#thanks mr 'read me like i'm an open book'. jesus.

[icharchivist]

ultimate call out moment but

one of my irl bestfriends of over 15 years, one of the people who knows me the most in this world, who has only played DAO and only knows Solas from my deranged rambles on my private twitter account,

has posted a meme on BlueSky of "mutual, like this post and i'll link you a song from my spotify wrapped that makes me think of you/that has your vibes", which i liked because last year i discovered a banger thanks to it

.... only for the song I got to be a song that is already in my Solas' playlist and that i have been looping a huge part of the year.

i'm a parody of myself.

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Like Real People Do: Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of "Like Real People Do"

After a slight mishap in the admissions office, you find yourself in the same History class as Eddie, pushing your friendship forwards (thanks to the help of Dustin Henderson).

Read Chapter 1 here

Pairing: Eddie x AFAB reader (named "Brooke" because I hate using Y/N, but will also be using "you" to make it reader-centric!)

Warnings: Swearing, dual pov. This entire series is 18+ MINORS DNI!

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: I'm so happy so many people are liking this one...I love writing about Eddie *kicking my feet*. I've also noted that some people are wanting a tag list for this one, so if you want to be added, let me know!

The heat inside the class room was stifling – one last heat spike seemed to be in full effect in Hawkins, and the lack of air conditioning inside Hawkins High really put a damper on any chance of comfortability. Eddie fanned himself with his hand, rolling his eyes at the sweat he felt pooling slightly at his collar.

Mr. Binkins, the history teacher, was droning on an on about World War I, much to the dissatisfaction of what seemed like the whole class. Eddie’s eyes wandered to outside the window, Mr. Binkins’ voice slowly morphing into the Charlie Brown adults – womp womp WOMP wOmP womp. This was his second time taking this particular class, and even though he got a D+ the last time, he had still retained the information somewhat.

In other words, he was really, really bored.

Eddie resisted the urge to start tapping a drum beat to the latest Metallica song he heard on the radio, his pencil resting between his fingers, ready for him to say “when”. No…he wouldn’t be that annoying in first period – besides, Mr. Binkins would probably tell him to stop within 10 seconds of him starting, and where the hell was the fun in that?

His mind wandered, running down his usual daydream subjects: music, his DnD campaign, the newest issue of Playboy Wayne was hiding under his bed that he thought Eddie had no idea about…

You.

He sat straighter in his seat. You’d been in classes for a few days now, but Eddie had only seen you in the hallway a couple of times. You’d pass by and offer a polite smile, or even a friendly wave, and he would return the favor. He noticed you hadn’t seemed to be initiated into any cliques yet, and that you were equally friendly to everyone you came across whenever he saw you. At lunch, you were either sitting by yourself, or not there at all. Eddie hadn’t gotten the courage to ask you to sit with him and the Hellfire Club just yet.

Suddenly, the door to the classroom opened and in you walked, holding your books in front of you. Eddie’s heart lurched and he furrowed his brows.

Had he…conjured you? Like straight up wizard-ed you into the classroom?

“Can I help you?” Mr. Binkins asked, all heads turning to you. You offered him a smile – your trademark smile – and handed him a pink slip from the office.

“I was apparently put in the wrong history class for the past few days. The office told me I should’ve been in this one.” You scanned the class quickly, and when your eyes passed by Eddie’s, you deepened your smile, causing Eddie to blush.

Jesus, dude. Get a grip! You thought, slouching in your chair again to try and regain any sense of cool you had left in your body.

“Huh. Okay, Miss…Henway. Welcome! Tell the class a little about yourself.” He gestured to the rest of class and you turned.

“Okay. Um…hi,” You offered a little wave, “I’m Brooke. I moved here from Ohio at the end of June…um…” You made a face, pursing your lips together to try and think of something, “I’m a junior? And I work at the library. And I have a dog! Her name is Molly. Um…I think that’s it?”

“Very good. Have a seat anywhere that’s empty. Quite exciting…not only that you’re a new student, but that you’re in a senior class! Very good.” Mr. Binkins clapped his hands together, “Now, as soon as Miss Henway takes her seat, we can continue you.”

Eddie watched you scan the room again, and once you noticed the empty desk next to him, you made your way over, sitting in the seat and plopping your books on the desk. You turned to him and smiled.

“Hi again.”

“Hey,” He said, returning the smile. Lowering his voice down to a whisper, he spoke again, “So you’re in this class now? Cool.”

You nodded, “Yep. I guess the office messed up. Based on my transcripts I should be in this class. Do you know what page we’re on?” You asked, point to the textbook. Eddie shrugged.

“No idea?”

You raised your hand, “Sorry, Mr. …”

“Binkins.” The teacher said, turning around from the blackboard.

“Right. Mr. Binkins, what page are we on?”

“33.”

“Great, thanks.” You started flipping through the book and snorted, your eyes darting over to Eddie. You whispered, “I don’t mean to sound rude but…Mr. Binkins sounds like he should be related to Bilbo Baggins with a name like that.”

Eddie chuckled and his heart flipped. “Fan of ‘The Hobbit’?”

“I read a lot.” You shrugged and gave him one last smile before turning your attention back to the lesson.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, his mind starting to swirl. So, he had met a cute – beautiful, really – girl, who was also really nice, and now in one of his classes. And on top of that, she seemed to share some similar interests? He blew out some air, trying to slow down the rapid pace of his heart.

He had a feeling he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

Lunch period came quickly – thank god – and once you had grabbed your tray from the cafeteria lady, you turned to face the lunchroom. You had spent your lunch periods either sitting by yourself at the end of a table, in the library, or taken in by various random students like an orphaned colonial child. Which, really, you didn’t mind – you didn’t mind being by yourself all that much, especially when you remembered to bring something to read, or had some homework to catch up on.

You started to make your way to your favorite empty table when you heard a voice shouting behind you. “Hey! Hey!” Turning, you saw Dustin, waving his arms in the air with enthusiasm. Eddie and Mike were sitting next to him, hanging their heads in embarrassment. The other few at the table were snickering, smiling at you. Dustin waved you over and motioned to sit.

You sat down across from Eddie, sliding your bookbag underneath the table. “Hi, everyone.” You greeted.

“Hi! I’m so happy I noticed you walking to your usual empty table – you should sit with us instead from now on!” Dustin said, sitting back in his seat and smiling, “If you want!”

“Oh, thanks!” You said, “Yeah, maybe I will, if you don’t mind.” You eyed Eddie and he immediately smiled back at you, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” He said.

“Great, then it’s settled! You can be apart of the lunch crew!” Dustin smiled proudly and ripped into his sandwich, chewing with his mouth open slightly, “How have your first few days been?”

You shrugged, pushing the salad you had gotten around with your fork, “Oh, it’s fine. I like school so it’s not too bad, but…” You trailed off, crossing your feet at the ankle, “Just an adjustment, is all.”

“Have you made any friends?”

“Dude!” Mike hissed, looking at Dustin, “You can’t just like, ask a new kid if they’ve made any friends yet. That’s rude.”

“No, it’s okay!” You offered, trying to lighten the mood, “I have…kinda? No one that I’ve hung out with outside of school yet…I have a bunch of classes with Nancy? Wheeler? So we’ve been chatting. Do you know her?”

Mike rolled his eyes and Dustin barked out a laugh, “Yeah, we know her. That’s Mike’s sister!”

“Oh! Oh, okay. Cool! She’s really nice.”

“Yeah…” Mike grumbled, in only the way younger brothers could. You shoved some salad in your mouth to shut yourself up, nodding and hoping someone else would take over the conversation.

“You could hang out with us, if you wanted!” Dustin offered, leaning in, “Do you play Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Dustin…” Eddie quietly groaned, “Please stop interrogating her. She’s only been able to take like, one bite of her food because you won’t stop asking her about her life story.”

“I…don’t, sorry,” You said, “Is that the game with like…dwarves and stuff?”

“Uh-huh! It’s really cool…if I do say myself.” Dustin reminded you of an over-enthusiastic puppy, which was really endearing. You noticed that Eddie, though seemingly annoyed with him, couldn’t help but have an affectionate air towards him. “I mean, we do other stuff too…not just DnD. We do movie nights, and go to the mall, and stuff.”

“I like the mall.” You offered politely, “I like to do a lot of stuff. And I like movie nights, too.”

“Next time we have one, we’ll invite you! Right, Eddie?”

Suddenly, Dustin shot up in his seat and yelped in pain, reaching down to his foot. Everyone at the table stopped to stare at him, including yourself.

“Jesus, that hurt, Eddie! Why did you kick me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eddie said, in monotone. His eyes flickered to yours and back to Dustin, “I say we let her decide if she wants to hang out with us. Stop peer pressuring the poor lady to go to a movie night with us for Christ’s sake.”

Your heart sank a little – even though Eddie was friendly enough, it didn’t really seem like he wanted you to hang out with his group. Which was fine, since you didn’t know each other very well, but it still would’ve been nice if he had been a little more welcoming. Especially, considering you thought he was really handsome…in a rockstar, grungy kind of way.

“Um…well…I work weekends sometimes for the library so…I don’t really know my schedule. So who knows when I can even go to a movie night…” Pushing your food with your fork again, you tried your best to sound nonchalant, and not like a movie night would be the most fun you’ve had in a while.

Dustin frowned a little and took another bite of his sandwich, “Yeah, yeah. Okay…well…let us know…” He focused on his food and trailed off. You quickly looked up to Eddie, who was looking at you, but then looked away at his own food.

The rest of lunch was kind of awkward, with everyone making polite conversation about their “newest campaign” (whatever that was), and peppering questions in for you about your previous life in Ohio. Soon, the bell rang, and you made your way to the garbage can, throwing away the leftovers and sliding the tray on the collectable surface on top.

“Hey…” Eddie slid next to you, falling in line while you started to walk to your next class, “I’m sorry about Dustin. We don’t get a lot of…um, excitement? In Hawkins, so a new girl is quite a big deal for him, I guess,” He offered a smile, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Oh, it’s okay. It’s kind of sweet, actually. I like him…he seems nice.”

“Yeah…he is. He’s really nice.”

Your heart felt like it was being squeezed with the obvious tenderness Eddie had for Dustin. You both walked in silence for a second before he spoke again.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that the next time we do have a movie night, you are more than welcome to come. In fact, we’d love to have you. If you want, of course.” He said, avoiding eye contact. You brightened a bit.

“Yeah? Okay, then. I’d like that.”

“I’ll let you know, then. I do have to warn you, though – we usually watch strictly horror flicks.”

“Oh, no!” You squealed, a laugh rising within you, “I love horror movies but I get scared so easily…just make sure I have something to hold on to so when I jump in fear, I don’t fall off the couch!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, your mind immediately flashed an image of you in Eddie’s arms, nuzzling into his neck to hide from the movie playing on the television. Heat creeped into your neck, no doubt causing you to blush.

Eddie awkwardly cleared his throat, looking away, “Yeah, I’ll make sure to have a blanket or something…a super special blanket made to protect you from the big bad scary man on T.V.” He ended the sentence in a goofy voice, wiggling his fingers for affect. You scrunched your nose and giggled, both of you walking up to the entrance to your classroom.

Suddenly, the bell rang, giving you one minute to get to class. “Well…thanks for lunch today. And for the movie invite. I’ll see you around?” You said, smiling. Eddie nodded, rocking on his heels.

“Yeah, see you around.”

You turned to head into class and for some reason, looked back at Eddie. He was inching his way away from the door of your classroom, but made sure you were fully in your seat before walking away. Smiling to yourself, you sat down.

You were really starting to like Hawkins.

Saturday night, you found yourself in front of Eddie’s trailer, smoothing your shirt and taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. Your first time hanging out with someone from Hawkins – hanging out with anyone in months, really – and you were a bit nervous. Never mind the fact that you were seeing Eddie.

No…those nervous butterflies definitely didn’t have anything to do with that.

The trailer was on the smaller side, so you heard multiple voices right away. It seemed like you were one of the last ones to arrive, even though you were right on time. Suddenly, the door opened, and Eddie’s smiling face greeted you.

“You made it!” He said, ushering you inside. “Did you find my place okay?”

“Yeah, it was easy! You’re close to my house.” You said, walking into the trailer. Eddie shut the door behind you.

The trailer was homey – full of knick-knacks and memorabilia. Though the amount of stuff was overwhelming (in a good way), it was meticulously clean. You immediately felt at ease – almost at home.

The rest of Hellfire looked up at you in surprise. Eventually, Dustin smiled and stood up.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming!” He said, almost too excitedly. Immediately behind him, Mike rolled his eyes and Gareth, Jeff, and Dougie chuckled.

“Must have forgotten to mention it,” Eddie murmured quickly, guiding you to the couch, “Okay, who’s ready for the movie?!” He moved on quickly, shutting down any conversation Dustin was about to start. Dustin shot him a curious look and shrugged, heading to the kitchen.

“I’ll start to popcorn!” He called, opening the microwave.

You sat on the couch and Eddie immediately handed you a crocheted blanket. You looked at him, confused.

“The blanket…you know…to protect you from the big bad man on T.V…” He answered sheepishly, turning a light shade of scarlet. Your heart flipped at the recognition from the conversation you had a few days ago. Taking the blanket, you unfolded it and smiled.

“Oh, Eddie. Thanks. That’s so sweet.”

Eddie shrugged and sat down on the other side of the couch, leaving at least two people’s worth of space between you, “Yeah well, I couldn’t have you scared shitless your first time in my place.” He tried to wave it off like it was no big deal.

“So I’m assuming we’re watching a scary movie?”

“Not one, not two, but THREE scary movies!” Dougie said, holding up three fingers, “If you can handle it, that is.”

“Oh, she’ll be able to handle it,” Dustin said, coming back with a big bowl of popcorn. He sat next to you, offering the bowl, “Right, Brooke?”

You nodded, taking some popcorn. “I hope so.” You looked towards Eddie, only to find that he was already staring at you. When you made eye contact, he immediately looked away, fiddling with the remote in his hand. Your heart did a cartwheel, and you stifled a blush rising on your neck.

You certainly hoped so.  

---

Thank you all so much for reading! As always, comments, reblogs, and likes mean more than you know!

Taglist: @cosmicdanielle @sapphire4082

[maxwell-grant]

I guess it's also time for the annual ask: Thoughts on The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?

@mirrorfalls asked: Perhaps it's time to touch the elephant in the room: thoughts on League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?

anonymous asked: Any thoughts on Moore's LOEG? anonymous asked: any advice on how to do a fictional character mashup story ala chimera brigade, league, etc? anonymous asked: you wrote a bit on the wold newton universe and the chimera brigade, any thoughts on league of extraordinary gentleman?

(TW: sexual assault, also a whole lot of racism)

(clip from Anti-Spook Squad by Doctor Lalve)

Let it never be said I don't love or do anything for you people because Jesus Christ what an ordeal.

It was pretty inevitable that I'd eventually have to talk about LOEG given the, niche, I made for myself here, and given I'd read and touched on all these other works that either inspired it or were inspired by it, like the Wold Newton Universe, The Chimera Brigade, Tales of the Shadowmen and etc. I'd read through plenty of different LOEG takes and fics, it's an idea that has a lot of appeal on it's own and is easy to flirt with, if not so easy to pull off.

One thing to put upfront: Kevin O'Neil was a brilliant, one-of-a-kind creator and his work here is great, it's the one thing almost unimpeachably great about the whole thing except when he's asked to draw racist caricatures, which he does quite a bit, we'll get into those. I love the collaboration between Moore and O'Neil and I frequently enjoy the little tidbits where they show up as themselves within the supplemental material. O'Neil does a lot of heavy lifting in these even at their worst, in fact especially at their worst. This comic is a legitimately impressive achievement, and I don't regret reading it, if nothing else I think it was a hell of a wake-up call in regards to all of it's warts I may have been overlooking or replicating in my work or that of others.

