Manhattan abode and gathering evidence that would confirm him as an accomplice to Hammer - the latter of whom was suspected to be selling arms to small island nations and aiming them squarely at American soil.

Innocuous on the surface, they already knew McGarret paid for someone to disguise the transactions between the island nations and oil rich company executives, the media mogul looking to make a quick buck out of warfare and the ad space of the top rating morning program breaking news of an attack on American allies. Shockingly that top rating morning news program ran on McGarrets cable network and more of a ‘surprise’ was that McGarret owned stock in those oil companies and in Hammer Industries.

The auction is a perfect setup for a distraction. McGarret, the mark, will be entertaining his guests, the crowd will have another focus and security will be concentrating on protecting the artworks.

And Tony will be helping himself to some Saturday night intelligence gathering and infiltration. Perfect.

When he starts hearing the raucous bids from the ballroom it’s time for Tony to start moving.

He nods at various dignitaries, toasts to inebriated politicians as he wanders from hall to hall, politely acknowledging the lingering bedroom-eyes men and women cast upon him as he passes, Glock 26 rubbing against his lower back as his hips sway into the heart of the building.

EDITH guides him to the third storey to a plain-looking room down the hall where McGarrets office is located and fewer people are found. The office doors are lined with the kevlar and shotguns of three men, each eyeing Tony with suspicion when he approaches with a teeth-baring grin.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender Tony winks, incapacitating the armed guards with a flash of his palm-central gauntlets, tutting to himself as they slump to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

Whilst he missed the old days of a good pistol-whip or an elbow to the face, there was a particular poetry to the flash and efficiency of the new tech. A certain je ne sais quoi in watching grown men crumple like a house of cards with the twitch of Tony’s fingers.

The EDITH glasses are the only development that Potts has allowed him to bring on field - which is honestly a travesty, however experimental and unregulated his tech is they’re missing out - it’s why they hired him after all.

With a grateful pat to the unmoving hip of one of the guards Tony delicately plucks the access pass from their belt and has EDITH check their vitals.

The little red light turns green when Tony presses the pass against the reader, lock unlatching with a quiet, electronic whir.

The room is dark when Tony enters, lit dimly in a sickly yellow glow by two standing floor lamps. The blinds are drawn, slivers of pale moonlight streaking across the desk as Tony approaches it.

There’s a photo frame on the desk of McGarrett and a busty blonde with her arms around him, fingerprints all over the glass. When Tony picks it up for better inspection his fingers come away suspiciously sticky.

Gross.

Wiping his hands on his suit Tony fishes out the USB from his pocket and leans over to place it in the processing unit of the desktop computer. The monitor awakens in a bright technicolour glow as the tech works it’s magic, hacking itself into the system and retrieving the data, storing it not only on the USB itself but transmitting it back to base wirelessly.

All Tony has to do now is wait for the download to complete, mourning to himself how frightfully boring it is when missions go this easy.

It’s hard being efficient sometimes, he muses, wondering where McGarrett stores his scotch and if he’d notice if Tony helped himself to some.

“EDITH, how long since the download commenced?”

“Three minutes, twelve seconds, sir.”

Tony groans, already bored. Maybe he can join the afterparty and get inappropriate with one of the Victoria’s Secret models on the guest list.

He sighs, turning to face the window - only to be surprised when someone behind him punches him in the face.

“Wha?” he manages, slumping against the desk momentarily as his vision spins, head pounding. He doesn’t have time for any reprieve however as his assailant lunges forward to attack him again - Tony barely manages to duck, aiming an elbow at the tall figure and making contact with their face.

It’s hard to be sure in the dark but the figure appears slight, but masculine and he recovers fast, charging forward to grip the lapels of Tony’s jacket in his hands. He pulls Tony forward and moves a leg upwards to knee Tony hard in the stomach.

The pain steals his breath but only riles Tony up, shooting his fist out to swiftly sock the other man in the throat, slamming his head down against the other guys skull.

It’s enough to release his grip and Tony uses his bulk to crowd the other man against the windows, head throbbing. One hand shoots out to wrap around his attackers throat, the other reaching for his glock and pressing against the mans temple.

Even with a gun pointed at him, the man struggles against his grip, kicking his legs out ineffectually in an attempt to gain the upper hand.

The movements shift the blinds open for enough street light to bleed in, illuminating the attackers face, young features twisted in a snarl.

“You,” Tony muses, blinking in surprise.

It’s the man from before - Peter Parker.

Except, all his previous air of innocence has all but dissipated, brown eyes cold and calculating.

It’s a mistake to look.

Peter uses Tony’s startled pause to knock the gun away and out of Tony’s hands with surprising strength, slipping free from the chokehold with a kick to Tony’s ribs.

Goddamn that fucker is quick, Tony thinks as he stumbles back, clutching his side.

“When I said we should catch up later this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Tony snarks, dodging another fist to the face.

With a twist of his body he sweeps his legs out at Peter’s shins, the smaller man falling to the ground in a kneel.

“What, a little late night espionage not romantic enough for you?” Peter retorts, whipping a pistol out from his jacket and aiming it at Tony’s chest.

Tony acts quickly, legs moving on instinct as a well placed kick flings the weapon away.

There’s a split second where Tony gets distracted because outraged pout on the man's face is adorable - it’s however shortlived, when Peter rushes at him, clocking him upside the jaw as they tumble to the ground in a heap, their weapons discarded somewhere to the side. The two wrestle for dominance, rolling over the floorboards, elbows flying as they try to one up one another.

Tony gets another fist to his face and immediately tastes copper in his mouth.

“On the contrary,” Tony groans, using his weight to roll over the younger man, straddling his slim waist to hold him down. “Sounds like a perfect date.”

“I don’t date thugs.”

“Well that’s just a shame, here I thought we had something,” Tony tuts patiently, pressing his thumbs against Peter’s windpipe, the younger man gasping for air as he bucks his hips upwards to try dislodge Tony.

“So, who do you work for, Peter Parker? Hmm, you one of Hammers’ goons?”

Peter’s face goes pink, eyes bulging as his airway is cut off. He scrabbles at Tony’s wrists and tries to take another swing at him only for Tony to press down further.

“What makes you think I work for anybody,” Peter snarks back, bucking his hips as Tony presses him further into the ground.

And, oh. That should not feel as good as it does, Tony thinks as Peter writhes underneath him. The younger mans’ back arches pleasingly as he tries to gain leverage, biting his bottom lip as he chokes.

“For one,” Tony comments, moving his hand from Peter’s throat to grip his wrists, “these little bracelets you have here are definitely off-market and two,” he tilts his head towards the open air-vent in the ceiling, “you definitely weren’t invited in here.”

Tony abruptly finds his back to the floor when, in lieu of answering and in a truly impressive feat of flexibility, Peter brings his legs up from behind Tony to wrap them around his chest.

Using the new leverage, Peter reverses their positions, using the strength of his thighs to slam Tony’s torso to the ground, his arms in a bind against his chest. On top, Peter straddles Tony’s hips, seating himself right over Tony’s groin.

Dazed, Tony tries to not be attracted to the way Peter looks when he retrieves a small dagger from his suit and holds it to his neck, the sharp tip grazing his vulnerable skin. Tony’s hips roll anyway.

“Are you getting hard from this?” Peter hisses incredulously, holding the dagger lengthways along Tony’s throat column.

The metal is warm from Peters body when Tony swallows roughly, throat bobbing against the dagger. Goddamn he’s here to do a job.

“I refuse to take the blame for that. I mean, it’s not everyday that I get my ass kicked by someone so pretty and snarly,” Tony admits, looking skyward for some kind of means of escape. “Even if they’re a petty criminal.”

“Petty -- “, Peter cuts himself off with a growl - and god that’s hot too - reaching back into his jacket pocket to fish out a leather-bound badge, shoving it against Tony’s glasses.

“FBI, asshole.”

Of course he’s a fed.

Tony laughs, muscles going lax despite the weapon aimed at his throat.

“You’ll have to do better than that, sweetheart,” Tony drawls, ease trickling down his spine as EDITH verifies the badge.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Who are you --”

“CIA Special Agent Tony Stark,” Tony talks over him, “Also referred to as TS007 - and that’s my dick you’re grinding on.”

Peter looks down at his own slow rolling hips in surprise, still pointing the dagger at Tony as he rises up on his knees to put some distance between them.

“Show me your badge so I know you’re not full of shit,” Peter demands, lips turned downward in a disbelieving frown. Tony smirks as he complies, retrieving his battered badge from his pocket and waving it aloofly in Peters’ face.

It seems to do the trick. Peter stands to let him up, still looking at him dubiously.

Tony grunts as he stands, back aching and head pounding, all his new wounds becoming known as the adrenaline subsides. He tries for a cocky grin but a sharp pain makes him wince at the action. He licks over a welt on his lip where it swells on one side.

He thanks Peter quietly when he retrieves both of their guns from the floor, passing Tony’s over.

“What are the suits doing here?” Tony prods, lifting his thumb to his lip to stem the blood. When it comes away wet he sticks it into his mouth, lapping at the metallic taste.

“That’s, uh -” Peter stutters, eyes on the digit in Tony’s mouth, “ - that’s classified. What are the CIA --”

“Also classified,” Tony smirks. It’s true, but it’s also fun to watch the muscle in Peter’s jaw clench in petulant frustration. The younger man turns towards him and taps his smartwatch again, fingers flying over the interface as he types in a code at breakneck speed.

“What division are you in?” Tony queries, siding up next to the younger man, looking surreptitiously at the USB that still appears to be downloading.

“That’s classified,” Peter mumbles, adjusting what appears to be a well-hidden earpiece with his other hand, body slumping as the fight goes out of him.

“You’re a bit young to be a field agent, aren't you?” Tony presses, EDITH catching a swarm of heat signatures outside of the room down the hall.

Peter scoffs. “I have a particularly special skill set - and before you ask, that too is classified. ”

His irateness only makes Tony grin, reaching over the desk to switch on the desk lamp so he can see the guy better. Peters curls are in disarray, his cheek is already beginning to bruise and Tony can see where his own handprints have burst the capillaries on Peter’s pale throat. God, he’s a fucking vision.

