#just take the fucking car then bitch. ill kill myself in front of you

[witchersmistress]

Run Harper Run

Hello my darlings and welcome to another part of my rainstorm and hate sex series, ill have a better name for it one day lol its love/hate relationship with this series.

Trigger warning: Foul language, Violence, crulelty, and cold heartness

Word Count: 3k

Only now do I realize how dangerous that is. I thought I was keeping myself safe, not caring about anyone, not relying on anyone. But now, when I need protection, I’m alone. I’m the prey straying from the herd, and the predators are circling. I’m not just a lone gazelle being eyed by a lion, either. I’m a lone gazelle about to step on a boa constrictor while being circled by a pride of lions, a pack of hyenas, a leopard, and a cheetah. I’m not being paranoid. And I’m not scared. I’m fucking petrified.

The evening before work starts back, I hear a knock at the door. My heart lurches into my throat, and my pulse starts racing. I think about not answering, but the knock comes again, hard and demanding. If I don’t answer, he’ll kick down the door. I grab my knife and shove it into my combat boot before opening the door. Duke is standing on the stoop. I just about jumped out of my skin. “Hey, Harper,” he says, a flirty grin on his face. “Wanna go for a ride?” He smells like beer and looks like the shadow of my betrayal. I cross my arms and don’t move from the door. “Not even a little.” “Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “I was trying to make this fun. But we need you to go make a police report. Of course some jackass called the cops about the Rover the other day. They want any witnesses to make a statement.” “You don’t say. Someone actually called the cops about a car bomb?”

 “A shitty one,” he says. “It only blew up the engine. You weren’t even hurt.” “You sound disappointed.” He frowns. “Why would you say that? August could have been killed.” “So, did you kidnap Magnolia? Or let her get comfortable and let down her guard before you make a move?” “Now you’re catching on,” he says, like he’s proud that I know their scheming minds so well. “We don’t just run back and forth throwing grenades at each other. There’s finesse to these things. We’re not savages.” “You sure about that?” “Can we flirt in the car?” he asks. “August’s ready to get this over with.” My heart stops. August. Of course he’s here. Did I expect him to avoid me after the breakup like a little bitch? August doesn’t avoid anything painful. He’s even more masochistic than I am. “I’m sure the cops have enough statements already,” I say. “Just tell them I wasn’t hurt, and I don’t know anything about it. I have casework, so…” I start to close the door but Duke leans into the doorway, blocking it from closing. “It’s the last night of break, and your bag’s still at our house,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I know you’re not doing casework” “Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m cleaning the house.” “Harper,” he says, cracking a smile. “What a cute little excuse.”

He tries to see past me, but I step in front of him. I’m lying through my teeth. I just don’t want to be with them, not just because I’m not exactly excited to be in a car with August, but because I don’t know when Mr. D will act. “Seriously, you’re being weird,” Duke says. “What’s the big deal? You can give the cops your statement and get your bag. You’re going to have to see August at work tomorrow anyway.” “Okay,” I say grudgingly. If I keep making excuses, he’s going to get suspicious. Obviously Mr. D hasn’t exposed them yet, or I’d know about it. And if I act weird now, when it comes out, they might think back to this moment and start wondering. The safest thing to do is to act like I’m just being a bitch about the breakup. “You know I won’t take no for an answer, anyway,” Duke says, wiggling his brows. “But you can make a scene if you want me to carry you out over your shoulder. That might be kinda hot. Might even make August jealous. What do you think?” “I have no interest in making August jealous.” I follow him to his Hummer, my heart pounding. I don’t even have to fake this part. I really am the pussy who doesn’t want to face August. He doesn’t know what I did, but I know. While Duke circles around to hop up into the passenger seat as usual, I climb into the back of the Hummer with Baron, but my eyes stay on August. “Hey,” I say, trying to break the painful awkwardness. He doesn’t turn or even acknowledge me. We take off, and the doors lock automatically, and immediately I get a weird feeling.

I’m sure it’s my fault, but I’m still on alert, sitting on the edge of my seat and debating whether to bolt at the first stop sign, though that would definitely cue them into something going on. We turn onto the road downtown that leads to the police station, and I start to relax. I’ve been here enough to know I’m more or less safe inside. But when we reach the lot, August presses down on the gas, and we roar past the station. I grab for the door handle, panic slamming into my chest. “Where are we going?” I ask, yanking on the handle. He put on the fucking child-safe locks.