I'm gonna break it down by going through the individual installments:

Volume 1: One of the nicest things there is to League is that it only keeps getting better, in the sense that it starts off on the worst foot and it gets better by virtue of not really being able to get worse (yes, even with the Golleywog and Harry Potter sections and whatever). From the moment you open the book it takes about six pages for Mina to be assaulted by Brute Arab Rapist Hordes that Quatermain and Nemo have to gun down, and that pretty much sets the stage on what to expect. Volume 1 is where the series has yet to jump off the deep end in tackling all of fiction, being a more grounded adventure story based on it's premise of being a comic book crossover/hero team comprised of Victorian era literary characters. It's LOEG at it's shallowest and most straightforward, and also at it's least impressive. I'm not remotely charmed by much of what's done here, I've seen a million variants of these before and many of those weren't that great either, but their lows weren't as catastrophic.

(text comes from an essay Alan Moore wrote regarding his usage of Fu Manchu in the book, which was scanned and sent to me by @mirrorfalls, thank you for that.)

The LOEG's first enemy is Fu Manchu and the book sure likes depicting leering hordes of yellow peril cartoons for our heroes, Mr Hyde in particular, to brutally mow down. Alan Moore thought the genius trick to making Fu Manchu not-racist was to make him as inscrutable and sinister as possible so as to not even appear human, which is a great understanding of how racial caricatures work guys, the "not potentially offensive" shirt has people asking a lot of questions answered by it.

I've heard a lot of claims over the years that LOEG was intended to be a parody, or satire, and that it's using Fu Manchu to make a point as a criticism of the British Empire and imperialism, and I'm gonna make this clear before we move on: LOEG is not a parody or satire, not as a whole. It parodies and satirizes a lot of things, but it is neither parody nor satire. It is very much in love with much of it's subject matter even when it wants to burn it down. LOEG is also a frankly terrible critique of imperialism, it is one of the most imperialist things I've ever read. Part of it is because you can't just recycle problematic garbage and claim it's commentary, especially when you're going out of your way to sensationalize said garbage to be provocative or in many cases add shit that wasn't even there in the first place. Moore asked if anyone else was gonna try and criticize colonialist bigotry in fiction by tripling down on reproducing it as hard as possible, and then didn't wait for an answer before doing it.

Volume 2: Objectively an improvement over the first if only because Fu Manchu isn't there. It's also where the book kinda improves in terms of making a critique. LOEG never really has much to say about it's characters, instead developing them in service of the story or social commentary, and Volume 2 is better at it than the first. Still has a lot of the same problems as 1, it's still a shallow team-up thing that wants to have it's cake and eat it too, it's still the worse version of a concept that's been done many many times before and after. Edward Hyde gets the bulk of the focus here and he was very clearly Moore and O'Neil's favorite character to work on, he gets the most memorable sequences for better or worse. I don't wanna talk about him much and I don't wanna talk about how the book wraps up the Invisible Man's subplot (and how it's not even gonna be the last time sexual violation of a villain is played for oh-so-horrific catharsis), I'd frankly like to stop thinking about it.

The Traveler's Almanac was definitely the most exhausting part to read in full and only not a total waste of time because of Jess Nevins' annotations, which turn this into fairly valuable research material. But so do Wold Newton articles and they're really not the most riveting thing to read, and at least those have a point or constrain themselves to a single topic or character, or are briefer and come with resources on hand or have a point or even can pitch some neat/cool ideas and concepts as a whole. Jess Nevins even did the better version of this in his own WNU chronologies.

Where as this is just complete ass and there's only so many times you can read a variant of "and then we went to this place with horrible cannibal savages and then we went to the other place with beautiful cannibal savages and then we found this utopia and then we found this dystopia and then we referenced this and that and this and that", and it brings me to another point I'd also seen brought up a lot in regards to LOEG: that it's too damn anglocentric to live up to it's premise, too contradictory within itself, and it was always too big of an undertaking to be done the way Moore and O'Neill did it.

I appreciate Moore trying to make this world feel like a world, in as gigantic all-encompassing a scale as he could possibly account for, with a full world tour and internal chronology. I sure would have liked a big fiction crossover almanac with entire chapters for Africa and China and South America, but we don't get that, because EVERYTHING in them is taken from colonial texts elevated to fact. Literally, entire paragraphs taken from political and colonial texts. All the time spent dicking around with all of those Euro political texts and ancient lore that just had to be paid it's due, and then Orlando goes to China and finds Sun Wukong stuffed as a public freakshow and dismisses his mythos as a bunch of loony (but intriguing and exotic!) hogwash, and Godzilla is later brought up in one line of dialogue to mention how Hugo Hercules killed him offscreen. (I think those might be the only two texts Moore brings up that aren't from European/American sources? There might be others but good luck finding them in the annotations).

Is it unfair to expect Moore to have read all of fiction? Of course it is, but that's what he wants this to be about, he wants this to be about All of Fiction and he wants to write about Africa and China and South America with nothing but colonial texts about those places as reference. He wants to write about how the things he likes are cool and happened and are real while the things he doesn't like don't count or are garbage or didn't happen the way we were told happened. He wants to make a story criticizing racism and misogyny in fiction while writing a text far more racist and misogynistic than most of the things he's bringing up. It's irreconcilable.

Black Dossier: It's constantly jumping between different formats and having to adjust it's prose and visual style accordingly, and it does that fairly well (the beatnik section is completely fucking unreadable though, the prose sections are already a handful to get through as is but that one was too much even for me), although Tempest I think is gonna do it much better. It's got some good parts, it's also got some bad ones. Definitely more readable than the prior two + Almanac.

This is the one with the Gollywog in it and I'm not gonna talk about that thing, I think what's wrong with it is self-explanatory as is. Look, I truly love a lot of Moore's work I've read, and I think a lot of the pushback against Alan Moore painting him as just a cranky old man who hates comics is overblown and shitty and symptomatic of bigger issues with how fans discuss comics and superheroes, but his defense of the Gollywog and his response to the criticisms of LOEG was embarassing and beneath him.

Century: This is the one with Harry Potter and The Lightning Penis in it. To those of you who heard at some point that Alan Moore had done a much-maligned pisstake on Harry Potter and got curious, don't get your hopes up. It's nothing, it's not even that mean, it's just a crude crayon doodle in service of a larger and very dumb critique of modern fiction that could have been anyone. Shame that he bullseyed ahead of the schedule the cultural about-face against Harry Potter without having anything actually criticizing Harry Potter to show for it.

Century does work for me a bit better because it dispenses with the pretense of the series and has it build up to the big awful tragedy it ends on, with all of it's remaining characters miserable immortals and all the fictions having curdled up and gone sour. It works for me only because I have no love whatsoever for this world and so it destroying our characters in the service of the larger narrative about stories and fictional immortality and whatnot is a decision I agree with and I think makes it stronger, even if the social commentary / the story's criticism of modern stories compared to the old ones is frankly absurd. Century I think was perceived as Moore/O'Neill having lost the plot, but to me it feels like the plot (more importantly, the point of it) finally showing up after so much pointless dicking around.

The Nemo trilogy: Easily the one I most enjoyed reading, the Nemo Trilogy is almost like a breather set in between books, just fairly straightforward pulp adventure stories done in far less rancid a fashion than Volume 1. It feels less like a LOEG book and more like one of those LOEG fanfics made by people who like the concept and characters but are dissappointed by the books, so they fill or add or rewrite in the blanks with their own ideas, which is basically every LOEG fanfic ever made. I quite like Janni Dakkar as a character and I'm already a huge mark for Captain Nemo, one of my favorite characters ever, and I was of course very glad to get away from the extremely tiresome Mina/Allan/Orlando trio for a change. Frankly I'd even recommend these as a standalone, they're so disconnected from everything else in LOEG.

If you guys want to read a comic take on Captain Nemo though, read Mobilis by Juni Ba. Infinitely better than anything Moore did with the concept of Nemo, takes far less pages to actually explore the character meaningfully and has far more interesting, more humane and personal things to say and do in general, one of the best things I ever read and a tremendous palette cleanser after LOEG.

Tempest: Tempest is what I'd call the best of the LOEG books, in terms of craft and in terms of achieving what it sets out to do. Namely, it's one of the most elaborate and most artistically impressive slowly unfurling middle fingers I'd ever read, Alan and Kevin in full burning down the house mode throwing everything they've got at the wall, playing around with as many different styles and gags and ideas as they can cram into the great apocalyptic ending of their collaboration. It's a very spiteful work that has a lot of joy and humor to it, fully divested from giving a shit about it's characters and instead recasting them as the bit players they always were in the grand fuckening of humanity at the hands of our fictions.

It gets to burn down everything and also preserve everything in a big dreamy Noah's Ark forever, it plays to every strength the series had, and frankly I barely minded the detours because this thing is all detours. The superhero parody that takes up so much of it isn't really anything funny or insightful or really anything, but there's good bits in it, and I like Alan Moore talking trash about superheroes (of course, it pales in comparison to What Can We Know About Thunderman, but that one is a league of it's own). It's Alan and Kevin's farewell to comics with all the mixed feelings towards it and the industry and the subject matter they both have decades of so much experience with it. It is The End of Everything and I think it ended on the best note it could have ended with.

In summary, I think LOEG has a lot of individually cool or neat or even great ideas that I think get lost, because there is so, so much of it, and so much of it is impressively painted sludge. Sometimes it is ingenious, sometimes it is fun, it is never not visually impressive, but it's more frequently dull and grotesquely self-indulgent and far too shallow. It suffers from an almost inescapable side effect of doing this dealing with the fiction he was dealing with without accounting for taste or bothering to reign in his worst impulses, too much to cover and not enough actually being said about it. In truth, much of it doesn't feel much different than reading the wiki summaries for it I had already read forever ago. It is a unique beast taking swings that I'd never seen before that most wouldn't, probably for very good reasons most of the time. It is also guilty of literally everything it's criticizing other works of being and doing, and sometimes it actually provides it's best commentary because of that! It's a complicated thing to tackle and wrap your head around. God knows what Jess Nevins must have gone through to make the annotations for this, as they put it on the Almanac annotations.

I don't consider it wasted time because, I did really enjoy the final two installments, there are good bits scattered across the other books and I learned some good things from it as a whole, but would I recommend it in it's entirety? Unless you're really a huge fan or completionist for it's creators (although reading LOEG really disillusioned me on Moore in a lot of ways, not that this is a bad thing, if anything that's a necessary thing to really try and grasp a creator's body of work) or you're the kind of sicko who'd be in the tank for the whole thing, no, not really.

It is one of the most impressive and accomplished works I've ever read, I will probably come back to it for research purposes, but holy shit am I glad to put it behind me.

[midchelle]

thank you @raylangivins for tagging. putting this on here because when it comes to beatles rpf, i follow the policy of containment

ao3 first lines tagline

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway (spoiler alert: rules are made to be broken…)

i haven't written ten fanfics but instead of just sharing the three I've uploaded i am going to take this opportunity to be self-indulgent and pad this list out with other little fragments I've had lying around for a while

“Oi!” John shouts. “What’s going on here?” 

“You are not supposed to be here,” the man says. His English sounds like that of all Europeans of his ilk: almost RP but far more enthusiastic about his consonants than any limey. “Jacky and the Strangers were booked to play tonight,” says Lord Kraut, “not the Beatles.”  

John squints. “What Beatles?” 

“You Beatle, John Lennon.” 

people (@aquarianshift) have been saying that this is the greatest opening in English literature. you decide.

2. What did they say in a tale of two cities? The best of times, the worst of times, the age of wisdom, the age of foolishness. Et cetera, et cetera. Heaven and hell. England and America. How could a few lines in black ink read business as usual on side of that narrow ocean and read bonfires and death threats on the other? The best of times. The worst of times. At the moment, the latter seemed more apt.

3. "This album," George said dryly as the slide guitar trickled away, "has the distinct honour of being the first effort by an ex-Beatle to be rejected by a record company."

"They're good songs --" said Paul. 

"'We don't hear a single.' That's what Warner Brothers said, " George lit a cigarette. "Do you know what a single is these days? The radio stations have been going around doing polls and they've decided a hit single is a song about love gained or lost aimed at fourteen to twenty year olds. What chance does that give me?" Paul picked at the remains of his toast and waited for that's your target audience, not mine --  something else along those lines -- but what happened was George ashed his cigarette, stood, and said, "Alright, break's over. Let me try that guitar bit again."

4. Morning dawned in a flushed glow. Sunlight picked out red and gold veins hidden within the sandstone of the temples. The carved blocks, tapering into pointed domes, were darkened by a rain that had tempered a balmy evening the night before.

this is from the george harrison being sad in india fic i havent finished because i have a beginning and ending and haven't figured out how to knit them together yet

5. No matter how swinging London got, it could never beat Paris. There was just something in the air, the attitude, the cant of light. The food, the romantic old cobblestone streets, even the grime on the townhouses had a dignified, artful quality.

from paul and john in paris 1966 fic i probably won't finish because the paul voice in this is sooo pretentious jesus

6. The letter reads:

Dear Mr & Mrs Starkey

John Winston Lennon has had Paul McCartney erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again. 

Thank you. 

At first, when he finds out, he’s relieved.

from mclennon eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au that i will. probably finish. sometime in the summer

fini! i'm supposed to tag ten people but i don't feel like it so i tag: @thetomboyeffect @scurator and idk anyone else who wants to do it

[eruanna1875]

Those are wonderful, and I am honestly so disappointed in myself that I didn't know half of them.

For me, I haven't read enough in too long, but I'm looking through some books I know are good, and I'm finding some cool ones. Fair warning, they're probably a bit spoilery.

Something Wicked This Way Comes (which I did in fact read recently!):

Perhaps the boys slowed. They never knew. Perhaps Charles Halloway quickened his pace. He could not say.

But, running even with the boys, the middle-aged man reached out.

Will slapped, Jim slapped, Dad slapped the semaphore signal base at the same instant.

Exultant, they banged a trio of shouts down the wind.

Then, as the moon watched, the three of them together left the wilderness behind and walked into the town.

On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness:

Among the glipwood trees, chorkneys and thwaps and toothy cows alike sought shelter from the mighty wind and rain, and the town of Glipwood sat as barren and windblown as a ghost town. The hearts of the people and trolls and Fangs all across Skree were black on this night while they tossed and turned in gloomy beds.

Darkness was everywhere.

Except, of course, in a tree house, deep in the murky heart of Glipwood Forest, where the Jewels of Anniera shone like the sun.

The Chestnut King:

"And why does my dad think I'm going to meet your family?"

"You are," said Henry. And a door opened in the air.

The Hobbit:

'Then the prophecies of the old songs have turned out to be true, after a fashion!' said Bilbo.

'Of course!' said Gandalf. 'And why should not they prove true? Surely you don't disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don't really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of your; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!'

'Thank goodness!' said Bilbo laughing, and handed him the tobacco-jar.

John (a very memorable ending):

And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. Amen.

First lines of novels get all the attention, but I think a great last line might be even more of a triumph. A first line just has to get your attention, but a great last line has to be the perfect stopping point to tie up all the plot and character and themes in a way that makes the emotional effect of the entire story linger in your heart and mind.

Of course, a great last line is more difficult to share, because it can be full of spoilers, and the context is usually what makes it great. But if anyone can think of anything, I'd be curious to know of any books that you believe have great last lines.

[immajustvibehere]

Rainy Days

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female Reader

oneshot: fluff

Summary: A rainy day in Horseshoe Overlook. When you arrive at Arthur's tent soaked to the skin, he can't help but offer his place for you to stay.

find my masterlist here :)

2000 words, 10 minutes reading time

It had been raining all day in Horseshoe Overlook and people in camp just sat intheir tents, building small barriers so the water wouldn't completely sodden the soil on which their tents stood on. Some had to worry about the fabric soaking through, others, like Dutch and Arthur didn't have such problems. You had your own little tent that frankly started to feel very moist. Your gaze wandered around, scanning what people were doing and if there was an opportunity for a better shelter somewhere else.

Karen and Tilly were talking quietly while Mary-Beth was reading a book. John's tent was closed and probably hid him, Abigail and Jack from curious looks. Strauss was doing some calculations in a little book, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Micah was in Dutch's tent, talking to the man with the slick black hair while Molly was pouting on the bed. Then there was Arthur. You knew, as soon as your eyes fell upon him, that you won't go on to wonder what anyone else was doing, because you could stare at him all day. He sat at his table, slightly bend over his journal, scribbling away. You certainly had a soft spot for this man. Not that you'd ever admit it.