“A man of mystery, huh? So secretive, I mean not that that’s a negative trait whatsoever, I can certainly get behind that.“

“Do you always flirt on the job?” Peter queries with a frown, but nonetheless spreads his legs slightly when Tony moves to shift between them.

“Only when I have a beauty like you in front of me, darling. You’re a real distraction, anyone ever tell you that?”

“And you’re a shameless old man,” Peter counters. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I already told you my policy on mixing business and pleasure,” Tony nods shamelessly, slides his hands up Peter’s thighs. “What can I say? I’m multi-talented.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“You like it.”

“I have a job to finish,” Peter parries, even as an unwilling grin stretches over his face.

The mood is broken when the heat signatures draw closer and sudden yelling is heard outside as the bodies Tony left at the door are discovered.

Peter peers at the door confusedly, crouching slightly to plant what looks like a listening device on the underside of the desk. There’s a commotion of footsteps and raised voices, someone is yelling to hand them over an access pass.

They’re going to have to act quick.

“We’ve got guests,” Tony turns to Peter, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and dragging him close. “We’re going to need a diversion.”

The look he receives is unbridled bewilderment as the younger man stumbles into Tony, and for the first time he can appreciate the clean smell of sweat and copper and aftershave from the younger man.

“What are you --” is all Peter gets out before Tony reels him in and kisses him.

Peter’s surprised hum is swallowed by Tony’s lips and he goes rigid for just a second before he snaps into action.

Strong hands grip Tony’s hips, driving him backwards against the desk. The sharp maple edge digs painfully into his lower back as Peter presses against him, slipping his tongue into Tony’s mouth as he boxes him in. The press of Peter’s body against his feels fucking incredible when he moves, all ridged muscle as he presses them chest-to-chest, biting on Tony’s lower lip as he takes control of the kiss.

“Fuck, kid,” Tony breathes, snaking a hand down to cup Peters ass through his slacks, bringing their bodies closer together until Tony can feel that Peter too is just as hard as him. Tony gets lost in the small groan Peter breathes into his mouth, the kiss growing steadily sloppier as the voices grow louder.

The door flies open and the click of multiple guns loading breaks their lip-lock.

“Oh no, how embarrassing.” Tony gasps, pretending to act shocked as the room fills with armed men. “We’re so sorry - as you can tell we needed a room.”

“Put your hands up!” One man yells, readjusting his grip on his gun.

“Great diversion,” Peter mumbles against Tony’s lips, eyes flicking to his periphery as he slowly inches away.

“It was worth a shot,” Tony smiles crookedly, assessing the situation. A number of armed men surround them, firearms aimed squarely at the duo. Going by their uniform they look like untrained goons, security for hire rather than any law enforcement. Perfect. Tony hates paperwork.

“You’ve got four at your six o’clock,” Peter mutters, shuffling discretely retrieve his pistol from his pocket, resting it against Tony’s thigh.

“You’ve got six,” Tony comments quietly, sliding his hand to grip his own glock in his pocket. “Not to gloat, but I think I can take out more than you, shortstack.”

“I said put your goddamn hands up!” The same man yells.

Peter looks delighted by the challenge. The two quickly shuffle so they’re back to back, facing the circle of pointed firearms.

“Loser pays for dinner?” Peter asks.

Tony smirks, raising his gun and gauntlet at the same time Peter raises his.

“Deal.”

#starker #starker moodboard #tony stark x peter parker #spy au #007 au #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: guns

888 notes · View notes

markonasurface · 4 years ago

Text

things you said i wouldn’t understand

things you said but not out loud

Thea stared down at Neil. He looked confused but stepped aside to let her pass.

“He’s sleeping,” Nicky called over his shoulder.

She walked down the short hallway and let herself into their room. Nicky was wrong. Kevin sat precariously on the window, long legs dangling outside. He didn’t turn around.

“You gonna jump?” she asked and she had to grab his arm to make sure he didn’t actually fall out. There was a loud shattering noise that let her know her idiot boyfriend was indeed sitting on the edge of a top story window, drinking.

Kevin turned and slipped back into the room with surprising coordination. His eyes passed over her as he crossed to the dresser on the other side of the room and grabbed a half full bottle of - “Are you drinking vodka? At ten-thirty am on a Monday?”

He raised the bottle to his lips and took in a mouthful. He grimaced slightly, then leaned back against the dresser. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he told her with overcareful pronunciation. “When did you get in?”

“An hour ago. Wymack picked me up.”

Kevin drank again. She waited for him to say something. He drank again.

“It’s ten-thirty in the morning, Kevin.”

“You’ve already said,” he answered and drank yet again, pointedly this time.

This was a mistake, she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she turned and walked out.

Neil leaned against the doorframe ten minutes later and asked, “Is Thea okay?” Before Kevin could ask what he was talking about, he said, “She was pulled from the lineup 30 minutes before her game last night.”

Kevin shrugged and waited for Neil to leave before digging in his pocket for his phone. He had to plug it in and wait for it to get a decent enough charge for him to turn it on. He called his girlfriend but it went straight to voicemail.

He grabbed his computer and pulled up an internet browser, typing in her name. He read a few headlines.

Theodora Muldani Missing From Friday Night Lineup

Why Thea Didn’t Play

Muldani Missing in Siren’s Lineup, Food Poisoning to Blame?

Kevin tried calling her again but was once again sent to voicemail.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m sorry about this morning. I just heard about last night though. Are you okay? Call me back.”

Kevin caught the ball and hurled it toward Jack. Jack missed it and Kevin immediately positioned himself in front of Dan’s path to steal it back. He ignored Jack’s shout of, “I’m open!” and fired at the goal from halfway down the court.

Renee missed it by half a centimeter.

Wymack called for a break.

One of the other freshmen complained about how many balls Jack missed this scrimmage. Jack took off his helmet and said, “We’re only three points down. I’m playing better than you.”

“And yet, Kevin is five shots in this morning and outplaying both of you so that’s not really saying much, is it?”

As he walked off the court, Wymack called his name. Kevin rubbed his forehead on his shirt sleeve and walked toward his father.

“Andrew’s just talking shit,” he said. “I haven’t had anything to drink this morning.” His pounding head was a constant reminder.

Wymack looked a little skeptical but said, “Great. If you’re sober, you can go pick up Thea from the airport.” He held out keys and Kevin stared at them.

“She didn’t tell me she was coming,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Twice in one month?” Nicky raised his eyebrows but kept walking.

“She said she’s texted and called you.”

Kevin went to change. After puking, showering, puking in the shower, dressing, taking a handful of ibuprofen, and downing a bottle of water, he left for the airport. Thea was waiting out front by the time he got there.

“Hey,” she said, leaning across and kissing him.

He held her hand as they drove back toward campus. “How long are you staying?”

“I’m going back in the morning,” she answered, her voice was soft. He shot her a look but she was staring out the window.

Thea was not a soft person.

“Are you just here to check on me or …?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You weren’t answering any of my calls or texts so I just needed to come see you.”

“Sorry,” he said. “My phone is dead and I just haven’t gotten around to charging -”

“You look like shit.”

He gave her an amused sort of grimace.

They got to Fox Tower a little after three. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she grabbed his hand, forcing him to turn back to her. He closed the space between them and she leaned back into the door.

He looked into her eyes, then she watched as his eyes moved to her lips, then the tip of one of her Dutch braids that he was twisting between his thumb and pointer finger. When he looked into her eyes again, she pulled him in.

His hand moved to her hip, then slowly down her thigh as he quickly deepened their kiss. His body pressed hers into the door. His fingertips trailed under her dress and she lifted her leg so her knee was pressing into his hip.

He opened his mouth, breathing hard, hands still gripping the back of her thighs. He lifted her higher for a brief moment before letting her slide her feet back to the floor.

We need to talk, she meant to say.

"Again,” she told him instead, shoulder throbbing from where he’d just bitten her. She kissed him and guided him backwards until they reached the bedroom.

When he opened his eyes, Thea was staring at him. He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply. He kissed her shoulder where a bruise was forming and asked, “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, sounding distracted.

His arm was over her waist and he pulled her closer so their chests were pressed together. He moved to kiss her jaw and she wanted to say again but she forced herself to say, “We need to talk.”

Kevin pulled away, looking displeased. Talking was his least favorite thing to do these days, mostly because whenever someone talked to him, they wanted to discuss his “drinking problem.”

So he was surprised when the next words out of her mouth were, “I’m pregnant.”

Only then did he realize neither of them had thought to use a condom today, though it was probably deliberate on her part because she already knew they didn’t need one. Kevin had been careless.

His eyes narrowed slightly and he sat up. “Pregnant? We haven’t since -”

“Riko’s funeral,” she reminded him, sitting up, too. “This baby was probably conceived in the same bed you lost your virginity to - what was her name? Lauren? Liv?”

Her tone was cold. Thea was trying to rile him. He didn’t bother correcting her.

“Maybe we should have that bed shipped to us -”

He tuned her out, trying to do the math in his head. Riko had died in April. His funeral was held in May. She was still talking but he asked, “What are you, seven, eight weeks along?”

“Something like that.”

“Have you been to a doctor? Does your team doctor know?”

“Of course not,” she hissed, looking offended.

Kevin considered the information he had. “Are you going to keep it?”

Immediately he knew he had said the wrong thing. Thea turned. “Am I going to keep it?”

“That’s not what I meant -”

“I’m the woman so of course it falls on me, right? I shouldn’t have told you.”

He grabbed her arm to stop her from climbing out of his bed. “Thea, that’s not what I meant. I-I-I -” His head was spinning. He felt himself start to shake. He needed a drink.

Thea pulled her arm out of his grasp and pulled the sheet higher. “I just told you I’m pregnant and you’re thinking about your next drink.”

He wanted to refute it but he didn’t want to be a liar.

“I’ve been patient,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “After everything you’ve been through and not being able to tell anyone for so long. I’ve tried to be supportive even as you destroy yourself and try to push everyone away.