My heart drums against my ribs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “We’re just taking a little road trip,” Duke says, turning around to grin at me. “Everybody likes a road trip, don’t they, Harper?” I swallow hard, trying not to absolutely lose my shit. August runs through an intersection without even looking. A truck barrels straight toward us. I almost screamed. The driver blares the horn, slamming on the brakes as the grill looms huge outside my window. We streak past at the last second while they skid out of their lane and into a ditch. August doesn’t look. “You said we were going to talk to the cops,” I say, because I don’t know what to say, what to do, except stall. “Yeah, see, we already did that,” Baron says, reaching behind the seat and dragging my bag up. He drops it into my lap, but I don’t even notice the heavy books bruising my thighs.

The bag topples onto the floorboards. I consider reaching for my knife, but the odds of making it out of the car aren’t great if I cut one of them. August will run us into the river and drown us all on purpose. It would be smarter to wait until they stop and then cut and run. Baron pulls my phone out of his pocket, his thumb stroking the screen. “I was going to give this back, but I might just keep it for a while. It has so much interesting information on it.” I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow. I can’t even think.

But no. He’s fucking with me. It has a password. And he’s a master hacker. I’m so lightheaded I think I’ll pass right the fuck out. “Give me my phone,” I say, my lips stiff. Baron shrugs and hands it over like it’s nothing. I grip it until my fingers ache, wondering how I could find out what he saw, and whether he’d kill me if I tried to call the cops right now. “You know what’s fun to do on a road trip?” Duke asks, that obnoxious grin still on his face as he leers at me from the front seat. “Play games.” Baron stares at me, his eyes lit with the sadistic gleam they get when he’s about to have fun doing something that no one should find enjoyable. “You want to play a game, Harper?” “No, I don’t want to play a fucking game,” I say quietly as August turns onto the ramp to the interstate heading north. “Let me out of the car.” “Now, where’s the fun in that?” Duke asks. “We’re just getting started.” “How about twenty questions,” Baron says. “I’ve got a question,” August says, speaking for the first time since I got in the car. His voice is quiet and calm—eerily calm. “Who the fuck is Mr. D?”

August’s pov

 I pull up on the side of the highway and turn off the car. It doesn’t matter who sees us. Nothing will save Harper now. I should have known. That’s what I keep thinking. I should have fucking known. The second I unlock the doors, she’s out of the car and running across the soggy field beside the road, some kind of farmland with rows of brown dirt and green sprouts, trenches of water between them. “There are snakes in there,” Duke calls after her, a taunt in his voice. She hesitates, glancing from us to the field. Then she runs. Smart girl. She’d be lucky to be struck by a snake. Snakes can’t hurt her half as much as we will. They’ll kill her fast. We won’t show her the same mercy. “Guess she’d rather be with her kind,” Baron says, grabbing a bag from the trunk.

We start across the field, sloshing through the slippery, spongey mud. Cold water rushes into my boots. Harper’s already halfway through the field to the trees beyond, where the lazy spring sun filters through the budding branches. It’s almost pretty, her last sunset. I’m not worried about losing her. She can’t outrun us. She’s just making our job easier. She could have made us carry her. Not that any of it matters. It’s over for her. This was always the end, even if it came sooner than I wanted, even if it’s more final than the others. We usually don’t finish them off. We let them live their broken lives, remembering what they had and lost. Harper never had anything to lose. That’s what threw me off. She has only her life to give. I’m calm, knowing what has to be done. The rage came fast and lasted longer, sank deeper than usual, but it’s under control now. I know I’m not only angry at Harper, that my rage is bigger than her, than either of us. I’m furious at myself for my weakness. For caring. And even though I didn’t try, or even realize it, I trusted her in some small way.

Not with information, but enough to let myself feel something again. She uncovered a weakness. That was my mistake. Now I’m paying. She’ll pay, too. She should have known better than to cut through the stone crust inside me with her jackhammer claws. She should have known the fiery rage of lava below would swallow us both. I fed it to the monster, and he came to life, came to protect us. Only he can cool the rage. He’s cold, focused. The monster doesn’t deal in the currency of emotion. He’s here to collect a debt from a Darling, and that’s all. We reach the far side, and I point to the spot where she went into the woods. We can hear her sloshing through the water that sits around the base of the trees in this dreary, swampy wetland. She’s not hard to find, even when she stops and hides in the trees. The ripples in the water give her away. I stand back and watch Baron and Duke darting after her as she races away from them.

They like to play, and I let them. When they catch her, she slips through their hands. She falls, sinking into the water. I could make it easy for her, push her under and watch the bubbles come up from her mouth and life go out of her eyes. But my brothers drag her up. They want to play more. The weakness inside me rises, but I don’t push it down. I hold it up, forcing it to see, to accept. She’s not mine any longer. They can do what they want to her. She throws a punch, knocking Duke back, then knees Baron in the nuts and smashes his face on her knee. He stumbles back, blood gushing from his nose. The next second, she has a knife in her hand, slashing at Duke’s throat.