"Y/N!", you jumped at Mr. Pearsons's voice. All of a sudden, he stood in front of your tent, a thick blanket wrapped around him and a small pot in his hand which he lowered in front of your feet. "What is it?!", you asked confusedly. "Could you deliver dinner to some folks? I covered most of the camp, only Dutch and Arthur left but I think I feel water running down my back. It's not a lot to ask for", without saying much more, he ran off, not giving you the slightest chance to refuse.

Displeased, you grabbed your blanket, realizing it was already damp. You'll just go in your clothes and when you return, you'll wrap yourself in the blanket. That was the logical way. Pot in one hand, you took big steps towards Dutch's tent. You were soaked after two seconds in the open air. Still, you concentrated on not slipping or spilling the stew you were carrying.

"Ah, finally! Something to distract myself from your boy's jabbering", Molly greeted you at the tent. This got Dutch's attention who stood up and took out some plates: "Thank you for the delivery, y/n. I assume Pearson was too lazy to do it himself." Dutch chuckled kindly. "He was already soaked and figured I needed a bath or something", you smiled. Nobody had asked you in, so you waited in the rain for everyone to fill their plates. You caught Micah's gaze who was checking you up and down, savoring what the wet clothes that stuck to your body revealed. "Enjoy your meal"; you said and tried to sound kind, though you were starting to get cold. They thanked you and you went off to go to Arthur.

"Arthur!", you greeted even before you were at the entrance of his tent. He stood up in anticipation of you appearing and here you were - soaked to the bone. "Jesus", Arthur mumbled, "come in girl!" A nasty gust had just lashed half a gallon of rain in your face, so you were more than grateful for the invitation. "Have ya eaten yet?", Arthur asked while he scooped stew on his plate. "No...Pearson just told me to deliver it to you...", you sighed, "guess I'm going back to my tent and out of these clothes." You turned your head to check if your tent was still holding up. When you froze, Arthur directed his look in the same direction. Your tent was flapping in the wind with only one tent peg holding it to the ground. You let your head droop. "Great."

Arthur cleared his throat and offered: "Ya can stay here if ya like." He said this in such an unbothered manner, you almost felt embarrassed when you blushed. But now, even he stumbled over his own words: "I mean...I think I got some...spare clothes lying around if ya want. Ya really shouldn't stay in yours for much longer...might catch a cold." He went to his chest and rummaged through a pile of clothes. He threw a red shirt - which looked like it had been made out of a warmer and thicker material (and you were grateful for that, because you were freezing) - onto his cot. Then some pants followed. "Not sure if those'er my pants. Found them on my pile one day but they're bit too small, so they might fit ya better", Arthur stood up, satisfied with the clothes he picked.

Then you stared at each other for a couple of seconds, as if you both knew what came next, but neither of you knew how to act appropriately. Arthur was first to regain control over his expression. He was flustered: "Right erm..." He awkwardly closed the flaps of his tent, so that the little lantern on his table was the main source of light. "Imma turn around...", he promised and sat down on his chair, his stew on the table in front of him. You tried really hard to suppress a sheepish grin and quickly started to wiggle out of your wet clothes, putting on the ones Arthur had prepared for you. The shirt was too big, but by far the most comfortable you had ever worn.

"Done", you announced when you had put on the pants and hung up your wet clothes. "M'okay...", Arthur cleared his throat again and started to fill up another plate of stew for you. When he handed it to you, his cheeks were flushed. "Thank you", you took the plate of the still hot food gratefully. You gaze fell on his table, where his stew was untouched. There was his journal, a pencil peaked out of some pages, the lantern and then there was a mirror. He probably used it for shaving, but you realized that it's positioned perfectly to...he didn't peek when you undressed, did he?

You felt your cheeks burn up and sat down on his cot, stew in hand. A cheeky smile marked your face. Arthur wouldn't be the kind of man who does such a thing, would he? And yet...He sat down on his stool again.

"How have ya been holding up? Ya like this place?", Arthur attempted to start a conversation. "Yeah, it's okay. The weather has been weird the last couple of days...", you answered, not really thinking about what you were even talking about. Your thoughts still lingered on the mirror. "Better than the snowstorm up in them mountains", he replied with a shrug. You finally focused your attention on the man in front of you. He was watching you attentively, it's very likely that he had noticed your absentmindedness.

"True", you smiled, "What've you been up to? You've already been to Valentine, haven't you?" What followed was an interesting dialogue between you two. Arthur told you about his visits to Valentine and Emerald Ranch, the stealing and hunting he had done with Hosea. You, in turn, filled him in on the camp's gossip and little accidents, like Uncle spilling coffee all over Lenny's map or Jake annoying the shit out of John. The talk continued minutes after you both had finished your dinner. With the hot plate out of your hands, cold started to creep back into them. Right after Arthur had given you a detailed description of how he and Javier found John in the mountains, you remarked: "Jeez it's getting cold. I almost feel like we're back there."

"What?", Arthur laughed and looked at you. You extended your right hand towards Arthur, who hesitated a second before he took it in his big hand. His hand was unbelievably warm and you let out a sigh of relief when some of his warmth spread to your body. "You're freezing girl", Arthur commented. "Really?", you answered sarcastically. Without letting go of your hand, he stood up and reached for his winter coat.

"Here, slip that on", he dropped his coat onto your lap. To put on the coat, you'd have to let go of his hand. However, Arthur made no attempt to encourage you to let go. His warm thumb rested caringly on the back of your hand. Very slowly and unwillingly, you pulled your hand back and slipped on Arthur's coat. The smell of pine trees, campfire and cigarette smoke reached your nostrils as you turned up the coat's collar.

Arthur observed every one of your moves, smiling slightly at your content expression as you settled into his way too big coat. "Up for a game of dominoes?", he asked. "Sure", you answered while your arms were still busy finding their way through the sleeves. Arthur readjusted the table so you'd be able to reach it from your spot on his bed. You had no idea where he got the dominoes from, you thought the camp only owned one set.

You played round after round, neither of you displaying a phenomenal winning streak. With the rain still pouring, but you cozily wrapped in Arthur's coat and shirt, you started to grow tired. Occasionally you found the energy to brush a strand of wet hair out of your face. Whenever Arthur cursed when he didn't have a fitting tile, he did so in a low and soothing voice. Besides the rain, Arthur's voice and the wooden tiles being places on the table, it was very silent. You yawned a couple of times. The outlaw could only smile at your attempt of denying your weariness. You later thought that he must have done it deliberately, but after he had won a round he said: "Wait a second. I want to paint over some of 'em dots. I can barely see if that's a four or five." And he took his time doing that.

You leaned back and let your head almost entirely disappear behind the collar. You blinked and suddenly your eyes wouldn't open anymore. After a few seconds, you forced yourself awake, mumbling: "I'm sorry, I think I should-" Arthur's hand was on your shoulder, crushing every effort of you to get up (though you had barely tried). "It's okay, ya can rest here", he assured you. "But-", you had to protest. There was only one cot, it was getting late and if you slept here, where would Arthur rest tonight? In the twinkling of an eye - or better - a very slow and tired blink on your side, Arthur's hand was now caressing your cheek. He was barely touching you, but the warmth of his skin tickled your cheek.

"Just lie down, there's enough space for two", you barely noticed his soft smile and you surely didn't question if it was the right thing to do; sleep next to Arthur. You had just turned up at his tent, soaked and he hadn't only offered you his clothes, but also talked to you and gave you a place to stay when your tent had been made uninhabitable. And now you'd take up space on his cot. Nevertheless, your fatigue was too overwhelming. The second you had lied down, pressed tightly against the waggon so there was some space left on the cot, you had passed out. Arthur's hand still rested on your cheek when you fell asleep, you felt his touch even after your consciousness had faded. The last thought that fleetingly crossed your mind was; that maybe, if you were really lucky, he might like you back just enough.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Meet him on the main line - Murray Bauman x reader

You were typing up the perfect scene, your fingers moving rapidly over the keys, when you heard a sharp knock.  With a groan you tried to ignore it, not needing whatever distraction was on the other side of your door. And besides, wasn't it a little late for visitors? Whoever it was, it was incessant. Opening the door, you said

"Look I really don't wanna learn more about our lord and savior, thank you.".

But instead of Mormon leaders, you came face to face with a man you've never seen before.

"Murray Bauman, private investigator", he introduced himself, also adding "and I'm not here to tell you about Jesus."

"Well, why are you here, Mr. Bauman? I don't suppose you were just passing by the neighborhood?" You said, playing on the fact that you lived just on the edge of town.

"I have a few questions, regarding the disappearance of Barbara Holland."

"Well, then come on in. I'd be happy to help, it's terrible, what happened to the poor girl." After inviting him in, you fretted around, added a few throw pillows to the couch and fixed two cups of coffee. You blamed all those boring etiquette books you were forced to read back in the day. That and your inability to mask how nervous you were to meet his gaze. Nonetheless you sat on the other side of the investigator and motioned him to start. "How does a previously well known journalist from the Hawkins Post end up writing cheap romance novels? " he said, taking out one of your paperbacks from his pocket.

"And how does that tie-in with a missing teenager?", you asked.

"Well, you see, when I was inspecting missis Holland's room I found quite a few of your titles in there. So I began to wonder how she got a hold of them." he persisted.

"There's a thing called a bookstore, I believe there's your answer. I mean, a teenage girl with a few romance books, I wouldn't say it's groundbreaking."

"There were additional books that she was keeping under her mattress. Barbara was reading The first thrill, The friendship agreement and Confusion." "These are particularly steamy. I don't know how she got away with buying them."

"I don't know how you got away with publishing them."

"It wasn't easy, let me tell you. At first they refused to print what they called "worthless smut". So I began to send out the manuscripts to housewives. I had to cut the pages and bind them into old cookbooks, home decor guides, sewing pattern books. And on the last page I had written down the number of the publishing house, urging the readers to phone them to ask about the book. So everytime those suburban moms received a package from me, my publicist received a call from them. The rest was easy. "

" The more time I spend here, the more I realize how fascinating you are."

Even though you were blushing, you said "Flattery won't get you far, Murray."

"You're right. I should go, sorry for interrupting." He replied, motioning to the page still sitting in your typewriter.

You wanted to see him leave, just to make sure that he wouldn't do something insane like rummage trough your trash.  So you sat on your porch, watching him start the car. He turned the key a couple times, but it only made screeching sounds. You continued to stare as he got out, popped the hood, swore and even kicked the front bumper. "Guess you still haven't bled the Hollands dry, judging by that fiasco. Come on, I'll be a good Samaritan and let you spend the night. The couch you interrogated me better be comfy enough for you."

You tried to pretend he wasn't there tried to write, despite him turning on the TV, playing music, calling the police station with his hottest "tips". At some point you noticed that the same sentence was written 3 consecutive times. That's when you gave up and sat next to him.

"In the mood to talk, are we?" Murray asked.

" No. But I'm in the mood to draw some inspiration from myself. So which book did you like the most?"

"The first thrill. It seemed the most realistic."

"That's because it was somewhat based on my college experience. It's the right amount of fact and fantasy."

"I bet I can guess which is which."

"You're on, Bauman. In fact, we can make it a game and get a little drunk. I don't know about you, but I won't be able to sleep tonight, thanks to that coffee I served us."

You quickly zipped to the fridge and brought out 4 mini vodka bottles.

"What did you do, raid a hotel mini bar?"

"It's research, my main character drinks vodka and I'm trying to find out which one tastes the best."

"Stolichnaya. Now, are there any rules I should know?"

"I quote a passage. You tell me if it's fact or fantasy. You get it right- I drink. You mess up- you drink. First up, is the "loosing her virginity in a dorm room bed." from page 89."

"Fantasy, it's too cliché to be true."

"You're right. I got my first kiss in a dorm room bed and lost my virginity in the guy's off campus apartment. Next up, sleeping with a teacher, page 137."

"I can already see it, you an ex-high school nerd, wanting to prove yourself. But the difference is, these people are actually smart. After all it isn't easy to be an English literature major. Assignments keep pilling up. Life on your own is tough. You need a deadline extension. Your professor is really strict. Maybe he's just pent up? And you can help with that. All for a few days more on that George Orwell paper."

"Unfortunately, its just a fantasy. But you're surprisingly good at this. Wanna be my co-author for the next one?"

"I prefer to be the muse." He said, cockily.

"Oh." Was all you could muster.

Following that was a question about you liking glasses, which he got wrong and one about getting caught in public, which he got correct.

"Well, a draw is a nice way to end the evening, isn't it? Now get off the couch, I wanna sleep." Murray said.

"Draw? I beat you. You drank your vodka first."

"We never set any rules. I drank 2, you drank 2. So, it's a draw."

"Okay, let's continue this. Strip poker style. As an incentive to keep playing."

"And is that supposed to motivate me or you?" He asked. After muttering something about him being too cocky and asking if he wanted to keep playing, you finally started the game.

After a few rounds about spanking, speaking foreign languages during sex, multiple orgasms and petnames, you were down to your bra and underwear. Murray wasn't in a better position, sitting opposite you in a tank top and boxers combo. But fate was not on your side. You asked about the sleeping with a stranger scene near the end of the book. Judging by what was happening right now, you hoped that he would get it wrong. But to your surprise he guessed that it was a fantasy. You unhooked your bra and briefly let the cold air envelop you, before crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"You've gotten yourself in quite the predicament, любимая. What will you do to get yourself out of this one?" He asked, triumphantly. Despite his tone, you could see his erection. Feeling frisky, you decided to make your fantasy a reality.

"I forfeit. You win." You said, as you walked over to him, gently lowered yourself just inches shy from his lap and pressed your forehead against his. 

"Can I claim you as my prize?" He asked.

"Yes." With that he kissed you passionately. Wasting no time, you slid your tongue in his mouth and grinded on his lap. Feeling the hardness of his member, you remembered that you still had a lot to do. Breaking the kiss, you led him to the bedroom, where he began leaving love bites down your neck. He then swirled his tongue around your nipples, sucking and fondling your breasts. 

"You know, our little game also left me with a few questions. We didn't discuss how you like to be touched. I'll have to guess then. I bet you'll enjoy this. " he said before slowly circling your clit with his finger. He continued, pressing down a bit more, so he was rubbing harder. Seeing that you were getting wetter, he decided to tease you a little bit. 

"Let's see how many fingers your pretty little cunt can take. Is it one?" He said, as he slid one finger inside of you. God, you were so warm. And apparently impatient, because you were already moving your hips towards him, practically fucking yourself on his fingers. 

"Greedy little pussy. Guess this isn't enough. You gotta let me know if I'm right, that's the rules.’’

"Yes, give me more, please." With that he slid a second finger in, slightly upping his pace. Curling them inside you, he asked:

"Is that how many you use when you touch yourself?"

"I use three." You admitted shyly. 

"Can I try that?" A nod from you was he needed. He added a third finger, keeping a slow, but consistent pace. Watching you quiet down for a moment, then starting to moan, he asked:

 "It's not too much, is it красавице?" 

"No, I want your cock inside of me, now."

"Patience, дорогоя. Let me see you cum first. Then you'll get everything you want." After a few more thrusts, you were coming undone.

 As you were panting and trying to shimmy yourself out of your underwear in a graceful way, Murray was putting on a condom from the ones on your bedside drawer. 

"Well, you wore me out, сладкая. So do me a favor and ride me for a bit." You complied and positioned him at your entrance. When you lowered yourself on his cock, you could hear him mutter "сука блят". His hands were on your breasts, kneading them softly. Then he slowly moved them to your hips, guiding you on how to take more of him in. Thrusting up and deeper into you almost made you loose your balance. He spanked you for that, the slap on your ass making both of you groan in tandem. You leaned more into him, to scratch his chest in retaliation and he kissed you. He enjoyed how you moaned into his mouth every time he moved his hips up. He felt his climax, approaching, so he had to delay it a little bit. After all, what kind of gentleman would he be if he didn't make his partner come more than once. 

"Кукла, let's switch. I wanna see how you like the next one. After all, I learned it from one of your books.". Confusion washed over you, as you obliged. Then it all became clear as he pulled your hips high to meet with his dick. The mating press. You bent your knees to allow him to fully sink into you. After a few thrusts you were coming again, tightening against him. He quickened his pace and spurred on by your orgasm and your desperate moans, he came too. After you freshened up and laid next to each other, he said: 

"When you write about this I want 40 percent of the rights." 