“I thought when I told you I was looking for an answer from you, a-a-a declaration, a promise?” She shook her head. “Now I know I should’ve taken care of this myself and left you out of it completely.”

He offered his hand but she didn’t take it. He shook his head at it. “Thea, I’ll promise you anything you want if you want this baby,” he said. When she looked away he huffed a short laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t know how much harder women have to work. I train twice as much as the men on my team because if I don’t, coaches will think I’m not dedicated enough. I stop 73 percent more attempts at the quarter line than Thompson and he still gets paid twice as much as I do.”

Kevin never dared to interrupt Thea when she was making a point.

“I can’t risk throwing away my career in the hopes that you’ll stop drinking and you’ll be there for us.” A tear fell down her cheek. “Even if it upsets my parents or you, I don’t think I can have this baby.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and shook his head. He wanted to tell her she had nothing to worry about, but he knew everything she was saying was true. He was a 21 year old alcoholic with so many traumas he hadn’t even tried to start processing. Even without his issues, he would never ask her to give up Exy.

Thea climbed down the ladder and pulled her dress over her head. When she opened the bedroom door voices carried in.

“No one wants you in this apartment,” Nicky said.

“I just wanted to see if Kevin wants to run some drills tonight,” came Jack’s voice. “Oh.”

Kevin opened his mouth but Thea walked out.

“Thea! Nice to see you -”

She pushed past Nicky and snatched her bra from Jack’s outstretched hand. She stooped to pick up her panties and Wymack’s car keys, slipped on her shoes and left.

She sat in the car for awhile, trying to stop crying.

Four weeks later

When she left practice, she was surprised to see Kevin leaning against her car. She heard some of her teammates whispering. Even in the pros Kevin Day was a big deal.

He straightened as she came near. She stopped in from of him, a hand on her hip.

She expected him to ask her if they could talk. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, eyes never leaving hers. Her eyes narrowed slightly but then she realized there was something in the hand he had taken hers with.

Slowly, she opened her hand so she could see what was there. On her palm was a round, red chip. She looked back at him, eyes slightly rounder and wet.

She moved her duffle bag around to her front and opened the side pocket. She removed the envelope and held it out to Kevin.

His eyebrows furrowed and she saw his fingers trembling a little as he opened it. He took out the photo, stared, the crease in his forehead getting deeper. She saw the moment it registered as he glanced back up at her face, a question in his eyes. She nodded.

When he grabbed her hand again, Thea felt the tears falling down her cheeks. He pulled her to him, his other hand coming around to cup the back of her head as he pressed his lips firmly to hers.

She heard some wolf-whistles as she fisted the front of his jacket in her hands, a mixture of relief and nerves fluttering around in her chest.

They pulled apart only for Kevin to pull her back in again. They would have to talk but for now the red chip said everything she need to hear.

#aftg #tfc #kevin x thea #tfc fic #Things You Said

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thenightling · 5 years ago

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My Tumblr friends as Sandman characters

There will be some character overlaps here. I wrote a post like this once before but it’s a new year so new list.

@sorry-for-the-chocolate = Mervyn Pumpkinhead and Lucien (For when she does her “MILORRRRD!!!” on Discord. Though I also know you have a love of The Scarecrow. You love gourds. You can be very sarcastic. You hang out with book nerds so you can give snarky commentary. And you probably would pull a bazooka on The Kindly Ones. So you’re probably more Mervyn Pumpkinhead than anyone. I know he’s your favorite Sandman character for a reason.

@endlessemptynight = twenty five percent Daniel Hall (current form but only as written by Neil Gaiman. i.e. Sandman: Overture). Sixty percent Death. Because you know when it’s necessary to whap someone upside the head with a loaf of bread. And fifteen percent Matthew. You are a very reliable friend who doesn’t take shit from anyone. And when you talk people listen.

@lamb90 = About half Delirium and half Death. You’s a bit insane but very kind.

@zal001 = Seventy five percent Death and fifteen percent Delirium. Ten percent Desire. Mostly Death until you’re writing fan fiction. :-P That you go a bit insane, and the ten percent for Desire is because I know your ships.

@watertribe-enya = You’re a tough one. Death. Because you’re perky and friendly and know how to brighten a mood.

@everthewildeone - Delirium. You are 110% Delirium.

@deathlyendless = Death.

@vagaryhexxx = Death

@bazpik = Destiny. Only because I know how much you love Destiny. Otherwise your hungry shipping heart spreading want wherever you go... You get Desire. :-P

@treebrooke79 = Johanna Constantine. (You can probably figure out why.)

@sunagirl = More wise than you realize. You get Death or Delirium in her moments of clarity.

@winterbirdybuddy = Morpheus.

@artwinsdraws = You’re another tough one. For your creativity I would give you Morpheus. For your ability to right the wrongs of canon I would give you Destiny. But I imagine you as someone very adorable and innocent so you get Goldie. :-P

@jr4cats Well, based on your love of animals and likelihood to drag in a half-conscious dream lord you found laying in the mud I’d say Gregory the Gargoyle. :-P Sweet, friendly, playful, and probably digging up graves for fresh bones. Also probably Death. Because you’re friendly and cheerful for the most part. And much smarter than Gregory.

@light-miracles I thought I saw a request from you to be added but it seems to have mysteriously vanished. Anyway, I scrolled through your blog posts and this is what I came up with. Your very account name evokes certain notions. Also the very top post on your blog talks about hope. So that is who you are, since now all I have is the ghost of your request and I’m barely sure it existed. You are Hope from Sandman: Overture. You’re the sort of person to see through Morpheus’ bullshit and call him on it, while also taking him by the hand to reassure him.

@fieryophelia Hmm.... based on your Tumblr posts I think I want to say Nuala. You’re a bit of a romantic who loves fantasy. And you’ve probably recently learned to be yourself and stand up to those who would try to control how you appear to others and to Hell with the consiquences. You may have gotten this confidence through other characters, even if their methods of revealing this to you weren’t the best.

@iknowwheremytowelis Based on your Tumblr posts I would say a little bit of Morpheus but mostly Lucien. You seem to love stories. You cherish and value literature. You don’t have much patience for those who misinterpret or misuse literature or deliberately misinterpret stories darkly just to reaffirm their own beliefs. Also you seem like you’d be most happy surrounded by books.

Anyone else want to be added to this list, just let me know. :-P

#Sandman fandom fun #Neil Gaiman's The Sandman fandom fun

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areyouactuallystupid · 5 years ago

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10 Words/Phrases Game

Rules: list 10 words/phrases that have something to do with your work(s) in progress and then tag 10 people to do the same.

Both @missroserose and @imneithernor tagged me on this one, and it’s long past due I gave some updates, anyway. I don’t care about rules, so I’m gonna share some excerpts that I like a lot, rather than just words or phrases. And it may not quite be ten.

Buckle in, kids!

1.) Steve thinks they kiss in the dark for an eternity before he pulls back. “What do you think this is?”

“Hell if I know, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t say, I’ve got a plan for us. Steve doesn’t say, you’re my ticket outta here. He doesn’t say, I’ve been watching you.

No. That last part, Billy says for him, a smoky baritone: “But I know you’ve been watching me. Coming to all these parties like you weren’t too good for them two months ago. Licking your lips every time a girl rubs her pussy on my thigh.”

----

2.) She pins Steve with her eyes, nails him right to his own cross. He’s been here so many times, but there’s never been such obvious evidence against him. Billy wears Steve’s handiwork like a walking billboard for delinquency. He opens his mouth to do the thing he never does: confess.

“It was my fault, ma’am,” Billy blurts, no trace of that demon’s smirk on his face now. No, now he’s all blue eyes and soft curls, all deference and regret. “We were just horsing around and it got out of hand. I’m really sorry. But,” and he brightens here, posture straightening, leaning in. He nudges Steve’s knee, a silent ‘play along.’ “Stevie and I worked it out. Didn’t we, Stevie?”

Steve looks at him, at the steady fire behind Billy’s eyes, and thinks Billy knows. He knows why Steve left the party so quickly and he knows what Steve confessed all those months ago and he knows what Steve did. He knows. The heat that flashes in Steve’s gut has to be fear. But even if Billy isn’t giving Steve an olive branch, he’s giving him an out, and Steve isn’t stupid enough to turn it down. So he licks his lips, dredges up a smile, and aims it at Miss Peters.

----

3) Steve is the one with bites oozing blood down his forearm, but somehow Billy is the one who looks pained, squinting into the fluorescent lighting of his own clinic like he’s wondering who allowed it to be installed in the first place. “You’re bleeding all over my floor,” Billy says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him even though they’re the only two people in the entire building. He shoves Steve - like, actually shoves him - onto the examination table, paper cover crinkling as Steve falls onto it.

With a grin, Steve says, “Someone interrupt your nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

“Nap?” Billy says, slamming a cupboard door open hard enough to make some of the tools on the little counter rattle in their trays. “It’s three in the goddamned morning.” He doesn’t even look at Steve, just starts pulling things out and practically hurling them into place.

----

4) “You know,” Tommy says, waving the joint in front of his own face, creating his own smokescreen. On the tv across from them, the hero in the movie is kissing the girl he just saved. Something explodes in the background. Tommy doesn’t look at him. “You know, I fucked Billy Hargrove.”

----

5) It’s Wheeler, of all goddamned people, who tries to convince Billy to go.

“You’re smart, Billy,” she says, waving the essay she had to peer review for English in his face like it’s proof.

Billy shrugs, tipping his chair back onto two legs even though the teacher politely asks him not to every single day. He’s waiting for the day she snaps. “Not interested.”

“Why not?” Wheeler plows on. And Billy doesn’t know when she started giving a shit. She knows he’s with Harrington now, knows that he actually has something to stick around for, and now she’s suddenly gung-ho for Billy to fuck off to college. She slaps the paper down on his desk, only one suggestion tucked into the margin in neat cursive. Actually, if he squints, Billy thinks it reads: What the fuck, Hargrove?

Billy slams the chair back onto all four legs, startling everyone in the class except Wheeler. Girl’s got a spine of iron, he’ll grant that. “Not your business, sweetpea.”