"How about I pay you in this way, loverboy."

"That sounds like an even better deal, любов."

[eddie-van-munson]

hi ! :)

can you write something for eddie with a henderson!reader that feels kinda jealous of dustin? they are adopted or something like that that makes them feel kinda distant and left out from their family, and now dustin is also leaving them behind because they find steve and eddie so much interesting :(

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort (Angst and Fluff), Enemies to Friends, Reader was Adopted into the Henderson Family as a Teen, Cursing, Gender Neutral Pronouns, Brief Mention of Divorce/Foster Care, Henderson!Reader.

(A/N: I'm still looking for Vampire!Eddie requests! Thank you if you've sent one in!! I appreciate likes, comments, and reblogs if you enjoyed my writing! Thank you!!)

***********

Of course, out of everyone in his chemistry class, you were assigned Eddie Munson as a lab partner. Eddie, he had quite a reputation. No one liked him, but you hated him.

He never quite knew why. He had a pretty good track record with Hendersons'. Dustin loved him, of course, and his mom ended up being pretty fond of him too. She'd insisted that Dustin invite him to dinner when he first joined Hellfire Club. Undenounced to Eddie, he easily fit into three categories that guaranteed Claudia's immediate love of him:

-Dustin's friend ✔

-Young People Who Say "Yes Ma'am" and Ask to Help with the Dishes✔

-Hungry Teenagers That Compliment her Cooking✔✔✔

Eddie, who lived primarily on school lunches and frozen dinners, had eagerly accepted her offers of second and third helpings of pot roast, which definitely won him brownie points in the "mom book".

But then there was you.

Maybe it was because you weren't biologically a Henderson. That must be it. Maybe that's why you had such a bad habit of glaring at him from across the cafeteria. Maybe that's why you so often tried to talk Dustin out of attending Hellfire meetings. Maybe that's why you were actively trying to convince Mrs. O'Donnell to let you do the chem project alone.

Eddie tried not to let it hurt his feelings.

"It's not a big deal. Jesus..." He cut off your argument with the teacher, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "It's one project. I'm not happy about it either, trust me, but you don't see me bitching about it."

Mrs. O'Donnell opened her mouth to scold Eddie for cursing, but the bell cut her off. You refused to meet his big brown eyes, groaning as you packed your backpack up, "Just come to my place after school. Don't be late or I'll start without you."

***********

It took Eddie about twenty minutes to pry himself away from Dustin and up the stairs to your room. You shot him an annoyed look when he opened your bedroom door sheepishly, "I told you not to be late."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh, you're just so eager to see me, hm?"

"No." You spat, not bothering to look up at him as you flipped through the pages of your textbook. "I'm eager to get this stupid project done and throw you out of my house."

He tutted with faux dismay, shaking his head. "Always so sour."

You flipped him off as he snatched a page of your notes, scanning them lazily and plopping down on your bed. You groaned, swatting his leg from where you were seated on the floor, "Ew. Don't sit on my bed with your outside clothes'"

Eddie ignored you, flipping the page to read the back. "Do you smoke? You should. It'd help you relax enough to get that stick out of your ass."

"You are such a-"

"An asshole?" He met your gaze, tossing the paper to the side. "A prick? A dumbass? Trust me, babe. I get it. You don't like me."

You scoffed, trying to hide your embarrassed flush. "I'm not your babe."

His dark brows furrowed, "So you can call me every mean name in the book but I can't call you a nice one?" Eddie rolled over onto his back with an annoyed huff, staring at the ceiling. "Why do you hate me so much, huh? What did I ever do to you?"

Eddie watched your expression as you scribbled something in your notebook. You wrote for a long time before tossing the book to the side and cursing, giving up on the silent treatment. You were quiet for a long time.

Finally, you sighed, crossing your arms. "When Dustin started Freshmen year, he didn't know anybody. He...he needed me. He needed a friend. He was my little buddy."

Eddie stared at you, a crease in his forehead as he sat up on his elbow to listen.

"He and his friends all sat with me at lunch. He always wanted me to drive him home and help him with his homework...Family Video has a deal they run on Thursday, so we had movie night every week. I finally had a sibling. An actual sibling. Not just Foster Care shit."

His expression softened, stomach churning with oncoming guilt.

"When he met you, and I was really happy for him at first, you know? I was glad he had someone else watching out for him at school. But then he joined Hellfire, which is on Thursday nights..."

Eddie frowned. You continued on.

"It wasn't a big deal. I figured we could do something else. But all of a sudden he didn't want to sit with me at lunch because he sat with Hellfire. And he didn't need me to drive me home because you were going to. He started telling you when people picked on him and he'd ask you to go with him to Lucas' games and..." you sighed. "He's always talking about you. It was bad enough with just Steve, you know? But at least Steve isn't a D and D expert. I mean, come on. I don't stand a chance. Of course he worships you."

He had pity in his big brown eyes. You hated it. You'd have preferred it if he laughed at you. You pulled your knees into your chest, unsure what had sparked your sudden vulnerability.

"So yeah, that's why I-..."

"Hate my guts?" Eddie offered, scratching his neck awkwardly.

"Hate your guts." You mumbled it, looking more sad than angry now.

Eddie climbed down off the bed, sitting on the floor beside you. You stared at your chipped toenail polish, trying to ignore the fact that it was oddly comforting to have him a bit closer.

"He talks about you all the fuckin' time. You know that?"

You hesitantly met his eyes, refusing to let your face betray the ounce of hope he'd given you. "Really?"

Eddie chuckled, "Oh, he won't shut up about you."

You couldn't help but give a little smile, blushing. "Welcome to my world."

He laughed, his curls tickling your arm he glanced over at you. There was a silence. "I'm sorry I stole your little brother."

You shrugged, "You didn't steal him. He was eager and willing. 's not your fault." You paused, "It's just easier to hate you than it is to admit that he likes you better than me."

"That's not it." Eddie shook his head, his tone firm. "Not at all. If he had to save one of us from a burning building? I'm going up in flames, babe."

You giggled, your grin genuine, and Eddie couldn't help but return it. You shook your head at him, "Not a chance."

"I'm serious." He insisted. "There's one thing you're not taking into consideration here..."

Your brow quirked, "And that is?"

"It's not that he'd pick me over you. It's that he'd pick D and D over both of us. He's only using me for my wealth of knowledge."

You burst into laughter, head lulling against your bed frame. "He'd go save all of his books, that little shit! We'd both die in that fire!"

Eddie beamed, chuckling, and offered you his hand. "That's why we've gotta save each other, huh? Team up."

He looked so smiley and pretty there. It made you feel smiley and pretty. You were starting to understand why Dustin loved him so much. You shook his hand. "Alright, Munson. I'll bite."

He leaned forward to admire the little pictures you'd doodled on the toe of your sneaker, tracing them with his fingertips. "You ever thought...maybe you and Harrington and I could all co-parent?"

You smirked, watching him toy with your shoe. "What, like he's a child of divorce?"

"Yeah! Harrington gets him from Monday to Wednesday. I get him Wednesday to Saturday. You get him Saturday to Monday."

Eddie grinned when you have an amused snort, "Or we could all three spend time with him together?"

He scoffed, "Are you crazy? You put all three of us in a room with that kid and his head would explode."

***********

[westwingsolo]

"Jesus Christ, I don't have time for this..." Alex slowly stood up, wincing slightly at the ache in his behind. "Look I'm sorry about your book ok? What else do you want me..." He was interrupted by the sound of his phone going off. He took a deep breath, knowing that it was probably his boss wondering where he was. He couldn't wait to hear the rest of the offices' comments about how much of a mess he looked like. "Hello? Yeah so there was a slight delay..." He completely forgot about the Angry British Guy and his slightly stained notebook as he tried to get his life put back together for the rest of the day...

Thank god he had some extra clothes back at the office, and he was able to change when get finally got into work. As soon as he walked in his boss told him that he was being put on a rather high profile case due to his specialty in international law. The nerves started to bubble in his stomach, but it was more of an excited kind of nervousness, he knew those extra classes in L1 were worth it.

Henry Fox was an up and coming author; born and raised in the UK, but gained US citizenship after moving to the States for grad school. His father was a fairly well known stage and film actor in the UK who passed away when he was a teen, and left Henry and his two siblings with a decent amount of inheritance. The problem was that all of it was put in the family trusts which was recently taken over by his maternal grandmother, a woman from a very old family with very old money, and won't let Henry see any of what his father left him unless he came back to England.

Not to mention it sounded like Henry's grandmother was a homophobic bigot. In the write up of the pre-interview his boss handed him, that while Henry was gay, Mary was willing to let her grandson have access to his money again as soon as he married. Meaning married to a girl who was probably well connected and possibly a distant cousin. It was this demented kind of emotional abuse that Alex hated with a passion and made his angry queer soul even angrier.

While he'll never lie about his own sexuality, he wasn't completely open about the fact that he was bisexual. He didn't want it to be a distraction to him practicing law. So sure, all but one or two people at the office didn't know that he was part of the alphabet mafia, but his family knew and still loved completely, and that's all that mattered.

The case sounded messy, tired up with bureaucracy and aristocratic bullshit that Alex knew he would have way too much fun tearing apart until Mrs. Downton Abbey was clutching her pearls and crying over her crumpets during afternoon tea. And when she found out that her gay grandson won his case with his bisexual Mexican-American lawyer, well it would just make the win that much better.

Distracted by reading the profile in his hand, Alex didn't look up at the client until he heard a now familiar British accent gasp and squeak out a "You!". And sure enough, he was faced down with Angry British Guy. Now, he could argue that he wasn't going to work with such a pompous asshole, and that he didn't deserve the money he was fighting for, but he could take a deep breath, smile he charismatic grin and just do his job.

"Small world... huh Mr. Fox? I'm Alex Claremont-Diaz. My specialty is International Law and Policy and I'm ready to stick it to your crusty, bigot grandma. What do you say, sweetheart?"

it   wasn't   every   day   that   one   got   a   front   row   seat   to   the   sight   of   a   grown   man   sitting   in   the   middle   of   the   floor   like   a   toddler   (   all   that   was   missing   was   the   massive   meltdown   at   having   dropped   something   ).   as   annoyed   as   he   might   have   been   upon   the   first   splashes   of   coffee,   it   only   got   worse   with   the   second   wave   and   the   tone   that   was   shot   in   his   direction.   henry   came   to   this   coffee   shop   for   peace   and   quiet,   which   was   a   lot   to   ask   from   a   coffee   shop   but   he   could   manage   it,   and   instead   he   got   ...   this.

❛❛   you   got   coffee   on   everything   -   ❜❜         henry   retorts   with   a   roll   of   his   eyes   as   he,   reluctantly,   closes   his   journal   and   reaches   for   the   leather   satchel   that   contained   his   laptop.   while   he   hated   that   his   journal   was   minimally   damaged,   it   would   have   been   worse   had   his   laptop   been   out.         ❛❛   and   it's   not   a   diary.   it's   a   journal,   not   that   i   would   expect   you   to   know   the   difference.   ❜❜  

[slvtbible]

G O L D

chapter one

summary: [y/n is a young stripper who is adored by many men. harry styles is a man who loves to carry danger with him]

word count: 4222

pairing: stripper!y/n and gangleader!harry

warnings: violence, vulgar language, sexual acts, alcohol and drug

to be honest, i was a little hesitant to post it here and i don’t know if this story will blow up on tumblr or get many notes but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. i just want to share what i’ve been working on that kept you guys waiting for almost a year lol sorry about that. But yes, she’s finally here!! I posted first on wattpad before i put it here, I felt like the only way to reach out more people to read it it’s through that. And also, i decided to use a name on wattpad but I’d use the term ‘y/n’ on tumblr. Enjoy it all my loves! Give me feedbacks!💜

*

*

Harry fixes the collar of his sheer black shirt before tucking it neatly inside the black trousers he's currently wearing. He normally goes something more extravagant for going out. His closet is filled with colourful ruffles and Hawaiian shirts along with 'more than one colour' suits. However tonight, he needs to lay low for a bit. Especially when he's about to step into one of the most famous strip clubs in New York in an hour to meet up with the manager.

He's very much aware of the reputation he has put on himself out there. Though there's no use of camouflage and hiding, he still doesn't want a cause a scene,

Yet.

His hand lifts a bottle of Tom Ford from the dresser before spraying it twice on his neck. Stepping away from the full length mirror, he grabs his cross necklace from the bed before putting the accessory around his neck as he walks out of the room.

"Talk to me Reece" his heavy accent echoes the hallway as he walks downstairs, watching his few men pocketing their weapons,

Reece, the brown skinned man with tattoos nods. "He's there. Just got a word from Bianco. He appears isn't expecting you, Boss. However I do believe he knows you're coming soon. The club is far too crowded than usual but Bianco is taking care of that right now." He informs, showing him the message on the phone,

Harry can only scoff, nodding at him as a thank you. "That son of a bitch should've. Owes me more than fucking money." He mutters, inserting the .45 ACP inside his gun holster. "The car's ready?"

Nodding, Reece leads Harry down towards the basement. "As requested. Lamborghini Murcielago in blue hera. Pack with 640 PS and 471 kW, rules around 213 mph if you consider on hit and run. Still, I pack a standard Aeropack wing if you wanna go slow tonight. The windows? Bulletproof. In case anyone tries to kill you." Harry knows he's only joking about the last part. No one dares try to kill him before he does it. It's a pattern that everyone knows by now.

Harry lets out a low whistle, softly shaking his head as the machine beauty appears. Tracing lightly with his ring cladded fingers along the hood of the car. "Not planning to hit and run tonight, Reece. Not even thinking about racing down the street with my weapon outside the window. You don't have anything more. . . Less attractive?" He questions, still staring at the gorgeous car ahead of him,

"You know I don't do less, boss." Reece winks playfully, laughing to himself as he watches Harry roll his eyes. "Besides. Who knows you'll get yourself a bird tonight, eh? Take her out on a stroll before bringing her home to your place. Women love fast cars." He comments, pressing the button on the keys as the door opens,

Humming as a response, Harry walks towards the driver's seat, "I don't date anymore, thought my right hand man knew tha' " He speaks, words laced with seriousness while grabbing the keys from Reece's fingers,

He can only sigh and nod his head. "Understood. Yet, Kendra is like what? Two years ago? Gotta get yourself something better, boss. You deserve it. So do it tonight." He suggests, watching him going inside the car before shutting the door,

Harry smiles a bit, inserting the keys inside the ignition before starting the car. "Noted."

The dark haired man steps away from the car. Giving Harry a salute. "I'll be right behind you. See you there."

*

*

*

Y/N Y/L/N stands in front of the mirror as she applies another layer of red lipstick on her plump lips. Securing the tube back as she puckers her mouth to see if it fits the colour for tonight. She twirls, watching carefully how the gold lingerie clads perfectly around her breasts and down to her curvy hips and thick thighs.

She stops once her plump ass is facing the mirror, admiring how beautiful and big her bum is in the lingerie. It's a compliment really. She loves working out to give her bum a bit bigger. It's not that she hopes she'll gain attention from people, she just loves her body. She worships every piece of it despite what other people think of it. Insecurity was her biggest enemy but not anymore. After reading lots of books and poems about self love she learns that there's nothing she should be ashamed of.

Grabbing a bottle of lotion from her table, she squeezes the bottle into her hand before rubbing her bum with the cold cream, rubbing it neatly to make sure she doesn't miss a spot.

Another thing, she loves moisturizing her plump flesh before the show. It's sexy

"Joe is asking for you." She hears a voice coming from behind, craning her neck to see her closest co-worker Violet, already in her usual purple wig and attire as she stands beside Angelina. "I love working as a stripper but he really needs to learn to be patient and. . . shut up, i guess?"

Y/N releases a small laugh, moving her long dark wavy hair to rest on her chest. "I know, I know. Jesus, I've told him fifteen minutes prior that I'll take longer than usual." She slips on her gold heels and turns to face Violet, who's biting her lip as she stares at Angelina's body up and down. "Okay, how do i look?"

Violet raises her eyebrow, as if it's something her friend shouldn't be asking. "You kidding? You look like a sex goddess. Gonna get all the men on their knees for you, girl"

Scoffing, she shoots her a wink and a flirtatious smile. "Old men with beer bellies? No thanks. I'd rather make out with Gordon." She replies, seemingly disgusted about the thought of grinding on an old man's lap tonight.

"Is that a bet I hear?" Violet questions, leaning towards her a bit as she waits for her friend’s response. "Please tell me that it is so I can earn extra cash tonight."

Gordon is a perverted bartender that always keeps his eye on Y/N throughout her routine. He's 40 and is always asking Angelina on a 'date' and by date, he means her ass on his lap. Clearly something Y/N isn't too fond of. Him specifically. Violet and Y/N have always made a joke about him, something they could make a playful banter in every chance they get.

Plus, she heard he's married. Isn't he supposed to find another job rather than here? If his wife found out what kind of a sleaze bag she married, she would be crushed,

Rolling her eyes, Y/N shoves her playfully by the arm. "Ha ha, very funny" she answers, resuming to untangle her hair from knots.

Violet laughs, pinching her on the hip as she lets outa small squeal. "Just messing with you, baby. Good luck out there. Put the rest of us to shame tonight. . . Like any other night"

Y/N flips her off, yet knowing it's the truth. She's not trying to sound like a condescending bitch here but none of the girls here are actually capable to do what Y/N does. That's what makes men attracted to her. She knows what she's doing. She knows how to make a man hard.

"By the way, you heard what Joe's talking about earlier?" Violet asks, toeing off her heels as she exhales a relief sigh. "Damn those heels are killing me" She mumbles,

"No... What's about?" She turns her head to face Violet for her to explain, causing her to shrug her shoulders,

"Don't know much about it. . . But i hear Harry Styles is coming here to meet up with him. Something about transaction or shit" She waves it off, whispering it to Y/N, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping,

She almost chokes on her saliva after hearing Violet says the name. "Harry Styles?! The. . . mafia boss of New York..?" Her eyes widen at the possibility of the most dangerous man in the city paying a visit to the place she works at,

Nodding, Violet answers, "Yup. That Harry Styles. He's the devil. Let's hope this place doesn't turn into a war zone."

Y/N has heard about this Harry guy. The most feared man of New York. She does know a little bit of the relations between Joe and Mr. Styles. Almost every night she could hear Joe freaking out about this man. She may not know him that close, hell she had never even met him in person but people talk. One thing she learned about hearing his reputation, you don't ever want to mess with this guy.

Violet snaps her fingers to snap Y/N out of her thoughts. "Less worrying, girl. Come on, you got a show to put on yes?"

"Y-yeah. Fuck. . . now i'm scared" She breathes out, looking at her reflection in the mirror one last time. Calming down her mind.

After giving Violet a kiss on a cheek and receiving a tap on her ass, she takes a deep breath as she opens the beaded curtain and walk out to the club. Jhene Aiko is playing through the speakers, thanks to her who chose the music for tonight. She can already feel all eyes on her as she struts down confidently, putting on a smirk and winking at couple of men here and there. As much as it disgusts her, she grazes her hand along a man's arm who's biting his lip and looking at her up and down.

'What the fuck did i do to deserve this?' she thinks to herself, staring at the man in front of her who's probably the same age as her father. The thought of it makes her gag,

She gives the man a wink before getting up on the stage, hearing a few hollers from behind. reaching out to wrap her hand around the silver pole and her leg hooking up to support her body. Slowly twirling with her head thrown back and closes her eyes with money being toss at her direction before letting go and crutching down on her knees, moving close towards the same man earlier. He slips in a couple of hundred dollar bills inside her panties, causing the others to do the same.

This may be not how she pictures her success but damn, by the end of the week, her bank account can go from three to six digits.

She's definitely gonna hold on to that,

*

*

*

It takes Harry close to thirty minutes to get here. He blames it all on the traffic, cursing to himself every time he stops at red lights. He parks his car close to the entry before he exits from the vehicle. He looks over his shoulder to find a familiar black car driving towards her, noting to himself it's Reece's. Seeing him wave his hand to make sure he's coming in later.

He clears his throat, clenching his jaw as he walks into the club. Reece wasn't lying, the club is too packed for tonight. As if God knew what is about to get down tonight and isn't going to let him get away with witnesses. He really needs to play safe for a while tonight.

As he strides through the room to find a table he has reserved for, a few half naked girls walk right pass him, stroking his exposed chest and grabbing his shoulders. Most of them are gorgeous and he's tempted to touch their soft skin yet he has to hold it. Not that he isn't interested because he's definitely taking someone back to his place tonight--fucking Reece had to be right-- but he needs to get his head in the game for at least an hour before planning to do so.

Gently, he pulls back a chair for him to sit. He specifically asks for the furthest table so no one can figure out what he's about to do tonight. A glass of whiskey has been set on his table before he got here, waiting for Joe's arrival. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reece and Bianco walking over to his table. One of them gives him a nod to acknowledge his presence.

Harry lifts the glass up to his lips and take a sip of it. Honestly, he hates doing all of this dirty work. Sure, he's the boss. But he despises complicated things. He should've known not to trust Joe about anything, yet when he begged on his knees with a gun knocked against his head as he spat out a bunch of threats to the weakened man, he thought why not? If Joe didn't get to fulfill his demands, he gets to kill him either way. It's always a pleasure for him to do so.

"Mr. Styles! Ay, i'm so happy to see you. You look a lot cleaner than i saw you the last time, eh?" Joe's voice causes Harry's green eyes averts from the scene on the crowd. His eyebrows are knitted, jaw tightened as he taps his fingers against the table, causing the rings he's wearing to knock.

He owes him money worth $50,000. And this man had the nerve to walk in and act like nothing happened.

He is definitely going to kill him.

"Stop with all that shit and sit the fuck down. You owe me something Joe." Harry warns, pointing at him as Harry's men forces the dark haired male to sit down making him gulp. "You owe me 50 grand for that package you piece of shit."

Joe couldn't feel more terrified as he catches a glimpse of Harry's gun on the table, facing towards him. "I know Harry, I know. I didn't forget, okay? It's just the money is tight right now. The girls aren't getting the amount of money they used to be getting." Joe tries to reason but Harry isn't having any of it,

"Stop being a fucking pussy and blame your girls for the money you've lost. I'm running out of patience here, Joe. If you don't give me the money by the end of the week, you're a dead man. I still have one body bag left in my car and I wouldn't mind writing your name on it." Harry grits his teeth, looking at him with a dark look in his eyes. Hand gripping tightly around the glass

"No man, I need more than that. Please, I'll do whatever you ask me to. You will have your money man I promised." Joe begs, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes.

Harry finds it quite disgusting to see someone like him beg for mercy-- for the second time--or anything at all to be honest. He find that gesture is weak and vulnerable which makes him very easy to manipulate over. "I don't give out second chances."

Joe hears a gun clicks behind, he doesn't need to know what's going on. He knows one of the two men behind him is ready to blow his brains out. "Harry man. . . One more. . . Give me one more"

Harry isn't a patient man. He doesn't want people beg. He doesn't want him to beg. But he finds it interesting to see how it goes, playing along this little game of his.

"Fine. you give me your best girl and i'll give you two months." Harry offers, cocking his eyebrow as he leans back to relax himself. "No more than that."

Joe's eyes widen at Harry's demand. It's impossible to collect a 50 grand in two months, especially when he's short on it. He needs more than that. Still, he thinks two months is better than nothing. "Okay. . . Agreed. Just tell me which girl you want or-or i could bring one or two here, man. Take your pick."

Harry can only hum in response, scanning his eyes over the scene. Dozens of girls dancing on stage, few of them even has their bras taken off. It seems to him, none of these girls on the room is his type.

Until his green eyes fall on a certain slightly curvy woman with her leg wrapped around the pole.

Her long dark hair brushing lightly against the floor as she bend her back a bit. He observes the way her body move so dirty yet gracefully around the pole,  the way she bites onto her pink glossed lips and how her brown eyes manage to flirt with the crowd and had them lure into her eyes including himself. He swears this girl just steps out of his daydreams. She looks perfect.

He admires how she circle her hips painfully slow, jealous how he isn't close enough to watch her plump flesh near his strong figure.

"Her. I want her" Harry points at the girl he can't take his eyes off. His voice sounds too possessive but he doesn't care if he does. He's too enhanced with the way she moves on that stage and he loves how she swats those dirty hands who seems desperate to cope a feel with a dirty look on her face.

'Seems like a fighter' he thinks to himself

"Y/N? You want her?" Joe asks after he realises who Harry's pointing at.

"Y/N? That's a gorgeous name. She's not taken is she? Not that i care anyway. She's a dime from what i can see here." He says, not tearing his eyes off of her while he sips on his drink. "You're gonna give me her to me aren't you?" Harry asks, his eyes are threatening enough for Joe so he nods his head as a response.

"Yes. Of course. If that's what you want."

"Fuck yes i do. Bring me to one of your rooms. I want a private from her" He demands before gulping down his drink, standing up to head over to the back. Not before glancing at the gorgeous woman one last time who stuffs a few dollar bills in her panties.

*

*

After what it feels like forever dancing on stage and have men whistling at her to go over and give them more, she finally sit herself down on a chair in her dressing room and take a deep breath. Moaning in relief as she pulls her heels off while setting her timer on because she only has thirty minutes to rest before going back out there again. She leans back against the chair, sighing in a pure bliss.

She can hear a few girls talking and laughing while preparing themselves for their performance tonight, wishing she could just join in because Violet informs her earlier there's some juicy gossip she needs to talk about but she cant take it. She's too tired.

She has only closes her eyes for 10 minutes until a familiar voice speaks out,

"Where's Y/N?"

She groans internally. Can never mistake that voice soon as she hears it. Her manager, who sounds like he's panting, voice firm as if is an emergency to call her out like that. Y/N still has her eyes shut as she raises her hand up, not having the energy to respond.

"Okay, good. Y/N. You don't need to go back out there again. There's a special guest I need you to entertain. He's already waiting in the red room."

She nods and hum, only to realize what he means as her eyes bugs out.

Wait, what?

She's quick to turn around, brows furrows and mouth hangs open, not believing what she has just heard. "Pardon?"

"There's a man. A guy who I work with, waiting in one of the rooms. He specifically asked for you. I need you to at least give him an hour." Joe notifies, running his hand over his face as if he's stressed about something,

"You want me to give a lap dance to your co-worker?" She raises her eyebrow, not believing what he just asked her

Joe sighs angrily, "it's technically not--Y/N... please. No more questions, just go over there."

"Who's the guy?" she ignores his orders as she stands, crossing her arms across her chest. "Jesus, fuck. I really need my hair to breath" she mutters, brushing down her long dark brown hair,

"Harry Styles."

Y/N freezes in an instant. Looking up to stare at Joe in the eye to see if he's joking, he can only nod his head to confirm her questioning look. " you're shitting me."

"I'm not," Joe replies, walking over to her, not wanting the other girls to hear. "Y/N, I owe him money. I haven't got them yet and--"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and continue messing with her hair a bit more. "Not my problem."

He reaches out to grab her elbow, pulling her harshly causing her to stumble a bit. "Y/N, please... He wanted to kill me out there earlier. The guy brought a gun for God's sake. He gave me a month but until then... he wants you."

"You know i'm not a hooker" Y/N defeatedly sighs. She wants to help him, she does but it sounds like he's selling her off for a month to this notorious and dangerous guy who is named to be the deadliest man alive by the people of New York.

She loves money but no fucking way she's willing to die for it.

"I didn't say you were" He roughly says, hand gripping tightly on her arm. "Just... do it" He let her go, tired of the waiting because he doesn't want to make Harry pissed off now,

The girl sighs angrily, squeezing her eyes shut as she hesitates for a while. What the fuck did she get herself into?

"Fine. just give me a moment."

Giving her a smile, Joe thanks her by giving her a kiss on the cheek, telling her the door number Harry is in before walking out of the room. Soon after he walks out, she feels sick in her stomach. How could she ever go face to face with a man with blood in his hands? She's about to give this man a lap dance. Who knew he might've ask for more?

So now, as she finishes re-applying a layer of red lipstick, she heads out. Walking to the back of the room in a slow pace. Heart beating loud and fast as she's about to come face to face with this man. Still, she needs to play it cool. God really fucking hates her,

If he really does exists.

She takes a deep breath before opening the brown door carefully, pushing it open. Her knees almost buckle at the sight of Harry Styles, lounging on the leather couch. A cigarette squeeze between his fingers. legs spread open as if it's an invitation already made for her. His head turns towards the door, a smirk graces upon his face.

She's not going to lie. He is indeed dashingly handsome. With his arms resting on the back of the couch making his biceps look a bit bigger. He's got killer looks too. she studies. Sexy smile, and stubble which creates a sexier look on his face. She catches a glimpse of a silver cross necklace resting against his broad chest. His eyes are sharp. Looking at her up and down with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

"My, my" he lowly whistles, watching her every move as she enters the room. Locking the door behind her. "I wasn't wrong. You are a fucking dime."

Y/N giggles-- though feeling scared shitless-- and run her hands over her hair as she struts her way towards his figure. Purposely swaying her ass side to side a bit to tease him. "Mr.Harry Styles. . . I heard a lot about you. Word on the street is that you're a man that likes to carry a danger" she smirks seductively as she stands in between his open legs, dragging her finger slowly down her chest.

Her angelic voice is like music to his ears,

"Yeah?" he smirks, eyes falling to the curve of her breasts. "Hope that doesn't scare you, doll. All i want is a dance from you, that's all. I also heard that you are their favourite girl. After seeing you danced on that stage, I now know why."

Again, she giggles. A small blush creeping on her cheeks, hopefully he doesn't see it. "You're a flirt aren't you, Harry? You do this to every girl?"

He places his hands slowly on her plump ass, he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch but he doesn't give a shit. She seems isn't bothered by it. He wants this girl and he wants her now.

"Only to those who i find interesting, baby. Now, are you going to show me what you got?" He asks, looking up to meet her brown eyes as he squeezes her flesh.

With a devilish smirk, she slowly sets herself down on his lap which causes him to let out a soft groan. She runs her hands down to his tattooed chest and toys with his cross necklace for a bit before whispering in his ear, "sit tight and relax, Mr. Styles. I'll be your good girl for tonight"

next chapter

*

i really don’t want to write a super long chapter, because i’m afraid it’ll bore you guys so maybe--i hope-- this is enough. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this first chapter, let me know if you guys hate it or love it! I’ll appreciate it. love you guys!

[blushing-starker]

Having a boyfriend that's a natural rule breaker becomes even more tedious because now it's two people conspiring together, itching to shatter social norms. Sure, they won't pull the fire alarm stunt to get out of a quiz (that's more Rocket and Groot's style), place mirrors on front steps to confuse Fury and nearly give the principal a heart attack (Loki with an exasperated Thor and cackling Hela) or hire a mariachi band to follow hall monitor Alexander Pierce (Steve had joined Bucky and Sam in that one); they'd never sneak into the air vents, fill them with glitter so the haughty board of directors would be covered in pink sparkles when they cranked the ac (Clint and Nat).

Ok, they did help with that last one, buying the shimmering stuff from T'Challa's sister and slipping five jars into Clint's backpack, but they didn't actually go into the vents.

But that's not the point. The point is there are limits to their rule breaking; Tony's spot on the football team and Peter's participation in the art club too important to risk on something as silly as skipping a quiz. No, they thanked their best friends, unhooked the window lock and slithered out only after finishing and handing in the quiz. They weren't amateurs.

Still, Peter knows Tony literally couldn't have chosen a worse time for their impromptu lunch date. (Luckily, he'd expected this exact situation.)

"Tony, they don't even have bad food today. We could just wait until the bell rang to meet up and eat at the bleachers. Like we always do a day before a big game."

His boyfriend swivels around, hooks nimble fingers into his belt loops to pull Peter closer, never once stumbling even while walking backwards. The grin he shows is manic, just this side of wild to let Peter know this isn't about haunting nightmares and bouts of anxiety. This is normal, too high on a feeling Tony Stark. Which means he won't head back to school unless Peter pulls out all the stops...