But even in the face of his most unnerving grin, Wheeler doesn’t falter. “Let me guess. You’re going to become a mechanic or something, be decent at it but never really great, work for fifty years in a hot and filthy garage until you get lung cancer and can’t afford treatment, then die a slow, painful death with nobody remembering a single thing about you. Sound about right?”

“Jesus, Wheeler.” At some point Billy had started tapping his pencil. Now he stops. Chews on what she’s said. It’s not far off what he’d been intending for after school, really. What he’s most shocked at is the sheer volume of words, though; she barely speaks to Billy on a good day. Not that they hate each other with the fervor they used to, but Steve is their sole mutual interest and also the one thing neither of them wants to open up about to each other. Therefore, no hablan mucho.

----

6) The “Welcome to Hawkins” sign flashes in Billy’s headlights. Merry fucking Christmas, Billy thinks, ignoring the churning in his gut, the chill up his spine. There’s always been something wrong with this town, something in the air or the dirt or the water, he’s sure, but he hasn’t had to think about for years. He’d left this hellhole before the ink had dried on his diploma, walked across that stage and right out the fucking door, keys in hand. Threw the cap and gown in the trashcan on his way, hung the tassel on his rearview mirror, tossed the diploma on top of the Chicago University acceptance letter, and peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal so sharp he hopes it interrupted the principal still droning alphabetically through the “H”s.

He hadn’t necessarily wanted to become a lawyer, but he’d wanted to prove something, and he couldn’t think of anything more prestigious than law. He’d considered medical school, but even doctors need lawyers, right?

So he’d gone to school, scraped and clawed his way to the top, pushed until he saw “Hargrove Law” in gleaming, gold letters on a brick background. “Brick,” Neil used to say, “is classic. Never goes out of style. Lasts forever if you take care of it.” There was something funny about Neil talking about taking care of anything, and maybe the irony made it stick.

Billy cranks the window down, lets the cool humidity of a summer night flood the cab, the taste of cow shit and dirt along with it. Fucking Indiana. Cornfield after cornfield, hour after hour, made Billy impatient to get here, but now he fights not to turn the car around and drive all the way back to his exposed-brick and glass apartment.

----

7) His hand grips Billy’s chin, forces him to look in Steve’s eyes. Smiling, Steve leans forward, lips brushing Billy’s ear. “I wanna fucking tear you apart.”

The shudder rips through Billy so hard it rattles Steve’s teeth, the goosebumps spreading down his chest like a cascade. When Steve leans back, he sees the moment that Billy realizes it’s not a euphemism, not an exaggeration: eyes widening, throat working on a swallow, chest stuttering with breath. And then Billy fights. He fought, before Steve got him here, but not like this. That was business, surprise and hesitation and clean hits. One unclean hit to take him down. This is different. Desperation. Nails and teeth and thrashing and, “Get off, get off, fuck you, get off!” A crescendo that breaks at the end.

Steve feels the hits, the gouges, but they don’t hurt him. He waits, holds Billy by his hair until he either wears himself out or realizes it’s not working. It’s not going to work, no matter how stained his nailbeds, black with the poison under Steve’s skin.

“Please, Harrington. Steve, please,” he says, one hand clenched over Steve’s.

“It’s good, when you say his name,” Steve’s mouth says. “He feels it, that way.”

----

8) Silence. But Billy can hear them all looking at each other, so he continues: “Do you know how much blood you have to lose to pass out? Thirty percent. You know how much you can lose before you go into a coma and die? Like forty percent. And he passed out ten minutes ago. So which one of you dipshits know how to do a blood transfusion?” He’s maybe fudging the numbers a little bit, but he’s not making it up entirely. He knows passing out, in terms of injuries, is no bueno, and not taking Steve to the hospital is probably the same as killing him at this point.

More silence. Billy bears down on the gas pedal.

Solemnly, Mike says, “He knew the risks,” and then makes to lunge for the wheel again. With a hand on his face, Billy shoves him back, hard. He also just happens to glance into the rearview mirror in time to catch Dustin’s expression: horror, betrayal, sickness. Everyone knows that he’s Steve’s little duckling, but Billy didn’t know it ran so deep, that he and Steve were --what?-- actually friends? Billy’s not about to ask, but he doesn’t need to because Little Byers pipes up: “Steve wouldn’t’ve had to risk anything if we hadn’t gone to the lab in the first place.”

He might not have the full story, but Billy knows enough --knows Maxine well enough-- to know that the kids had gone somewhere they shouldn’t have and caused a whole lot of trouble for everyone. That’s their modus operandi, it seems, and Billy’s just happy that he’s not the only one having a real shitty time because of it.

----

9) Steve learns three things about Billy in about five seconds, or the time it takes for them to exchange the ball twice: 1. Billy has a hell of an arm. His throws come in with bruising force, even when Steve can tell Billy’s not trying to be an asshole by taking his hand off. He has the aptitude of an outfielder, capable of getting the ball from the fence to the cutoff or farther. It’s ridiculous, but maybe not that surprising. Steve knows how hard Billy can pass a basketball, after all. 2. Billy’s reflexes are nuts. He’s maybe shorter than most of the guys their age Steve knows in Hawkins, but he’s quick, blue eyes tracking and alert and body in perfect tune with what Billy tells it to do. Honestly, Billy drops the ball a lot, but he’s always there, squared up to it perfectly, glove in the right spot. 3. Billy is capable of shutting his damn mouth for several minutes at a time. With his concentration on the ball, he hardly says anything, and Steve feels like he’s made some kind of major scientific breakthrough, like he should write it down, put it in a book called “So You’ve Met Billy Hargrove: Ten Tips and Tricks for Survival.”

That’s all, folks! Sorry for the long post!

I tag: @desert-dino @eternalgoldfish @junipertreehouse @thehowlingalpha and anyone else who wants to participate! (It’s lots of fun to go through older wips and reread, honestly)

#my post #my writing #wip game #harringrove #if you're interested in reading more of any of these i am always looking for feedback!! please don't hesitate to ask!!

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otdiaftg · 11 months ago

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The King's Men - Chapter Seven

Day: Wednesday, January 17th Time: 8:18 PM EST

"Have you heard back from the shop?" Neil asked, dragging his attention back to Andrew. "Matt got a call this morning saying his truck would be ready for pickup tomorrow. Allison should have hers back Saturday morning. Can they fix yours?" Andrew flipped his phone open, pressed a couple buttons, and handed it over. Neil waited, mystified, until Andrew's voicemail started playing on speaker. A mechanical voice announced Tuesday's date, and a sobering message followed. The damage was even more extensive than it'd appeared; the garbage in back had hidden whatever the Raven fans did to the backseat cushions, and none of them had looked in the trunk before the car was towed. The shop wanted Andrew to call them back to talk about his options and discuss what it would take to restore the car to its former glory. Andrew hoisted himself onto the rental car's trunk and dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lit two and traded Neil one for his phone. Neil cupped a hand around his to shield it from the breeze. He studied Andrew's face as Andrew put his phone and cigarettes away, but Andrew gave no sign he was bothered by the bad news. "You're going to have to replace it," Neil guessed. "If the insurance company won't cover a replacement for your car, take the difference from me. You know I have enough for it." Andrew slid him a cool look. "I'm uninterested in your charity." "It isn't charity," Neil said. "It's revenge. It wasn't my money in the first place, remember? I told you my father skimmed it from the Moriyamas. If you take some for your car, you're making Riko replace what his fans destroyed." "Revenge is a motivator only for the weak-willed," Andrew said. "If you believed that you wouldn't be planning how to kill Proust." The doctor's name still tasted like acid, burning Neil's tongue and throat, but it wasn't enough to put a dent in Andrew's calm expression. Andrew gazed at him in silence for what felt like an eternity, then propped his cigarette between his lips and motioned Neil closer. Neil was sure he was stepping forward into a knife for bringing Proust up again, but he obediently closed the short space between them. Andrew caught the back of Neil's neck in a bruising grip to keep him from retreating. He pulled Neil's head toward him and blew smoke in Neil's face. "This is not revenge," Andrew said. "I warned him what I would do to him if he touched me. This is me keeping my word." He waited a beat to make sure Neil understood, then let go. The next time he raised his cigarette to his mouth Neil took it from him. Neil broke it between his fingers and let it fall to the asphalt by their feet. Andrew watched the halves roll away from each other and turned an unimpressed look on Neil. "Ninety-one percent," Andrew said.

Art used with permission by Midgart. Thank you @midgart!

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misssophiachase · 6 years ago

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Finally! Part 4! So sorry for the delay. I was stuck on song choices believe it or not. Thanks to musician @garglyswoof for brainstorming with me. And to @romanoffsbite for this delightful cover.

Beauty and the Beat

Part 4: Give Me One Reason

Neil's Bar, Indio CA – 3 years ago

"When you said bet, I assumed it was going to be less one sided," she drawled, taking in the interesting surrounds of the local karaoke bar. Klaus couldn't help but grin at the raw sass he remembered so well and just how good she looked in mini denim shorts and a sly smile.

"Everyone likes a bit of karaoke," he reasoned, pointing to a nearby booth.

"Yeah, especially a chart topping musician," she shot back.

"Chart topping? Has someone been researching Klaus Mikaelson?"

"No, Mister Third Person," she replied bluntly, taking a seat and gesturing to the waiter for service. "Your sister mentioned it actually, think she's quite the fan. Not surprising given she's related and kind of has to like your stuff, or pretend to anyway…"

"Hey, hey," Freya objected from a neighbouring booth. Klaus had barely noticed where his band mates and family had gone when Caroline appeared. "I heard that and it's only like fifty percent true."

Klaus wasn't surprised, his siblings had this way of pretending not to care in public, even Freya who had joined the family fold late but had picked up on their idiosyncrasies quickly. It was then Klaus knew they were definitely related.

When he'd stumbled upon, not only his sister but the woman he'd been dreaming about for four years at Coachella, he wasn't quite sure how to approach it. In fact, his response had been scattered and somehow he'd challenged her to an unknown bet in the space of three unexpected and stressful minutes.