He's too exhausted from last night's art project to use up energy on the puppy eyes. So he sighs, tugs on the blue varsity jacket Tony loves to show off, kisses a dimple before turning this untamed creature around.

"Come on, I found a new route to that shawarma place with MJ and Ned last week." It sounds exasperated, but Tony knows Peter will do anything to keep him happy. Well. Not anything. There's only so many times they can discuss Star Wars before simply agreeing to disagree on whether Han and Luke are pan or bi.

"What, and you tell me this now?", Tony squawks indignantly from Peter's left side, freezing nose nuzzling into Peter's neck as revenge.

Like a robber caught sneaking into a vault, he raises his hands instantly before shoving Tony away.

"Hey, you were focusing on practice! If I told you, you'd bring Rhodey, he'd bring T'Challa and then Shuri would pop up and who goes where she goes? Bucky, which means Steve and Sam, who'd already be there thanks to Rhodey and of course Clint would somehow appear with Nat. We'd be together so Ned and MJ are gonna be teasing with Betty and half the guys in our grade have a crush on Nat, or MJ or Shuri or Betty or you. So what's the end result? The entire football, soccer, basketball and swim team eating shawarma a week before the games. I am not hearing Coach Coulson scold me for you guys breaking diet again. I'm already on his list, another situation like that and I'll have to run fifteen laps around the field."

"Oh come on, you can do those in your sleep." He could, but again, not the point.

"With a weighted backpack, Tony."

"Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want that."

"Before cycling fifteen laps and then swimming fifteen laps."

"Jesus, why would he even do that?" Tony looks at him then, disgruntled at the thought of his boyfriend doing all that.

He shrugs, doesn't want to explain Peter had done it once when it all got too much and he'd needed to release the pent up energy. He hadn't noticed Coach watching him, ready to come help if he hurt himself. They'd talk afterwards, Coulson making him promise to never do that alone. Now it became a reward and a punishment. Peter won the art contest? Fifteen everything to focus his mind and not go jumping off walls in his excitement.

His students wolfing down a thousand calories before a game? Fifteen everything so Peter would at least "time it so it's not during the season, Jesus". To be fair to Peter, Tony participated in almost all the sports teams so scheduling was hard.

"Listen, just don't eat a whole animal, ok? We can split it, eat enough," he glares at Tony, pushing through even as the puppy eyes come out, "and then head to the movies. They're showing Aliens for a few days cuz of Halloween and I already texted the guys to come during lunch."

His boyfriend, smart and sharp and witty, just blinks at him. "But we have class after lunch."

"Technically, but I convinced Mr Pym to let the class out of lab so we could all hang out. It's the one class we share so now the whole group can see it together."

Tony stops, eyes wide and mouth open.

"You, what, planned this?"

"Yeah, something fun before tomorrow to take it off your mind for a while. Or, you know, not make it stand out as much. I know how focused you get, and it's really great, having that as a goal, strategizing and taking it seriously. But I also know it can be a lot, so I thought we should all hang out since each of us has something coming up and we aren't spending much time together. Which I get, responsibilities and family and school; I just missed it and I can't be the only one, right? So yeah, this was planned. Like, two weeks ago. When MJ found the new route, it was like a sign. And I really want you to relax and enjoy the whole, I have friends that care for me and a boyfriend that loves-"

He slaps a hand on his mouth, eyes impossibly wide and cheeks flaming. Tony and Peter stand immobile, the world reduced to beat up sneakers breaking the simplicity of yellow lines on black, a flickering neon sign telling them the shawarma place is open and two hearts slowly starting to beat again after that confession.

Ned would say it's romantic. MJ would bluntly remind them it's a bad idea to stand in the middle of the road even if they're saying I love you. And with good reason, since there's the telltale roar of a car bursting with teenagers, voices howling out the lyrics to an AC/DC song. And of course Peter notices the noise of rubber swerving against gravel, the screeching of old brakes and a few terrified shrieks harmonizing with a sharp wind blasting into him out of nowhere. Before he can react, Tony is there, wrapping his arms around Peter and shoving them both into the little patch of grass that grows from a crack in dirty pavement.

There's a moment where his whole world flips, tumbles until he screws his eyes shut and prepare himself for whatever the fuck caused that noise. But nothing comes. Only a sigh blowing a stray curl away from his forehead. But a sigh? Why would?

Tony.

He gasps, jolts upright and apologizes when that just serves to jostle his boyfriend further into the ground. His boyfriend who'd flip them so Peter wouldn't be hurt. Tony is peering at him through half shut eyes, discomfort clear on the grimace he tried to transform into a sheepish grin.

"So, you love me, huh?"

It's the stupidest thing Tony Stark has ever said.

"What the fuck were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt, you could have shattered a wrist, dislocated a shoulder, torn an ACL, bent a leg-"

"This is not what I expected. Also it was a three foot leap forward on grass, I'm fine, Peter."

"Or bashed your head, or busted an arm and then what would you do for the game tomorrow? Who the hell does that?"

"The guy you love, apparently."

"That's not the point, Tony, that's unimportant because you nearly got hurt. Christ, Coulson will slaughter me if there's a scratch on you, and then your mom would be sad and I'd be sad because, what would I do without you? And don't you ever do that again, I can't take it. I am not losing you, Tony. God, why would you do that, risk so much on-"

"On you? Babe, I'd do it again. Ok, not the right thing to say based on the whole face thing you got going on right now. But just hear me out. Don't, stop hitting me, ow, why are you hitting, how are you this strong, Jesus. Ow, stop it. Peter, for fuck's sakes, I love you, you animal. Now please let go of the jacket, it'll get wrinkles."

His hands unclasp the soft cotton, Tony falling back with a groan and Peter's unhinged jaw snapping shut after fifteen seconds of letting the flies in.

It's a wonderful thing, hearing the guy he's loved for so long say it back, say he loves Peter.

It's also fucking stupid since there's even more reason to not do stunts like that.

"You're an idiot. I'm in love with a guy that has one shared brain cell with Steve. You could have been hurt, Tony. And what would that have done, huh?"

His boyfriend sighs yet again, wraps an arm around Peter to push them from the ground and heads to the car where their friends are gawking. He waves them off, offers a "Yeah, I know I'm amazing, no, I didn't break anything, T'challa, yes, I can play, Jesus, Rogers, I can read you like a book. I appreciate the worry, Bruce; Nat, thanks for calming him down. Rhodes, excellent driving. No need to hog the seats, Sam, we need to settle in. Peter, you can keep cursing me out if you, yeah, see how it's nice being fun size when you fit in my lap in a car full of people. What, I'm not walking after that, I don't care if it's til we reach the parking. Let's go, Rhodes. Pepper, I'm fine. "

Clint offers a high five. Tony responds and that's that. Out of sight, Ned gives him a fist bump and MJ keeps on reading her book. It could just be his imagination, but Tony's sure she's smiling, approval clear on her face. He preens, glad to have her blessing, and settles his head on Peter's fluffy hair.

-----

When they're all laughing in a booth, smashed together and picking food off of everyone's plate, Peter nuzzles the crook of his neck, holds his hand and squeezes it. Tony smiles, lights up and shoves at Sam's face when the trio of best friends tease him for puffing his chest out when his boyfriend ever so softly says, "I love you."

"I love you, too." The table whoops and calls for another round of food and Coca-Cola, their family grinning at them and fondly teasing the new couple. Tony grins back, high on this feeling of warmth and happiness and safety and love.

And then Peter presses ice cold lips onto his neck and he lets out a shout, pain coursing through him when a knee slams into the table. His eyes water and through the haze of agony he sees their friends exchanging cash, some grumbling and others smirking. Rhodey and MJ, he notes, are the ones that win the most. They high five before pocketing the cash and ordering dessert.

Peter kisses his cheek, smile innocent and eyes wicked. It's his own fault Tony snatches an ice cube and slips it below his Nirvana shirt. He only has five seconds to lord his victory over Peter before there's ice cream being smeared on his cheek. They battle then, accidentally sending food into Wanda's lap, Clint's hair and Bucky's face.

In less than a minute they are all covered in shawarma and participating in the fight. Peter shrieks when Tony pulls him into his lap, gets chicken on the varsity jacket and tries to wriggle away. But Tony kisses him, tastes ice cream and joy, thanks whoever decided to give him a break and find this incredible person dozing on the roof of the school with Ned and MJ one spring afternoon. Peter kisses back and, at the same time, they say, confidently, honestly,

"I love you."

This is dedicated to @drarryismyshit07

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

[lovevalley45]

#fictober21 day twenty

"That's what I'm known for."

original fiction (power payback)

wc: 564 words

Magni Quincy, like many of the Talents that popped up in Las Vegas, had learned the side effects of his talent before he was able to refine it.

It was unbearably hot out that day, but he still found himself sitting among the perennials of Marotto’s Nursery. The cover kept him from fully sweltering, but he was still wiping sweat off his brow.

That day, the house had been too loud. Not people-wise; Marty was helping Mrs. Marotto inside with ringing people up, Sprout had been working on homework in the room next to his, and Petunia was out at a movie with her friends. But the AC was running on overdrive to keep it cool inside, and through the thin walls Magni could hear the old computer whirring. It was all too, too much.

So, the nursery it was.

The patrons who had braved the heat didn’t seem to mind the teenage boy leaning against the wooden structure that held the plastic pots of colorful flowers. He had taken his copy of Hamlet to read, finally being able to focus.

It hadn’t lasted too long, though.

“There you are!” Sprout said.

Magni looked up. “What?”

“You know, you’re very good at hiding,” she told him. “I needed some help with the computer, it’s acting up again.”

He folded the page of his book and stood up. “Ah, so that’s why I could hear its death rattle.”

“That why you came out here to sweat your ass off?” Sprout asked.

“Exactly,” Magni said. “Very hard to concentrate when it’s practically whining for attention.”

The walk back to the house made him regret coming out here in the first place. The heat of the sun beat down on both of them, and he almost welcomed the annoying sound of the AC when they stepped back inside. It didn’t get better as they went up to Sprout’s room, where the old PC they shared was still fussing.

“I swear it’ll only take a minute,” she said.

“Yeah, whatever.” He sat down, blocking out the noise of it as he pressed one hand against the console. With the other, he went through the programs she had open - school websites, databases, word processors- “Jesus, Sprout, couldn’t you have closed that before you called me up here?”

“Fuck!” She pushed past him to close a particularly spicy fanfic. “I didn’t say you could snoop!”

“I’m trying to figure out what’s bothering it, and all I saw was the word vulva-”

“Don’t shame!”

Magni rolled his eyes, continuing his work. He found what seemed to be the trouble - a broken app that was messing up the rest of the computer, something that neither of them had even touched since it was brought up. “There. And it wasn’t even your fanfic.”

“Because I use reputable sites, Magni.” Sprout sighed. “Thanks. Who knows what we would do without your talent?”

“Ah, yes, that’s what I’m known for. Tiny technology solves that don’t make up for the literal headaches this computer gives me.”

“Well, is it better?”

He closed his eyes. The computer was still humming, even when he took his hand off the console. The AC was still creating most of the noise. But it was more manageable now. “A little.”

“Now, let me get back to my homework.”

“Your homework, or your fanfic?” he joked.

Sprout rolled her eyes. “Get out.”

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Four

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Three

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning(s): Explicit language, Mentions of drug abuse, Explicit sexual situations

A/N: To the anon that asked about the pictures before chapters, I gave it a shot. Let me know what you guys think. Cintia Dicker is who I've always imagined as Viv (only difference is Viv has green eyes and Cintia has blue). Have a good night guys!!

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LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED

"...We're about to go on in a couple minutes, we're already late." Duff tells me, frustrated, after explaining everything he, Izzy, Axl, Slash, and Steven have endured ever since they left L.A. to embark on their first little tour as a band, along the west coast.

The first stop was his home town, and everything from losing equipment, losing their only form of transportation, hitch hiking in suffocating heat, spending all the money shared between them for a ride, and anything else that could go wrong, happened all under 24 hours.

After getting the full run down on what all had happened once they got back home, I decided the devil works hard, but Guns N' Roses work harder.

"Well, I wish I could have gone but I'm trying to get Nikki to acknowledge Vince before they start touring." I tell him, scrubbing at a soapy dish, the kitchen phone caught between my ear and my shoulder.

"Still?"

"He offered Vince blow the other day, after Vince just got out of jail, and is supposed to be sober. It wasn't blow. It was smack." I explain.

"Oh my God, that's fucked." Duff tells me.

"Him and Tommy thought it was the funniest thing ever so I replaced all their blow with unscented baby powder and flushed the real thing." I explain and he laughs. "They've been wondering why their blow is 'broken'."

"Now, is that what Jesus would do?" He asks jokingly.

"God gave me the idea. I did it. I am a good and faithful servant." I state and he laughs again.

"Oh, I gotta go, Viv." He tells me.

"Alright, good luck." I say, hearing Steven say "Hey, Viv!"

"Steven says 'hey'." Duff lets me know and I smile to myself.

"Tell him I said, 'hey'."

"I will. I'll talk to you again whenever I can." He assures me. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

"Bye."

"Bye-bye."

We both hang up and I rinse the dish I've been working on and place it in the dish wrack.

Glancing at the clock to see it's 8:00pm, Nikki should be back from the studio soon.

I finish up on the dishes and go take a shower since I've been stress cleaning and sweating a little.

By the time I get out and get lounging clothes on, Nikki and Tommy are in the kitchen talking, and go silent when I come in

"Hey, babe." Nikki tells me innocently, he and Tommy exchanging mischevious looks.

"What?" I ask them, glancing between the two of them.

"So...I was thinking..." Nikki starts. "...You know how you told me not to buy the vette last year, right? Because it only had two seats and we might have kids down the line and it's not really a family car."

"Yeah." I reply, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Well, because I'm a responsible husband and a happy wife equals a happy life, I made an investment." He tells me and I cross my arms.

"What kind of investment, Mr. Sixx?" I roll my jaw.

"Well..." Nikki trails off, and I'm darting for the front door before he or Tommy can grab me.

I swing the front door open to see a brand new jeep in the driveway.

"Nikki Sixx!" I spin around and he and Tommy wince a little. "You bought a car?! Another one?!"

"The vette's are the town cars, baby, the jeep is for more practical use."

"Like the motorcycle in our garage is for 'nights out with the guys'?"

"Exactly!" Tommy pipes in.

In a matter of seconds, I'm chasing Nikki back into the house.

"I'm going to kill you!" I threaten him.

"Tommy, grab her!" Nikki laughs out, which only makes me even more upset that my frustration is amusing to him.

Tommy misses me buy a few seconds before I'm jumping over the couch and tackling Nikki, straddling him and pinning him by his forearms.

"We don't have the money for a new car, Nikki!" I tell him, seriously.

"The album releases in two weeks, Viv. We've got more money than you think." He chuckles, assuring me, and I let out a breath as his eyes drift over my body, raising a brow at our position. "But I can pretend we're dirt broke if you promise to keep man handling me."

"Do I need to get you guys the video camera and leave you to it?" Tommy reminds us he's still here.

"Yeah, it's about time to add Volume Three to the collection, anyway." Nikki states, the corner of his mouth pulling up in his signature smirk.

Before your imagination runs wild, none of our sex tapes are still in existence. When Tommy and Vince's got out, I knew damn well I wasn't about to be best known for a sex tape(s)...

So they were all run over in the driveway and lit on fire.

"Speaking of the release," Nikki starts, nudging at me. "Our anniversary's the next week, but what're you wanting to do for a anniversary present—"

"—Your anniversary present is in the garage. And the driveway. And require insurance. And gas. And maintenance." I correct him and he rolls his eyes.

"I meant your present." He tells me. "What do think you might want?"

"I don't know." I shrug, then I remember what day our anniversary falls on, and slowly look at Nikki, my lips pulling into a smug smile.

I'm still not sorry for what I asked for, for our anniversary. But you know what? Hungover, slightly doped up from the night before, and exhausted, my trooper of a husband got himself together long enough to endure his own personal hell.

Nikki glares at me from behind his sunglasses as the preacher leads us into prayer and I nudge him with my elbow a little so he'll at least bow his head and pretend to care.

"Father in Heaven we pray, forgive us of our sins, Lord. God, we ask that you bless this message and prepare the hearts of those that need to hear it. I pray that you continue to watch over us, keep your hand upon us, and help us to be better. In Jesus' name I pray, amen."

"Amen." We all say, and Nikki scoffs out a mocking little snicker, making me elbow him and he raises his brows.

His smug look immediately falls.

I can't see his eyes but I know he's saying, "elbow me again and see what happens."

"If you turn in your Bibles to the book of Hosea, chapter three, verse one..." Brother Harting starts, and I take pick my jacket up from my lap to get my Bible from underneath it.

I flip to Hosea 3:1, and read along in my mind as he reads aloud:

"Then the Lord said unto me, Go yet, love a woman beloved of her friend, yet an adulteress, according to the love of the Lord toward the children of Israel, who look to other gods, and love flagons of wine." He says, before looking up from the book. "To put it simply, for those of you not quite sure what that means, God is telling Hosea to marry a prostitute. The children of Israel at this time were beginning to stray from God and worship other gods and idols. They were not faithful to God. Like Gomer, Hosea's wife. I'm sure when he married her, he hoped she would stop selling herself and giving herself to other people." He explains. "Isn't it strange that so many of us assume marriage, or a child, will keep their significant other from giving parts of themselves to other people and other things when they were selling themselves to someone or something long before you even came along?" He chuckles out and I rub my lips together, a chord being struck within me. "God told Hosea to marry Gomer, and he did. But she didn't stay faithful. In fact, Hosea had to repeatedly go find her with other men and bring her back home. Now, God didn't tell Hosea to marry a woman that seemed like she could not, for the life of her, stay committed in the right path, to hurt him. God wanted to demonstrate how Israel was repeatedly unfaithful towards him. How we are all unfaithful to him at times, even when we don't realize it. Some of us even worship idols, and don't realize it. Obsession over money. Obsession over lust. Obsession over alcohol. If you are a workaholic..." He names a few examples.

"Cute, can we go now?" Nikki's grumbling under his breath to me and I don't even look at him, lacing my fingers through his, hoping to keep him quite like giving a baby a pacifier.

"I'm not saying wanting money, or having a drink with your dinner, or enjoying your work or really enjoying sex, is idolatry. It is when those things become addictive habits that consume your thoughts constantly, so much so, that you wake up one day and realize you haven't even acknowledged God in weeks. Some of us, months. For others, it's years. And when I say 'acknowledge God' I don't mean a little 'thank God' when something goes your way. I mean, getting in that comfortable space we all have when we can humbly approach God with all of our worries, concerns, hopes, dreams, and tell him about everything going on in our lives. When we take the time to talk to him like we would a friend. God wants to hear everything from us, whether it's something good that's happened, or something we need him to heal within us or help us with something we are struggling to do. He is never too busy." He smiles. "Hosea constantly chased and went after Gomer because he loved her. He made vows to God to marry her and he grew to love her. God loved the children of Israel, and he loves us. He used Hosea as a demonstration of how he always pursues and goes after his church when each of us stray, and let me tell you something, ladies and gentlemen, when Gomer got herself into a mess for the last time, she was about to be sold, like cattle. And Hosea went looking for her thinking she was up to her typical no good. But he came up on the auction she was being sold at. Keep in mind this woman had put him through years of hurt, and pain. He was exhausted, he was angry, he was broken...but he saw his wife about to be sold to men who would most definitely put her through hell, and Hosea suddenly couldn't see his wife's wrong doings. He just saw the woman he loved, the mother of his children, scared and in trouble. And he threw his hand up, and placed a bid for thirty pieces of silver on this woman. Six months worth of wages on a woman that seemed to do everything in her power to not be faithful to him."

"I think fucking not." Nikki doesn't even try to be quiet, causing a few people in front of us to quickly glance back at us.

I elbow him, harder this time, and he's grabbing at my wrist, harshly, pulling me to my feet.

Anger and frustration goes through me when he leads me through the double doors of the very small lobby.

"You're being a jackass." I hiss out the second he's pushed me into the ladies' room that consists of one toilet and a small sink.

"You're being a brat. You should be happy I even came to this bullshit." He snaps.

"One time isn't gonna kill you, Nikki. I'm surprised you're actually able to walk into a church and not burst into flames."

"Okay, fuck you!" He raises his voice and my hand is popping him in the chest before I can stop myself, "Shh!" flying past my lips.

His teeth grind together, and my thighs tense.

His hand is grabbing a fist full of my red locks, yanking my head back as he looks me in the eyes.

It's a slap in the face to him, but I can't help but let out a mocking chuckle, smiling up at him.

I completely disregard the fact we're in church, and my hands slide under his shirt, feeling his warm skin, my nails scratching down his sides.

He's letting go of my hair, reaching between us, and unbuckling his belt and tugging it out of his belt loops.

I squeeze my thighs together as anticipation starts building within my core, creating a slip between my thighs.

He's grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face the wall, shoving me forward.

My hands brace on the chipped, faint yellow paint, and he's yanking my hips back and spreading my legs while yanking my dress up and my panties down to rest around my ankles.

He gives me a moment of mercy, his hand reaching around to rub my clit while his leather restrained prick grinds against my ass, causing me to let out a quiet moan to avoid being heard.

Just as I start moving with his fingers, he pulls away.

"Bad girls don't get rewarded." He tells me smartly in my ear before I'm feeling heat radiate through my body after the sharp sting of leather hits my skin.

I take in a breath, arching my back, biting back another moan. 

By the time he's finished with lick number ten, my ass is bright red and aching, and there's a mess of wetness rolling down my legs and dripping on the floor.

I hear his belt hit the floor and he unties the laces of his pants, causing me to hum with excitement as he reaches for my hair again and turns me around to pull me to my knees.

I lick my lips as my mouth begins to water at the sight of engorged veins, aching for release as he strokes himself a couple of times, his precum beading out of his tip.

I open my mouth and stick my tongue out eagerly, looking up at him with begging, green eyes, wanting to taste him.

He looks down at me with a little grin, like he's proud he's been able to screw the submission into his innocent little "my body's a temple" Saint Vivian and corrupt her in every way that she would allow.

He gives me what I want, swiping the tip of himself across my tongue. I don't think he's expected me to wrap my tongue and lips around him just yet because when I do, he's gripping onto the side of the sink with white knuckles.

I hungrily swallow down the liquid leaking from him, thriving under his praise as he says:

"God, you're so fuckin' hot."

I press teasing kisses to his tip, down the underside of his shaft, and his balls, and he damn near collapses when I run my tongue over them before tracing my tongue back up him and taking him in my mouth.

He grabs at my hair, creating a punishing pace that's got tears running from the corners of my eyes with each thrust that has him brushing against the back of my throat.

When he finally lets me catch my breath, a line of my spit holds from my lips to his cock, so I catch it with my fingers and use it to keep jerking him off.

My pussy is beginning to throb, needing something, anything to relieve the pressure.

The fingers of my free hand fall to my clit, but it isn't quite enough.

I believe I take "bitch in heat" to a whole other level when I pull my dress up and strategically arch my back and rest my legs on either side of Nikki's right foot.

He looks at me, a little confused before I spread my thighs a little more, causing my clit to rest against the curve of Nikki's boot where his ankle meets his leg.

My eyes roll back as I begin to move back and forth, slowly against him, while still keeping my hand moving up and down on his dick.

I don't open my eyes until I feel him lift the toe of his shoe a little bit, angling the part I'm straddling to rest against my soaked sex perfectly.

My eyes stare up at him, the nails of my free hand bite into the back of his lower thigh as I use him for leverage while beginning to move feverishly against him.

He takes over on himself, allowing me to hold onto his leg with both hands as he watches me like I'm the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

Tears stream down my face as my orgasm builds, the only thing able to come out of my mouth is "Oh, fuck" and "Nikki" in the form of breathy whimpers.

When I come, my eyes screw shut, my body shutters and I completely soak Nikki's boot.

"Face, mouth, or tits?" Nikki asks me in regards to where I want his cum.

I swallow every last drop.

After making sure my crucifix wasn't crooked, my floral Sunday dress and matching heels were perfectly put back on and my hair looked like it had never been touched, Nikki and I pretended we hadn't had a little anniversary gathering in the bathroom and returned to service in time to hear that last tid bit.

In which Nikki was pissed about having to sit through, but I suppose he did anyway without any more complaints because he knew it was important to me.

"Hosea bought his wife back, like Christ bought all of us with his bloodshed on the cross. That being said, let's throw out the idea that God only chases after perfect Christians and everyone else is no good and going to hell anyway so it's the perfect Christians' job to tell everyone else they're going to burn forever." Harting states as Nikki and I slip back inside, and I scoff, thinking of my mother. "We are all sinners, people. I've known Christians that condemn just about everyone and then go home and do the equivelant of what they were condemning others for. You can't tell homosexuals they are going to hell and there is no hope for them, and then go out and have sex outside of marriage. Or say tattoos are a show of paganism and a sin and then go home and call up your friends to gossip about other people. You don't get to decide what is and isn't a sin to better suit your lifestyle. And just because someone isn't like you or doesn't think like you, does not mean they are any less worthy of God's love and a lot of Christians need to be careful who they damn to hell because God doesn't think like human's do. Our bodies, our flesh, and our mind's are imperfect and I'm affraid many of these holier-than-thou types are going to be shocked when they end up in a place they don't want to be when they die because they spent too much time alive being too hateful and worried about how other people are living, they never looked at themselves and worked on their own relationship with God and their salvation before minding other people's. Any born again Christian who truly has God in their hearts should never, ever, feel comfortable telling someone else they are going to hell. We can disagree with someone's choices and decisions or relationships and friendships or addictions and habits or view points and opinions, and love them. And respect them. And be kind to them. And treat them like human beings and if you're worried for someone's soul, pray for them as much as you want. We are here to love and uplift others. That is the way we as Christians are meant to be because that is the way God is with us. We do things all the time he doesn't like. But he loves us enough to continously chase after us and bring us back to him, and never give up on us. And that love is open to anyone willing to accept it."

He closes out his sermon and we sing one last hymn before closing out in prayer, and head back to the car.

"Well?" I ask him and he takes his sunglasses off and rubs his eyes.

"I don't know what was more adorable: seeing you all enthused over someone that doesn't exist, or seeing you have my dick in your throat during church." He pipes, laughing. "Oh, that would be cool game to play. I could be the Pervy Priest and you could be the Naughty Nun." He suggest, his hand squeezing at my thigh in a tickling motion and I squeal, fighting to get him to stop tickling me and he finally stops."It was a good message, though. He had a very nice way of saying, 'just mind your own fucking business, cunt face'."

"Shh, Nikki!" I cringe at him saying 'cunt' in the parkinglot of a church.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to swear in the Lord's driveway." He sarcastically apologizes and I shake my head a little and crank the car.

Later that night, Nikki heads to Robbin's place to score some smack and blow from his dealer, before we go out to dinner, and I'm stopping by to see Duff and the guys at their rehearsal.

The clicks of my heels sound against the bare concrete where stained up carpet as been ripped up.

I see two masses of teased, blonde hair in the corner by a drum kit, a fluff ball of black, curly hair laying in the floor wear sunglasses, and teased red hair.

"Duff." Izzy states, and I turn to see him on a holed up couch in the corner, cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Izzy." I acknowledge him.

"Viv." He replies in the same tone, not bothering to look up from his guitar.

"Yeah?" Duff asks, glancing over at him to see me. "Hey!" He immediately stops what he's doing to come over, the other three boys looking up at me as well. "What're you doing here?" He asks, hugging me, and I look up at him after seeing Steven coming over here.

"Nikki and I were about to go out for our anniversary and I decided to come by since I haven't talked to you in a couple weeks. But, um, I know you've been busy I just thought I would stop by." I explain, smiling when Steven's energetic vibe spills over to me when he squeezes me to him.

"Well, we were just taking a break if you wanna hangout for a little bit." Duff offers.

I glance at Axl over Duff's shoulder, seeing he's irritated, and I let out a breath.

My relationship with Axl was about how my relationship with Vince was.

We loved to hate each other.

But not because Axl was a pig like Vince was. But because he and I were the same exact person.

I don't know if it was the overzealous religious up bringing forced upon us, or our struggles with similar mental disorders, but we both had the same nearly uncontrollable temper.

We got along most of the time, our issue, though, was that we saw things differently, and would get into heated arguments.

The longer the band stayed together, the worse Axl got.

It became more and more about him, and not so much the band.

When Steven was fired for getting too deep into heroin (as if he was the only one in the band with addiction issues) Axl had the honor Robbin, Vince, and Doc, all had been given: my fist to his face.

He was trying his hardest not to punch me back as I yelled:

"I'm not in your fucking band, I'm not on your fucking payroll, so I have no problem telling you, you're a fucking piece of shit and you need a hell of a lot more help than what you're getting right now! You're acting like a trigger happy crazy person, you have got your band members paranoid about who's gonna go next and for the love of God, Axl, of all the ways you could have handled the man that has saved your wife's life not once, but twice, you fire him for doing something you idiots were glorifying three years ago?! Get your shit together, Rose, because you're getting fucking messy!"

I had quoted him, from when he said, "get your shit together, Sixx, because you're getting fucking messy" after Duff and I had nearly been caught by Nikki.

The entire time they were on tour with us, Axl was paranoid Nikki would find out Duff and I were friendly with each other, kick Guns off the tour, and blacklist them through the label...

He got even more uptight when Steven and Slash accidentally gave me weed brownies a few days into the tour, and I was stoned out of my mind for six hours straight, and Steven, Slash, Duff, and were chasing me around and trying to make sure I didn't make it obvious to anyone on Mötley's team or Nikki, Tommy, Vince and Mick, that the supporting band got Nikki's stone cold sober wife high as a kite. Izzy just found it amusing.

One thing about Axl, though. He taught Tansy how to stick up for herself, which gave her the courage to publicly out her abusers in her agency and industry. I guess that's why I didn't kill him despite the many times I heavily considered it.

"I would hang around, but, I've really gotta get going." I tell Duff. "But I'll call you tomorrow or Tuesday and we can figure out when a good time to hangout before I go to Japan, alright?"

"Okay." He nods.

"Okay, I gotta go, Steven." I squeeze him equally as tight as he is me, ruffling his hair a little.

"Boo! Buzzkill." He protests my leaving and I roll my eyes as he steps back to his drums.

"I'll talk to you later." I tell Duff, standing on my tip toes to kiss his cheek innocently.

"Yeah. Have fun tonight." He tells me. "And happy anniversary."

"Thank you, sweetie." I say as I wipe my lipstick from his cheek. "Love you, be good." I tell them before turning to go.

"Love you." Steven and Duff say back.

"Viv." Izzy tells me as I head for the door, as his way of saying 'bye'.

"Izzy." I reply, before stepping out.

[fanwarriorfictions]

One-

A Stranger Things 2 Fanfic

Chapter Eight- Part Three

   They had lain Will on the couch of the Byers' extremely messy home. Phina sat on the ground next to Jonathan, holding onto Will's hand as Jonathan spoke to the unconscious kid. She held his hand as well, comforting him as much as he comforted her. It felt like they hadn't spoken to each other in forever and she wished they had come back together under better circumstances. No, they had to come back together over another supernatural being threatening their home, their family.

   "I'm sorry, bud," Jonathan whispered to Will, "sorry I wasn't there. I should have been here."

   Phina gripped his hand tighter in hopes of calming him. Jonathan loved Will so much, so did Phina. The Byers' were her family just as much as the Wheelers' were. Will was another little brother to her, just as much as Mike was. The kids in the party were all her kids, her family, to see any of them hurt, especially Mike or Will, hurt Phina more than words could describe.

   The mood in the house was dark, everyone dealing with some sort of emotion over the events that had led them here. Those creatures, whatever happened to Will, Bob Newby's death. The night had hurt everyone in some way or another.

Jonathan smiled over at Phina weakly, his eyes thanking her in a million ways. She just nodded, Jon needed time with his brother, to cool off, calm down. Phina stands up, smiling at Nancy as she walks towards the kitchen.

   "I am the police," Hopper yells into the phone, "Chief Jim Hopper! Yes, the number that I gave you, yes. 6767 I will be here."