Klaus loved a wager, in fact he'd won many over the years against his bandmates but suddenly he felt a little self conscious. Caroline Forbes had that effect on him. To say he'd been following her career closely over the past two years was an understatement. He all but stopped at hanging photos of her because it was both kind of stalkerish and Kol would never let him live it down.

"This isn't about my stuff," he implored, hoping that his family hadn't done too much damage.

"So what's the bet, Mikaelson?" Katherine Pierce appeared from out of nowhere. Klaus fought the urge to roll his eyes at yet another unhelpful interruption given it was her best friend.

"Kat." Caroline replied. "I know you get bored easily but we've made more than a few friends tonight."

"If you're talking about the band I've already made some predictable judgments," she offered, taking a seat next to Klaus and startling him somewhat. "Those two are in love with your sisters," she gestured between Enzo and Lucien.

"How do you…"

"The only reason I know your sister's name is Rebekah is because Enzo wouldn't stop yapping on about her, well until she appeared. Lucien, on the other hand, was unable to speak because he couldn't stop staring at Freya. And don't even get me started on Kol, he needs a leash, a muzzle and that's only for starters."

"She's good," he offered, shrugging his shoulders and sending Caroline a coy smile. "Do you hire her out for parties?"

"I probably should, god knows it would make us lots of money."

"I could probably analyse this particular situation unfolding before me too but given my precarious position as Caroline's bestie I'll pass," she chirped. "So, what exactly are the stakes?"

"We both perform a song of choice," Klaus suggested, passing her the folder of songs. "Best crowd reaction wins. Although given I'm a singer I'm more than happy to..."

"Don't you dare, Mikaelson," Caroline shot back. "I don't take pity." Klaus was fairly certain he liked her even more at that point. He'd planned to go easy on her but given the confident smirk on her face Klaus was excited for the challenge and what he'd win at the end of it.

"Not gonna lie, you've probably bet the most competitive person to a dare," Katherine whistled. "Good luck, I only hope the terms aren't your first born."

"I'm game," he murmured, trying to ignore just how adorable she looked trying to work out what to choose. "I'll take a date."

"How extremely predictable," Caroline scoffed, taking a brief moment to stop perusing the song list and gaze into his blue eyes.

"And you?"

"I really need my hedges trimmed," she smirked. Klaus couldn't help but feel his erection begin to grow beneath the booth. "And I really hate washing too."

"Washing," Klaus coughed, trying to reconcile exactly what her terms were and if they were just code for something else more untoward.

"Yes, you know domestic chores? Why? Afraid to get your hands dirty?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," he growled. "Are you afraid to lose?"

"I don't ever lose a bet," Caroline boasted. She might of had the upper hand earlier, but he had every intention of winning no matter the consequences.

"I'd be offended if I wasn't so damn aroused right now," Katherine purred, looking between them and sauntering away.

"She's definitely unique," he chuckled, hearing her melodic laugh mixed with his was a welcome development. Although they'd technically met now three times, the moments had been so fleeting and having the opportunity to really get to know her was making Klaus excited for what might be.

"Niklaus! Hello? Anyone home?" He was broken from his memories, his eyes finally focusing on the demanding, blue eyes of his sister Rebekah. Then he remembered it was present day in Miami still and that showtime was imminent.

"No need to shout, little sister," Klaus scowled, suddenly finding the nearby bass guitar interesting and plucking at its strings. After make-up, the rest of the band had dispersed. It was something they liked to do before a big show just to collect their thoughts even if Kol maintained it was because Klaus was always way too grumpy before a show. He'd never admit it aloud but for this show he was probably right.

His nerves were in overdrive, the adrenaline pumping furiously as he pretended not to care but every muddled thought and emotion was focused on one thing. Caroline. Seeing her on the television coverage earlier had only increased his anxiety ten fold.

It was no surprise given the effect she still held over him. Yes, she was beautiful but Klaus could decipher every expression down to the most intricate detail. In that last clip she was smiling but behind it Klaus could tell she was willing the news reporter to go away and, at the same time, think of more original questions. He couldn't help but relate given he felt the same way since the cameras trained on him upon their arrival.

"How are you doing?"

"If I needed a therapist..."

"You'd be paying a lot more than I'm charging, believe me," she muttered, taking an impromptu seat next to him. As much as Klaus liked to pretend he was independent and unfazed, Rebekah was the sibling who could always see straight through him. He pretended to hate it but secretly it was an emotional outlet he needed and couldn't be more thankful for his little sister, even if she did like to interfere. "So, I'll repeat my previous question...How are you doing, big brother?"

"Says the sister who insisted I take this gig in the first place," he growled.

"No, says the publicist who insisted you take the gig that will catapult your band into the stratosphere," she offered by way of explanation. "Your sister, on the other hand, might have had an ulterior motive."

"Ulterior motive? Are you saying my greed loving publicist slash sister can help me teleport to another continent? I've heard Australia is nice this time of year."

"What did I tell you about trying to be funny from a publicity standpoint?"

"Probably the same thing I uttered about adding matchmaker to your growing list of job duties."

Klaus was annoyed but at the same time couldn't imagine anyone but Rebekah handling their affairs, sure she meddled incessantly and was difficult but that only meant more support and rewards for the band. Rebekah's loyalty was never in question and Klaus wasn't one to trust easily so it worked well.

"I asked you then and I'm going to ask again, what aren't you telling me?" She asked, choosing to ignore his previous comment.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, hoping the interrogation would end soon given Klaus was about to take the stage.

"Yes, you do. Stop being so bloody childish, Niklaus."

"If you need a project I'd suggest you and Enzo have a lot to talk about, little sister," he murmured knowingly, watching her cheeks colour, it was basically a compulsory reaction when it came to them. What he still couldn't understand was why they still weren't together after so much time.

"You always were good at deflection," she shot back defensively. "There's never any shame in admitting that you're regretting your decision to break up with the girl of your dreams, you know just saying."

Caroline and Rebekah's relationship had started off rocky, mainly because she was so protective and no one was good enough for her big brother but Caroline, in her persistent and charming nature, had won her over. Klaus was so happy at the time but now it was as if all his siblings were all against him since the break-up. He wouldn't admit it aloud but he really didn't blame them.

"Rebekah..."

"And the fact you let go of the thing that made you so happy will always be baffling. She loved you and, surprisingly enough, you loved her too, Nik."

"If I admit it, then it's true," he murmured, a brief moment of vulnerability washing over him before he continued. "Things change, Rebekah. People change."

"Do they?"

"Well, given your unwillingness to accept Enzo, I figure you know more about that than anyone." Rebekah didn't respond immediately, it was the usual response when he raised the E word and she tried to brush over it in every conversation. They were just too alike.

"Touche, stubborn ass," she admitted, albeit reluctantly. "But just know I'm here for you tonight."

"Don't tell me I'm interrupting a tender, Mikaelson family moment?" Kol teased, entering the room and grabbing his drum sticks from the couch possessively. "Because it's no longer even marginally cute and the fact I have my shit together over you both is kind of pleasing right now, not gonna lie."

"Kind of pleasing," Rebekah drawled. "Give me a break. All you talk about is Bonnie's unrequited feelings, Kol."

"I'm not here for a pity party, I just came back for my bass," Lucien joked, taking it from Klaus and placing the strap over his head.

"Where's Freya?" Rebekah asked pointedly. No one could miss the blush that crossed his creamy cheeks.

"How would I bloody know?" He grumbled. "Last time I checked we're here to do a job. Stage Manager tells me we're on in five." Klaus inhaled sharply, not quite sure if he was ready but given the expectation he had no choice. He just hoped his poker face was better than the one he was practicing in the mirror earlier.

Klaus wasn't someone to get too invested in anything, but as he watched her sashaying towards the stage he knew he was a goner. He'd been desperate to see her for years and now she was here. With him. And he couldn't have been happier.

She approached the mic, somewhat apprehensively, her blue eyes widening at the size of the crowd that had gathered for karaoke. "Evening all," she greeted. "I'm just gonna put it out there, I made a bet and you all need to help me win." Klaus shook his head but couldn't help but smiling at the same time, she played dirty and he loved it. As the opening musical strains began a smirk took over his face.

"Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body..." It was Faith by George Michael, one of his favourite songs and he wasn't gonna lie, those lyrics were causing a few twitches below. More than that her voice was impressive, Klaus decided then and there it was heavenly. Suddenly her quick acceptance of the challenge made sense. He probably had no chance but suddenly he didn't care and decided to just sit back and enjoy the show.

The crowd erupted, Klaus applauding just as loudly as the rest of the room. Right now he didn't care if he lost, he just wanted to see her sing again. Unfortunately it was his turn. As she walked past him, he grabbed her hand and whispered in her ear. "You want my body, I get it, Forbes."

"That was only the first line," she murmured, her breath tickling his ear. "There's a lot more to my story." He knew that of course. She'd been hurt by someone but wasn't ruling out moving on, something Klaus couldn't be more happy about.

He approached the stage, more nervous than a usual gig. The music began and he lost himself in the lyrics, hoping his message came through as clearly as hers. Winning the bet was secondary to what he wanted to achieve. He wanted her to stay in his life and not disappear again for years.

"Give me one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around," he rasped, his eyes firmly trained on hers. He lost himself to the Tracy Chapman song and expectant crowd, knowing that however this turned out their connection wouldn't be broken this time, win or lose. And that's all he cared about.

#beauty and the beat #give me one reason #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline drabbles #klaroline #misssophiachase

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huntertales · 6 years ago

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Part Two: You Can Bet on It. (What’s Up, Tiger Mommy?)

Episode Summary: Kevin Tran talks the Winchesters and the reader in checking on his mother. When they arrive and discover Crowley has surrounded her with demons, they rescue her and take her along their quest to find the demon tablet. However, they soon discover Mrs. Tran is a mother not to be tested after she tries to go up against the king of hell herself. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,097.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

It wasn't too hard to find the location of the pawn shop Dean threatened out of Clem to find out where he sold off the tablet he wrongfully stole, along with whatever else he managed to grab from those lockers. The shop was nestled into a row of others in town not too far from where the bus station was located. Dean parked the Impala against the sidewalk and right behind a fancy looking sports car that was probably worth way more than the house you hadn’t been to in years now that you thought about it. Personally, you were more of a fan to older model cars, but you had to admit the cherry red Ferrari was a sight to see. Especially in a small town like this one in Wyoming when one would expect to see them more in the Hollywood hills.

You let out a low whistle in appreciation at the model as Kevin found himself pulled into a trance at the sight of the car. He took a few steps forward to take a closer inspection out of it, Mrs. Tran called out to her son, pulling him back into reality as she nodded her head to the pawn shop. A car like this was like a beautiful woman; you could look all you want, but if you dare so touch it, there would be consequences. All of you headed into the pawn shop to see a man behind the counter. He was playing on his phone with his feet up on the counter, obviously hard at work.

“Hello, sir. Agents Neil, Sixx and Hill. FBI.” Sam introduced the three of you as he pulled out his fake badge to show the kid behind the counter. “We’re looking for a tablet.”

"About, uh, yea big," Dean gestured with his hands the rough size of the tablet to give the kid some idea of what all of you were looking for. "Got some hieroglyphic crap on it."

“Sold to you by a thief named Clem.” Sam added. “Ring a bell?”

The kid shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Nope.”

You rolled your eyes from his nonchalant behavior and how quick he was to answer you. It was obvious he didn’t want to think too much about giving all of you some information, thinking he could attempt and cover his ass. But Dean wasn’t in the mood. “Hey, Lyle, I’m had a really, really bad day today, so I’m not in the mood to dilly dally.” Dean said. He leaned forward and pressed his hand against the glass to appear somewhat threatening. “If you want to do this the rough way, I am happy to oblige.”

“Sure. We can do it that way, if you want to get famous.” The kid said. You furrowed your brow from what he meant. When he looked over his shoulder and nodded his head to the two security cameras around the store, you knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“That your car outside?” Mrs. Tran spoke up, asking the kid a simple question.

“What’s it to you, mail-order?” The kid’s response made your blood boil in anger.

"Hey, scumbag!" You slapped your palm against the glass counter, directing his attention over to you. "A few security cameras don't scare me. I'll break right them right after I break your jaw and arms. I mean, it would be kinda hard to tell the cops a girl beat your sexist and racist ass with your mouth wired shut.”

"I got it." Mrs. Tran said, stopping you from fulfilling your promise. She walked up to the counter, showing you and the boys that not every situation required threats to get what you wanted. Sometimes brains won in this kind of situation. "I noticed you're driving with expired tags, maybe because you just acquired it in a trade, and I'm guessing that means you haven't registered it yet, which means you haven't paid the tax. Is that correct?"

The kid kicked his feet off the table and pushed himself up to a standing position. You noticed he seemed surprised at what she said, even a little bit afraid about how spot on she was. “None of your business.”

"Kevin," Mrs. Tran looked over her shoulder and asked her son a question. "Average blue book on a 2010 Ferrari F430 Spider?"

"Two hundred and seventeen thousand dollars." Kevin answered.

“And the five percent Wyoming tax?” She asked.

"Ten thousand and eight hundred fifty." Sam somehow made the calculation in his hand in the matter of seconds, answering the woman before her son could. You found yourself wincing at the intimidating amount of numbers flying around here, making you feel sorry for the reality the poor sucker was about to face if any of this spilled to the real FBI.

“Ten thousand dollars. Something tells me you’re the type of person who might balk at a tax bill that big.” Mrs. Tran said, the ends of her lips curling into a smirk.

“W-What is this,” The kid asked. “An FBI audit?”

“No. But my brother, who happens to work for the Wyoming tax assessor's office could arrange that if he thought something untoward was happening here.” Mrs. Tran said. She continued on speaking, not missing a beat to drag out the information from the kid from the question she asked him. “So what’s it going to be—the tablet or that piece of euro trash crap you call a car?”

You crossed your arms over your chest when the kid fell awfully silent. You raised your brow as he contemplated the choices he had that you given him, and what he could do to get out of them for the spite of it. But you could tell from the look on his face that he knew he was cornered with no way out.

“You heard the woman.” You said. “Cough up the location, punk.”

The kid unwillingly did so to save his ass from paying a fine you knew he couldn’t pay. You left the pawn shop with a friendly smile after you snatched the receipt out of his hands. Maybe having Mrs. Tran around wouldn't be so bad, after all. She didn't cower at the sight of that kid being a jerk to her, and she sure was smart enough to think quick on her toes. Not to mention, she saved you and the boys from getting yourselves in trouble from doing things the illegal way. All of you piled back into the Impala and headed to the location written on the receipt. You were getting a little bit more hopeful with the idea that you were getting closer to the tablet. And one step closer to closing the gates of hell forever.

+ + +

Motel room number one-twenty six. You stood on the parking lot with your arms crossed over your chest as you waited while Sam knocked on the front door of the room where the tablet was supposed to be located. You looked around the place to see it was fairly quiet for the afternoon, there was nobody around except for the five of you. Sam waited for a moment to see if he could hear any movement in the room as your attention lingered over to the window to see if you could spot a pair of eyes peeking out the curtain to see who was disturbing them. But all remained still and silent.

“Sure this is the right place?” Sam asked, seeming a bit skeptical at location the kid gave you.

“It’s what the pawn slip says.” You told him.

Sam still wasn't too sure about that being true, so he decided to see for himself what was inside the motel room. He slipped his hand inside his pocket to pull out his lock pick to grant all of you access inside. However before he could even get it out of his jacket pocket, you heard an unfamiliar voice speak from behind, grabbing your attention. "Kevin?"

You turned around in your spot to see an older gentleman wearing an ensemble that looked a little out of place for this kind of scenery. You narrowed your eyes on him when you noticed his pinstripe gray suit was paired with a matching colored top hat and wooden cane he used to talk with. You dropped your arms to your hips, placing them where you kept the demon knife tucked away, just in case if you might need it use it on him. The boys seemed just as cautious at the sight of a stranger showing up out of nowhere.

“Who wants to know?” Dean asked, stepping down from the sidewalk and to the parking lot.

“Oh, relax, Dean. I’m not going to steal your prophet.” The stranger reassured the man. But you had your doubts on that. He turned his attention away from the older Winchester and the woman standing next to Kevin. The man’s lips stretched into a smile at the sight of her. “Ah. And you must be Kevin’s mother. Beau. And it is my absolute pleasure.”

"God," You rolled your eyes in annoyance when you saw Beau introduced himself to Mrs. Tran in the most over the top way possible. He reached out to lift up her hand to give the top of her hand a light kiss. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"And Kevin, imagine my luck. Here I was, working so hard to look for you that I never stopped to think you might be looking for me." Beau said. You narrowed your eyes when you saw him slip a hand inside his suit pocket, making you fear for the worst. You found yourself reaching for the demon knife out of habit. You asked him what it was. He pulled out what appeared to be a crisp white invitation with the prophet’s name written on it. “An invitation, dear lady, to an exclusive auction.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “Where you’ll be selling the tablet?”

“Well, when we acquire an item as hot as the word of God, it’s smart to unload it as fast a possible.” Beau explained himself to you and the boys’ judging glares “And we are in such desperate need of a headliner for tonight’s gala.”

“Well, I hope you have four extra tickets to your little eBay party, ‘cause the prophet’s with us.” Dean said, stopping the stranger from taking Kevin anywhere.

“Oh if you’re worried about the safety of your prophet, rest assured we have a strict ‘no casting, no cursing, no supernaturally flicking the three of you against the wall for the fun of it.’ policy” Beau reassured you and the boys.

“Is that right?” Sam asked. “How’d you manage that?”

"Well, I am the right hand of a God, after all—Plutus, specifically." Beau said, his lips stretching into a smirk as he bragged about his title to the five of you humans.

“Is that even a planet anymore?” Dean let out a scoff, thinking it was something much different from the sound of a name.

“It’s the god of greed.” Beau corrected the man. It seemed from the expression on his face he wasn’t the least bit amused. “And my liege has warned these premises against hell, heaven and beyond—quite necessary with some of the players we see. And incidentally, quite possibly the safest place your precious prophet could be. Mm. Well, since time is of the essence, perhaps I’ll just go ahead and add a plus-four to the prophet’s invitation. Copacetic?”

Beau flung the invitation straight into the air, letting his trick distract all of you long enough for him to vanish into sight before the envelope fell to the ground. You quickly looked up when you noticed that he was gone. He was a smooth talker, you'd give him that. "Well, thank you, Mr. Peanut!" Dean yelled out in frustration. You dropped your hands to your side and let out a sigh. "All right. What do we have to bid?"

"Let me brush off the other word of God I've got in the trunk." You said, pointing a finger over your shoulder. "Along with the other precious artifacts we don’t have.”

“We can’t just show up there empty-handed.” Dean said, his tone of voice showing you he wasn’t in the mood for your sarcasm right now.

“Dean, all we have to our names ia few hacked gold cards.” Sam said, bursting his brother’s idea of trying to go up against a few heavy hitters that were bound to have some items that were well worth the trade for the tablet.

“All right. Well, then, we’re gonna have to get creative.” Dean suggested. You thought to yourself for a moment about what could possibly be worth bidding. You thought about possibly bidding off the demon knife, as it was a one of a kind piece. However Sam had a suggestion for an item that was meaningful to all of you. The very thing that had been through a lot of things in her decades of existence. You noticed that he was staring at the Impala, prompting you to realize that he was about to suggest about auctioning the car. Dean promptly shook his head as he went straight over to Baby, defending her. “Nope. Mnh-mnh. Say it and I will kill you, your children and your grandchildren.”

"Okay, okay. Before you two idiots murder each other, I got an idea. Don't these auctions display the items to the bidders beforehand, right?" You wondered, Dean nodded his head. "So all we got to do is get Kevin close enough to memorize the spell."

“What do you think, Brainiac?” Dean asked the kid. “Think you can swing it?”

“Of course he can swing it.” Mrs. Tran said with confidence. “If the bumper stickers on my previa mean anything.”