   He hangs up the phone as Phina stops and leans against a wall in the kitchen, glancing at the kids around the table and Steve who looks out the window.

   "They didn't believe you," Dustin says, "did they?"

   Hopper turns to look at him, "we'll see."

   "We'll see," Mike repeats, raising his voice, "we can't just sit here while those things are loose!"

   "Mike," Phina chides quietly, "calm down."

   "We stay here," Hopper tells him, "and we wait for help."

   Hopper walks away from them, leaving the kitchen to find Joyce. Phina sighs deeply, her heart aching. Will was hurt, Bob was dead, everyone was angry and upset. She slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. Why did this have to happen to them?

   Everyone had gone silent, lost to their own thoughts. At some point, Nancy and Jonathan had disappeared and Phina hadn't questioned where they went.

   Mike suddenly stands up from his seat at the table. He walks over to a stool with a pile of things on it, grabbing a blue box off the top.

   "Did you guys know that Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV," he asks.

   "Really," Lucas asks.

   Mike turns towards them, "he petitioned the school to start it and everything. Then he had a fund-raiser for equipment. Mr. Clarke learned everything from him. Pretty awesome, right?"

   "Yeah," Dustin mumbles.

   Mike sets the box on the table, "we can't let him die in vain."

   "What do you want to do, Mike," Dustin exclaims, frustration clear in his voice, "the Chief's right in this. We can't stop those Demodogs on our own."

   "Demodogs," Max asks, tilting her head.

   "Demogorgon, dogs," Dustin explains, putting his hands together, "Demodogs. It's like a compound. It's like a play on words..."

   "Okay," Max cuts him off.

   Dustin nods in defeat, "I mean, when it was just Dart, maybe..."

   "But there's an army now," Lucas continues.

   "Precisely," Dustin nods.

   "His army," Mike says, not looking at any of them.

   "What do you mean," Steve asks.

   Mike's eyes widen, "his army! Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army, too!"

   Mike runs out of the kitchen, the rest of them scrambling up to follow him. Steve runs over to Phina, pulling her up from the ground so she can run after him too. Mike runs into Will's room, grabbing a drawing off of the table.

   Dustin takes it out of his hand, "the shadow monster."

   "It got Will that day on the field," Mike says, glancing at Phina, "the doctor said it was like a virus, it infected him."

   "And so this virus," Max says, "it's connecting him to the tunnels?"

   "To the tunnels, monsters, the Upside Down, everything," Mike answers.

   "Whoa, slow down," Steve interjects, grabbing the picture for him and Phina to look at, "slow down."

   "The shadow monster's inside everything," Mike explains, "and if the vines feel something like pain, then so does Will."

   "And so does Dart," Lucas adds.

   "Yeah," Mike nods, "like what Mr. Clarke taught us, the hive mind."

   "Hive mind," Steve asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

   "It's a collective consciousness," Phina explains, "an organism made up multiple organisms that share a mind basically."

   "And this the thing that controls everything." Mike points at the drawing. "It's the brain."

   "Like the mind flayer," Dustin says, staring at the paper.

   Lucas snaps, pointing at Dustin as he nods. Phina nods as well, having spent a lot of time with these kids when they played their game.

   "The what?" "What?"

   Dustin slams the open book on the table, everyone gathering around him and the book. Steve and Phina stood to Dustin's left while Nancy was on his right.

   "The mind flayer," he says, looking around at everyone.

   "What the hell is that," Hopper asks.

   "It's a monster from an unknown dimension," Dustin explains, "it's so ancient that it doesn't even know its true home. Okay, it enslaves races of other dimensions by taking over their brains and using its highly-developed psionic powers."

   "Oh, my god," Hopper groans, "none of this is real. This is a kids' game."

   Phina shakes her head, "that's not the point, Hop. This thing that we're dealing with is extremely similar to the mind flayer and it's the only thing we got to even hope to know how to fight it."

   "Okay," Nancy says, "so this mind flamer thing..."

   "Flayer," Dustin cuts her off, "mind flayer."

   Nancy sighs, "what does it want?"

   "To conquer us, basically," Dustin answers, "it believes it's the master race."

   Steve nods, "like the Germans?"

   Phina shakes her head, "the Nazis, Steve."

   He glances at her, his face heating up, "yeah, yeah, yeah, the Nazis."

   "Uh," Dustin hums, "if the Nazis were from another dimension, totally. Uh, it views other races, like us, as inferior to itself."

   "It wants to spread," Mike continues on, "take over other dimensions."

   "We are talking about the destruction of our world as we know it," Lucas adds.

   "That's great... That's great," Steve says sarcastically turning away from the table and running his fingers through his hair, "that's really great. Jesus!"

   Phina walks over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, listening as her sister starts to speak, picking up the book off the table, "okay, so if this thing is like a brain that's controlling everything, then if we kill it..."

   Steve puts his hand over hers, grabbing it in his own and bringing their entwined hands to their sides.

   "We kill everything it controls," Mike finishes.

   "We win," Dustin says.

   "Theoretically," Lucas agrees.

   Hopper walks over and takes the book from Nancy, "great. So how do you kill this thing? Shoot it with Fireballs or something?"

   Dustin chuckles, "no, no, no fire... no fireballs. Uh, you summon an undead army, uh, because... uh, because zombies you know, they don't have brains and the mind flayer, it... it... it likes brains... It's just a game. It's a game."

   "What the hell are we doing here," Hopper asks, throwing the book onto the table.

   "I thought we were waiting for your military backup," Dustin shouts.

   "We are," Hopper yells.

   "Even if they come," Mike yells, "how are they gonna stop this? You can't just shoot this with guns!"

   "You don't know that," Hopper yells back, "we don't know anything!"

   "We know it's already killed everybody in that lab," Mike yells.

   "And we know the monsters are gonna molt again," Lucas adds.

   "We know their close to becoming full-on Demogorgons," Phina adds.

   "We know that it's only a matter of time before those tunnels reach this town," Dustin nods.

   "They're right," Joyce's cracking voice says from the hallway.

   They all turn towards her as she continues, "we have to kill it."

   Hopper walks towards the grieving woman, his face going soft.

   "I want to kill it," she continues on.

   "Me too," Hopper nods, his voice soft and comforting, "me, too, Joyce, okay? But how do we do that? We don't exactly know what we're dealing with here."

   "No," Mike agrees, making Hopper turn to look at him, "but he does."

   Mike walks towards Will, "if anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it's Will. He's connected to it. He'll know its weakness."

   "I thought we couldn't trust him anymore," Max says as they all walk into the living room to look at Will, "that he's a spy for the mind flayer now."

   "Yeah, but he can't spy if he doesn't know where he is."

-1528 words-

   I hope Y'all liked this chapter. I really like the next one so I can't wait for you to read it!

-Morgan

[el-dibidibidorado1]

Untamed Pt.4

A/n: long chapter! Enjoy

Five. Five days in a row that sleep didn't come. It was driving me insane. The same dream kept of repeating, it was the bite and the pain that lingered there afterwards. Sadly the mark is still fresh, once in a while I would pick at the scabs when I shower; which was about four times a day. My poor mother had to buy almost six new soaps. Six! That is a lot for one damn week, even a month! Now that she has been buying all the soaps on the fuckin planet and our little incident in the kitchen, she knows something is up.

Another thing is that i also can't stop thinking about Bucky. He saved me.  How was I going to say thank you to him? I have no clue! Bake him a cake? No i'm its going to make me look like a fat ass, I mean I already am so that is out. Take him out to dinner? But what if he laughs at me and say no, there is another thing out. Fuck me, I have no idea what to give him to thank him.

"Y/n?" I opened my door and looked at Ed standing there with my clean, uneven folded clothes. Did he fold them? He did, didn't he. I felt my heart turn into jelly as he placed him on my bed, but the shakiness of his hand caught my attention. Then my heart began to awith sadness and joy, he was off the drug, but i hope he stays sober. When anything unfortunate happens he has a relapse. Maybe this is good and over for once.

"Thank you" I sincerely say.

"You going to work today?"

"Yep. I just used all of my vacation days in one week" Jesus, I only got so little days for vacation.

"Man, that blows" He lit up a cigarette.

"Yeah it does" I mumbled as I put my scarf around my neck. I turn and look at him as he lets out smoke and offered me. I take it and put it out, and he gives me a weird stare.

"We gotta stop" he nods his head and grabs my stuff to go downstairs.

-----------------------------------

"Ed?"

"Hmmm?" he stops in front of the diner.

"Can you pick me up at 2?"

"Umm i might knock out. but i can try" i give him a small grin and get out.

"Careful. A bunch of weirdos are out there" Yep I found that out a week ago. Just wave and go inside, I turned and he literally waited until I went in.

"Y/N welcome back!" Tom grabbed my shoulder and i quickly jump away.

"Thanks Tom" I normally try to say and put my coat and Bucky's sweater on the coat hanger. My mom washed it thinking it was Ed's.

Anxiety washed over me as i thought of Bucky. How in the world do you say 'thank you' to the man who saved your life? I nervously walked to the back to get my apron and found him reading with his earbuds in, I could slightly hear music leave the ear piece. He looked so concentrated it was kinda cute, it took me a few minutes to rip my eyes away from him and to check the coffee maker, to make a new batch.

"Hey Y/n" I looked at our famous customers Bill and Bill.

"Remember those two jerks hitting your machine?" Bill H said.

"yeah why?" i quickly say. Where they looking for me? Did they come and threatened the Diner?

" Why don't you tell her Tom?"

"Ya know how my cousin had that thing with her neck?" i nod my head and began gripping the mug tightly.

"Well I went to the hospital and found them two all beat up and shit. One had some broken ribs and the other had a huge swollen back eye and a broken nose. Someone beat them ugly" that's when Bucky came out to do his job. He still had his ear buds in so calling him would not do.

"Excuse me" I say and walk over to him. I catch his attention and takes off his ear buds, but my mouth became dry that word's didn't come out. He begins to rub his hands nervously and uncomfortable.

"Follow me" I managed to get out and walk back to the dish washer.

" Thank you" I say quivering. Some how I ended up with my arms around his firm waist. Oh God he's not hugging me back, I should let go.  removing my arms around him I look up at his ocean eyes to find him already looking at me.

"I was late" he mumbles.

"It was better to be late than to never be there"

"I'm sorry"

"You have no reason to be. You saved me"

His left hand slowly took off my scarf making me flinch,  his eyes widen with the sight of the marks. Where they that bad? The sound of his arm distracted me. Now it is my turn, I take hold of his hand and take off the glove, he has a panic in his eyes but something tells me to continue. Taking hold of his metal fingers I enjoyed the cold smoothness of them. He removes his hand away from mine only to move my hair to the side, to feel the bruised bite on my neck. When his fingers crossed the mark I feel myself relieved of fear and shiver because of the coolness of them. Slowly he brings his hand to the back of my neck and brings me into a warm hug. Tears began pouring out as he hold me. I was still scared and I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't! Also I couldn't let go of him, his touch was warm that i knew if i let go I would whine from the loss.

"Bucky!"  I let him go and wipe away the tears.

"Duty calls" he said and gave me a small smile, I just nodded and he walked off. Duty does call, huh. Well got to get back to work.

12:53

"Hey come help me out" Caroline nudged my elbow. I look at what she is carrying and its a bunch of salt shakers. I guess bitch ass Rosie didn't refill them, always leaving the work for us.

"What is in your mind Y/n?"

"Nothing much" i grabbed a new container of salt and noticed Caroline looking at me with a suspicious look.

“What?" i lean back slowly grabbing the next salt shaker.

"You and Mr. Barnes got something going on or what?" her smile was big and bright.

"Me and Bucky are friends"

 "Sure about that?" i nod my head without knowing the smile on my face.

"Whatcha smiling about?" great the queen of sass has arrived.

"Nothing!" i put my hands up as if i did a crime.

"Lair!"

 "okay okay." I chuckle and glance at Bucky.

"what do you think about Bucky?"

"Bucky!"she whispered and looked at Caroline.

 "hmmm well" she began checking him out and i felt a bothering feeling in my chest

"He's a mute." Bitch please he has a impeccable voice.

"He's dumb" HOe  i just saw him read a book. When has she read a book? Never I bet.

"He's not dumb" thank you Caroline.

“Oh my God, look at his hair! It's all dirty and long. UH NO" His hair is more Fabulous than yours.

"I'll still fuck him. He has a fuckable body" i just raised my hand to shut her up.

"What?" she asked

"This conversation is making me uncomfortable, i'm just going to walk away and forget what you said." as i was about to leave she grabbed my arm, pulled me back, grabbed my face and made me look at him.

"No no no no. Y/n, babe, am i right? i mean look at him"  my eyes scan over his body and damn! Rosie is right. His muscular form is very meticulous and intimidating. I never took the time to actually look at him and now that I am, I want to punch myself. I didn't even realised that Rosie let go until I got teased by Caroline.

"Stop drooling" Caroline whispers in my ear.

"I'm not!"

2:14

I've been waiting for Ed but I guess he did fall asleep. Letting out a annoyed sigh I get my stuff and look out the window. What if they come back? I just wanna go home to my comfortable bed, with some hot coffee and some Christmas sweets.

"Bye babe I gotta go!" Caroline ran out of the kitchen and kisses my cheek. Maybe she can take me home, I quickly grab her hoodie and she stumbles.

"What's a matter?" She questioned.

"Can you tak-" a car outside honked and she hugs me while running out. Well there goes my ride home.

I give up and make my way to the front door, Tom is still here so I don't have to close. My breath is noticeable that I feel like if I am calling for help like the Native Americans (go Tiguas!) did with the bonfire. It's getting colder and colder each day that I am putting on many layers of clothes that make me look fatter. As I was getting ready to run to my house the door from the diner opened. My heart began to race like if I was a NASCAR.

"Hey" I heard the familiar deep voice. Bucky.

"Oh hey" I softly said. He began walking with me and now my heart was still racing because he's next to me. The warmth of his arms around me came to mind, I began wanting to feel the warmth again. Just one more time.

"Woah" he muttered. My thoughts where interrupted and I hummed at him.

"The sky is beautiful. I never noticed it" looking up I see the beautiful sparks of light.

"It is" I say. A cold breeze hits me and I began snuggle with the scarf that my grandma knit me.

"You cold?"

"A bit"

"Come" come? Come where?

"Where?"

"Just come" he chuckled. He lead me to a apartment building and lead me to the back to a door.

"Its small, but Its warm." He opened the door and it was like a small studio. He let me in and my big wondering eyes scanned the room.

"Would you like some chocolate milk?"

"Chocolate milk?" He nodded his head as he scratched the back of his head. He offered me some chocolate milk? I felt my face heat up, that is the most innocent thing someone has offered me. Others offer me some beer or a cigarette something other than chocolate milk!

"You can sit down" he said as he took out some cups.

I thanked him once more and I looked around again. The place was little and he had all the simple stuff that you need to live. A bed, table, couch, etc. It was a comfortable place to stay.

"Here" he hands me the cup and sits on his bed taking off his thin sweater. Wasn't he cold?

"Sorry about the cups. Childish."

"I don't mind"

"They where the cheapest ones when I first got here." I gave him a chuckle and took a sip. It brought a smile to my face, It was my chocolate milk favorite as a kid.

"What?"

"I actually drank this brand of chocolate milk as a child. Thank you." He hummed and took a sip of his drink. I sneeked a glance when his lips touched the childish cup and I wondered how his lips felt.

"Want more?" I nod my head and get up to put my cup in the sink to wash it.

"I got it" he stopped me.

"I should get home."

I grabbed my bag and walked to the front door. He put on his sweater again and follows me. He was walking me home. How sweet! I can't believe this is happening to me?!

We walked quietly until i noticed that he was still looking at my neck. I felt uncomfortable. I don't want to feel like this with him.

"Bucky." he hummed.

"Please don't look at it."

"Sorry" he mumbles.

"Its an eye catcher, but Its uncomfortable" he gives me an apologetic stare. He continued walking in silence until we reached home.

"Bucky. It's my day off tomorrow and Christmas is in a week, so I was wondering if you wanted to go Christmas shopping with me, 10?" He nodded and bid him goodbye and walked inside to get ready for bed.

Tags: @tnupsweetpie. Masterlist