The plan was worth a shot to try, as it was really the only one you had anymore at this point. Dean turned his attention over to the Impala as he rubbed his hand across the hood, as if he was trying to comfort the emotions of an inanimate object. "They didn't mean it, Baby."

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you love that car more than me." You said. Dean looked over at you to see that you were standing right next to him with an arched brow, waiting for him to say that you were being crazy. However Dean remained silent for a moment, prompting you to let out a sigh. "You know what—Don't answer that. Let's just go."

+ + +

You weren't sure what you were expecting the location of the supernatural bidding of the tablet would be held. Maybe something fancy, maybe even a decent space where you didn’t have to worry about what was crawling around the place or what kind of mold was growing between the cracks of the stones. Of course it had to be just that, downtown in an abandoned warehouse from the looks of it. Nothing could ever be nice and clean. You stepped into the warehouse after a man dressed in a black suit opened up the door for you.

It was then you discovered the metal detector all of you needed to step through in order to be granted access to the auction. You knew if you wanted to be apart of this you needed to come here without a single weapon on you. Not that you were exactly pleased with the idea. You were a little more concerned about setting it off with the metal pieces in your body. You still had the faint scar from the surgery you had to put your arm back together. All though Cas put you back together into one piece, you weren't sure if he got out everything. There was one way to find out. You stepped through the metal detector after Sam, waiting to hear the thing go off. But when you stepped out the other side, it beeped once, making you let out a sigh of relief.

Dean wasn’t lucky as you were. When the older Winchester stepped into the detector, he went with a slow and cautious step, as if doing so would help his case. But as he stepped out to the other side, the alarm went off, making you and the others realize he made the dumb decision of coming here with some extra accessories that weren't allowed. You let out a sigh of frustration as you shot him annoyed glare. Dean smiled slightly as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Now, now, Dean.” Beau stepped forward to greet the older Winchester and remind him of the rules that applied to all of you as well. “The system only works when everyone participates.”

Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of playing along with the rules of this place. Being stuck in a place crawling with monsters and no weapon to defend himself felt wrong. But if he wanted to stick around, he would have to give everything up. He unwillingly placed his pistol into the bin with other confiscated weapons and took out the demon knife from his jacket pocket. He held it for a moment, knowing out of all of the weapons you owned, this was the most powerful one. The guard grew impatient and reached out a hand to grab it from the man. Dean drew it back to give the man a warning that it was his, and his to keep.

“I’ll be back for this.” Dean told the man. And with those words, he set the knife into the bin with the rest of the weapons where it would remain until the end of the auction.

All of you headed into the auction now that you were cleared to do so. You looked around the place to see it was filled with all sorts of artifacts and items from mythology. People of all kinds gawked at the items at what soon would be up for grabs. You scanned the people with a bit of curiosity, wondering what kind of creatures you were surrounded with. Most of the time you were trying to kill them, it was sort of a nicer pace to be able to be in a place where they were fighting against each other for whatever item they were willing to get their greedy hands on. All you knew was that the tablet was yours. No matter how much it cost, you needed to get it back.

“How the hell are we supposed to know who’s who?” Dean quietly asked, looking around the room himself to see all sorts of people that appeared to be harmless. But there was more than meets the eye with these kind of folks.

“It’s pretty simple, Dean.” You said. “They’re all monsters.”

You focused less on the people you were surrounded with and now trying to find the tablet. You walked around the place and mindlessly spotted all sorts of different objects you would have loved to examine if the situation was different. Now you were focused on trying to find the tablet before time ran out. Dean was the one who spotted it. You saw the tablet in a glass display for anyone to see. However someone was one step ahead of you. You could feel your fist clench in anger when you noticed a black piece of board was covering each side of the tablet, making it near impossible for Kevin to read. There went your brilliant plan.

“I guess we’re not as original as we thought.” Kevin muttered in a defeated tone.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Sam said. “We just got to come up with a plan ‘b.’”

“And what, pray tell, could possibly have been plan ‘a’?” As if you thought this moment couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse, it could have. You flinched at the familiar accent ring into your ears and right behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see it was the king of hell himself, Crowley. Your lips stretched into a frown at the sight of him alone. “Bring the prophet to the most dangerous place on earth, memorize the tablet and then va-moose?”

"Crowley." You greeted the demon, speaking his name as if it was poison on your tongue. "Look what the cat dragged in."

The demon barely made an effort to acknowledge your presence before turning his attention over to the person he most wanted to see. "Kevin. What a pleasure to see you. Sorry about your little playdate. Her name...Well, if you're gonna make an omelet, sometimes you have to break some spines." Crowley said, excusing his previous behavior with a shrug of the shoulder. You scoffed at how easy it was for someone like him to wash the blood off his hands after killing an innocent person. But you didn't expect much out of something like him. Crowley turned his attention to Mrs. Tran, as she was a face he had never got to formally meet before. "And who is this lovely young thing? Must be your sister."

Mrs. Tran might have been a tiny woman for her height, but she sure knew how to pack a punch. You didn't realize what she had done until you saw Crowley's head turn into an unpleasant angle and he let out what sounded to be a bit of a groan. Your lips stretched into a smirk when you saw him tend to his bloody lip the woman had given the king of hell. "Stay away from my son." She warned him.

“Charming. Defiling he corpse has just made number one of my to-do list.” Crowley said. You narrowed your eyes on the demon at his subtle threat while Dean took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to give Crowley more than just a punch. But before he could do such a thing, his brother held him back. “Don’t mind a little love tap, but anything more, and our mookie pals here might just throw you out, and that would be a shame.”

"He's right, Dean." Sam unwillingly agreed with the demon. "It's not worth it."

“Listen to Moose, Squirrel.” Crowley said. You rolled your eyes from his remark alone as your attention was pulled away from him and to the front door when you heard it open and close. You noticed an older looking man wearing what seemed to be a white tracksuit passed you by. “Ah. Here comes our host.”

“That’s Plutus?” Dean asked, watching the man pass by all of you to take his spot at the front of the room. “What is he, God of the candy aisle?”

You had to admit he wasn’t what you were expecting to be when you heard he was the god of greed. You were thinking he’d be a little bit more flashy in flaunting his wealth and greed. Guess you were wrong on that one. Beau followed behind the man. “Gentlemen,” He reminded the five of you. “The auction is starting.”

“Good luck with the bidding.” Crowley said.

You forced yourself to give him a sarcastic smile before turning on your heels to walk over to the auction before things got started. When you saw the demon was far enough away from you, you looked over at Mrs. Tran and gave her a genuine smile at what she managed to do.

“Nice right hook.” You whispered.

Mrs. Tran seemed proud of herself at the compliment you gave her. The both of you headed off with Sam and Kevin to find a spot for all of you to take. You managed to find an empty row of chairs for all of you to take. However you noticed that Dean wasn't anywhere near all of you. You leaned over slightly while you stood over the chair you claimed as your own next to Sam, wondering where his brother was. You looked through the thinning crowd of people and spotted him talking to some kid wearing a red and white striped uniform. You furrowed your brow slightly at who he was talking to, wondering who it was.

The conversation seemed to drift to an end a moment later. You watched as the kid walked over to where the rest of the crowd to take a seat in the very back, but Dean remained where he was. You let out a sigh when you saw him lose himself into focusing on a spot in the room. The same look you had seen before in the interrogation room fell over his face, making you wonder if he was thinking about purgatory again.

[Next Part]

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gibsonmusicart · 6 years ago

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How Co-writersDivide A Song

UNDER COPYRIGHT LAW, as soon as one of your original song ideas is recorded on a cassette tape or the lyrics to one of your compositions is written on a sheet of paper, a copyright is formed. A copyright grants you the exclusive “first right” to reproduce, distribute, perform, and sell your compositions to the public. But what does copyright law say about your rights when an original idea is formed between two or more people; as in the case when a joint work is created? This is an area where things get a bit more tricky. Therefore, a few principles regarding joint works must be understood between the authors. The most important principle has to do with ownership. Lets begin by taking a look at what copyright law says, then explore the exceptions to copyright law per written agreement, and finally consider the “all for one, one for one philosophy.” Division Of Ownership Under Copyright Law There’s a presumption under copyright law that the authors of a joint work are automatically considered equal contributors. This simply means that if a band writes a song, each writer automatically owns an equal share—no matter how big or small their musical or lyrical contribution. Determining a MUSICALLY OR LYRICALLY contribution is less simple. A “lyrical” contribution is obviously the words written as part of a musical composition. A “musical” contribution, however, is what’s often the source of great confusion. Neil Gillis, Vice President of A & R And Advertising At Warner/Chappell Music, says that a musical contribution includes the melody, as well as any pre-existing riff or groove that becomes an integral hook to the song. Take the drum part to the song “Wipe Out,” for example, or the bass riff to the song “Come Together.” Would these songs be the same if either part was excluded? Certainly not! Nevertheless, Neil Gillis warns that he would never walk out of a writing session without first being clear among all the writers what percentage of each composition he owned. A simple agreement will suffice. It’s not even a bad idea to record writing sessions on a small recorder, and to keep copies of original lyric sheets in case a dispute between writers ever materializes. Unfortunately, disputes between writers are not uncommon. Exceptions To Copyright Law Per Written Agreement Keeping in mind what copyright law says, if the percentage split in a composition is intended to in any way to be other than equal, there needs to be a written agreement setting forth what that split really is. For instance, if the other members of your band agree that the bass player’s contribution in a song should only entitle him to a ten percent share, this must be put in writing! You may be wondering whether any musician would carelessly agree to a smaller percentage share than he or she actually deserves. It’s been known to happen! In fact, I’ve known several musicians who, throughout the course of performing with one extremely successful rock singer (who must remain anonymous), signed away 100 percent of their song shares in return for a small sum of money. Not realizing the potential value of their shares over the long term, the guys felt that it was what they needed to do at the time to keep their positions in the band. Needless to say, they’re all kicking themselves now. This is one case where you want foresight, not hind sight, to be 20/20. The “All For One, One For All” Philosophy With all this talk of what’s copyrightable and who’s entitled to what, you might ask what happened to the “All for one, one for all” philosophy that most young bands and writers swear to. After all, if a group of writers stuff themselves into a practice room to spend hours of their valuable time experimenting with song ideas and recording demos, is it really fair that the harmonica player gets zero interest in a song just because he wasn’t feeling as lyrically or melodically creative as the others that day? And what happens when all the writers make relevant suggestions and have to determine whose chorus idea gets used? Can this potentially turn the writing process into a competitive game of who’s getting credit rather than focusing on writing the best song possible? I know this all sounds a bit immature, but it’s a very real problem. Consequently, many bands have an initial agreement stating that all of its members will receive an equal split in the songs regardless of who comes up with what. The “all for one, one for all philosophy” makes perfect sense at first, and works for many years of a relationship. However, once a group becomes successful and everyone in the industry begins telling the vocalist or guitarist that he or she’s the real star and genius of the band, trust me—the divisions in the new songs will quickly change in their favor. For example, guitarist Stone Gossard and vocalist Eddie Vedder wrote most of Pearl Jam’s songs, yet the band originally split the percentages in its compositions equally—each member (five in total) received 20 percent. However, as the group became more successful and vocalist Eddie Vedder was recognized as “the star” or “the man,” essentially becoming the only irreplaceable member of the group, the band wanted to keep him happy. The group allotted 36 percent of each song to Vedder, and 16 percent went to each of the other three members of the band. In another—far more drastic—example, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin took it upon themselves to begin wandering off on their own to a cottage in Scotland called Braun-yur and demoing complete song ideas for Zeppelin III. In other words, this is where the other members of the group began to get cut-out of the songwriting process. Surely no one wants to lose out on their profitable piece of the pie, but the harsh reality is that there's usually one or two key writers in a group dynamic who are the principle creators and genius, and it takes a great amount of maturity on the part of the other members to somehow recognize and deal with this—plain and simple!

By Bobby Borg

www.Music-Articles .com

#musiccareerblog #songwritingblog #songwriterblog #musicindustryarticle #musicbusinessarticle #cowritingsongs #cowriters #songwriterarticle #songwritingarticle

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theliberaltony · 6 years ago

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via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to Pollapalooza, our weekly polling roundup.

Poll of the week

Donald Trump has been unhappy with NATO for years. Even before he won the Republican presidential nomination in 2016, he complained that other member countries weren’t “paying their fair share” and that the military alliance, formed in 1949 to counteract the influence of the Soviet Union, was “obsolete.”

This week, at the NATO summit in Brussels, now-President Trump sparred with the NATO secretary general and demanded that other member countries more than double their defense spending (they ultimately agreed only to continue to try to reach the existing financial targets).

Trump was echoing the sentiments of the 25 percent of U.S. adults who, according to a YouGov poll conducted this week, hold an unfavorable view of NATO. That includes 15 percent who see the alliance “somewhat” unfavorably and 10 percent who see it “very” unfavorably. By contrast, 24 percent of Americans give NATO somewhat favorable ratings, and 20 percent give it very favorable ratings, for a total favorability score of 44 percent.

Like so much else these days, NATO has become a partisan issue. Democrats told YouGov that they view NATO favorably by an overwhelming 55-point margin (64 percent to 9 percent), but among Republicans, unfavorable opinions of NATO win out by an 8-point margin: 45 percent to 37 percent. Among Trump voters, 54 percent view NATO unfavorably, while just 33 percent view it favorably.

Republicans have long been more skeptical of multilateralism and international organizations than Democrats; that’s reflected in the large gap between the opinions of Democrats and Republicans on the United Nations. Partisans’ views on NATO may also shift around in response to specific events. For example, according to the Pew Research Center, Republican support for NATO fell sharply in 2013, a year after the attack on U.S. government buildings in Benghazi, Libya. Republicans’ anger at the Obama administration over Benghazi may have spilled over into animosity for NATO, through which the U.S. first intervened in Libya in 2011. And Democratic support for NATO shot up in 2017, after several months of news reports and punditry about Russian interference in the U.S. presidential election to assist GOP candidate Trump.

Almost eight-in-ten Democrats approved of NATO in 2017 – a 20-point increase from the 58% who approved in 2016. In contrast, just 47% of Republicans felt the same. https://t.co/Wj5gEfilu0 pic.twitter.com/CqbXo3XVCR

— Pew Research Fact Tank (@FactTank) July 11, 2018

Republicans who continue to think poorly of NATO may not just be following Trump’s cue. Indeed, previous polling suggests the opposite: Trump may be the one responding to an existing undercurrent of discontent over NATO among Republicans. YouGov has asked Americans about their feelings on NATO since before the 2016 election. In March 2016, 40 percent of Republicans had unfavorable views of NATO, compared with 38 percent who had favorable views. Among Democrats, 49 percent had favorable views, while only 15 percent had unfavorable ones. Likewise, Pew consistently found in surveys from 2009 to 2017 that more Democrats than Republicans held favorable views of NATO.

But while Republicans’ overall attitude toward NATO hasn’t changed, perhaps Trump is inspiring them to finally want to do something about it. Since 2016, YouGov has also asked American adults whether it’s time for the U.S. to withdraw from NATO or remain in the alliance. And over the past two years, there has been an uptick in the share of Republicans who support withdrawal.

In March 2016, Republicans wanted to remain in NATO 48 percent to 17 percent. But in this week’s YouGov poll, Republicans were deadlocked on the question, 38 percent to 38 percent.

At one point in U.S. history, almost no one thought poorly of NATO. The earliest poll we could find testing NATO’s popularity was a National Opinion Research Center survey from 1956, seven years after NATO’s founding. That year, 82 percent of respondents said NATO was a good idea, compared with just 8 percent who said it was a bad one. For the nation’s bicentennial in 1976, the Roper Organization asked whether the U.S. did the right thing in helping form and joining NATO; 55 percent said it was the right thing, and just 9 percent said it was the wrong thing.1 Support began to slip in the 1990s: In 1994, 60 percent of Americans said NATO should be maintained, while 27 percent said it was no longer necessary. Support for NATO has hovered in that general range ever since (with a brief spike in support amid NATO’s bombing campaign in Yugoslavia in 1999).

The U.S. isn’t the only country where NATO is a political football. Two of Germany’s major populist parties, Alternative for Germany on the right and The Left on, well, the left, are generally anti-NATO, and Jeremy Corbyn, leader of the U.K.’s Labour Party, once said that the organization should be disbanded. In fact, the U.S. was right around the median country in terms of overall NATO support, according to a 2017 Pew survey of the U.S. and 11 other NATO member countries. It found the alliance’s net favorability rating (total favorable rating minus total unfavorable rating) in the U.S. to be quite close to what it was in the U.K. and Germany. Poland was the most pro-NATO country, while Turkey was the most skeptical.

Other polling nuggets

According to a Rasmussen Reports poll, 83 percent of likely voters think the Senate is likely to confirm Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, while 44 percent believe the federal appeals court judge, whose nomination was announced by Trump on Monday, should be confirmed. Democrats oppose the nomination (63 percent to 16 percent) more than they opposed the nomination of Neil Gorsuch, Trump’s first Supreme Court pick, in a Rasmussen poll conducted in the week after Gorsuch was nominated (48 percent to 32 percent).

Two polls about ice cream are in agreement that Americans’ favorite flavor is chocolate, followed by vanilla and butter pecan. Butter pecan was most popular among the oldest age group in both surveys. We, however, are hip with the youths who prefer cookies and cream.

The Trump administration said it will reverse a policy put in place by the Obama administration that encouraged colleges to consider race as a factor in admissions to diversify student bodies. Seventy-one percent of registered voters said universities should not consider race when determining which applicants to admit, according to a Morning Consult poll. That might make affirmative action seem really unpopular, but, reader, beware! Polling around affirmative action can vary based on how a question is asked. For example, Gallup found in 2014 that 58 percent of Americans reported being in favor of “affirmative action programs for racial minorities,” but 67 percent favored college admissions based solely on merit (without consideration of someone’s race or ethnicity).

According to a Pew Research Center survey about activism and social media, 80 percent of black Americans said social media highlights issues that might not otherwise get a lot of attention; 62 percent of white Americans agreed. Conversely, 80 percent of white Americans said social media distracts people from issues “that are truly important,” while 66 percent of black Americans agreed.

42 percent of Americans report being better off financially than they were two years ago, according to an Emerson College poll. President Trump tweeted about the poll, saying that “most Americans, especially Hispanics, feel that they are better off under President Trump than they were under President Obama.” In an article, the Boston Globe noted that the president’s facts “weren’t quite right.” The survey question specifically asked if people were better off financially (which Trump failed to note), the question did not make any mention of Obama, and it was a plurality, not a majority, of voters who said they were better off now than two years ago. Sixty-two percent of Hispanics did, however, report being better off financially.

A YouGov poll found that 73 percent of Republicans want Trump to run for re-election in 2020. That’s up since August of last year, when 65 percent wanted him to run.

71 percent of Americans say they make an effort to buy products that are made in the U.S., according to a poll by SSRS.

According to a Gallup poll, Americans have varying opinions on the trade policies that other nations have with the United States. Sixty-five percent say Canada’s trade policy is fair, 56 percent say the European Union’s is fair, and 30 percent say China’s is fair.

Trump approval

According to our model, Trump’s approval rating is 42.3 percent, and his disapproval rating is 52.7 percent, for a net approval rating of -10.4 percentage points. That’s similar to his -10.7-point net approval rating from one week ago, when his approval rating was 42.2 percent and his disapproval rating was 52.9 percent. It’s also not too different from his -11.1-point net approval from this time last month. On June 13, his approval rating was 41.4 percent, and his disapproval rating was at 52.5 percent.

Generic ballot

Democrats currently lead the race for Congress 47.9 percent to 39.5 percent, according to our tracker. That’s an advantage of 8.4 percentage points. This time last week, Democrats were ahead by 8.3 points. One month ago today, Democrats held a 7.8-point advantage.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Nathaniel Rakich and Dhrumil Mehta

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