He knocks her aside, and the knife tears through his shoulder instead of his neck, leaving a deep gash in the muscle. He swears, and she spins, raising the knife as Baron stumbles back, still holding his crotch. She lunges forward in the water, knife flashing, teeth bared, her eyes wild as a trapped animal. He holds up a hand to block her. She swipes the knife across his palm, striking swiftly and fiercely. Red swirls into the water and pulses in my temple. That’s enough. They’re done playing.

That’s the last Walker blood this Darling will ever draw. I leap at her, catching her from behind before twisting her around and slamming her up against a tree, her feet lifted off the ground. She swings the knife, but I have better instincts than my brothers. I’m a fighter, too. I grab her wrist and twist, feeling the bones snapping and her cry of pain as if they’re far away. The knife tumbles into the water, and I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze, just like I did the very first time I saw her. I should have killed her then. She kicks and fights, but I don’t feel it. I squeeze until she stops breathing, and then I let her body fall. Instead of sinking under the surface, she lands on her hands and knees in the water, gasping and crying into the water. Fuck. I didn’t hold on long enough, I didn't knock her out. But it doesn’t matter. We’ve got time. “Don’t kill her, dude,” Duke says. “You promised we could have her when you were done.” Harper starts groping around in the water for her knife. She’s soaked and shivering, covered in mud and swamp water. This is where she’s always belonged, in the dirt and filth, and where she’ll return after the last moments of her short life. Duke and Baron wrestle her to her feet and march her forward, to a little hillock raised from the water, a big tree standing in the center of it.

I watch my brothers tie her arms, then bind the rope around a tree. “August,” she begs, twisting around to see me. Her eyes are wide with terror. I can tell she’s trying to reach me, trying to find the connection between us. But she severed that with the blade of her vengeance long before she took a knife to my brothers. “I’m sorry. Please.” I stare at her. “I don’t know who he is,” she says. “I thought he might be one of you,I owed him, and he wouldn’t let me stop. I tried to stall, to give him unimportant details, so I wouldn’t have to hurt you.” I want to laugh, but I can’t seem to remember how. “Did you read them all? To the end?” she asks, her voice desperate and pleading. She once told me she’d never beg. She was always a liar. “I cut him off, August. I knew for months, and I wasn’t going to tell him. I couldn’t do that to you. But you were going after innocent people… I’m sorry I said anything. And I’m so sorry that you have to do that. I wanted to help you. But you’re ruining people who don’t deserve it.” “You deserve it.” “I told him I’d never talk to him again.” “Do you really think I care?” I can hardly believe the audacity of this bitch. But this isn’t my first dance with an enemy. I know what they do, how they think. “Please,” she says. “Please don’t kill me.” “I’m not going to kill you,” I say. “And I won’t speak to you again.” “Please,” she says again, as if she’s forgotten every other word. So, I say the words, the ones I’ve regretted for the last two years.

It seems fitting somehow, that they’re my last words to her, too. I speak to them slowly, savoring the painful ache and weight of each one. “You are dead to me.” It feels good to say them. After repeating them in my head a hundred thousand times over the past two years, saying them aloud brings a kind of closure. It’s a relief, as if I’ve severed a gangrenous limb.

That’s what a heart is. A parasite eating away at me, a disease corrupting me one day at a time, deceiving me into thinking that I’m still little August in some dark corner of my mind. But I’m not little August. And now he’s cut away cleanly, and I am only the monster. “She’s yours,” I tell my brothers. “Do what you want.” I don’t turn away. I don’t enjoy watching the scene, but I won’t spare myself. I will witness this, and witness how I am able to feel nothing. The monster has grown fat in two

 years of rage and pain, and he is more powerful than any emotion a mortal man would feel. He has complete control. It’s truly impressive. I watch them silence her. Strip her. I watch her fight, and I watch them overpower and punish her. For a moment I waver. Some part of me wants to kill them for touching her. But that is weakness, and the monster doesn’t allow for weakness. The monster is me now, and I am him. And he knows what must be done. Mercy is weakness, and though she may have been my weakness, he has none. This isn’t about her at all.

I could have followed the footprints around her house to the back and shot her through the window while she slept. This way… This is the monster’s way, the twins’ way. This is the only way to show my blind heart the truth—she is no longer mine. She never was. When they’re done, they crack open beers and make a toast. I’m not here for the celebration. I’m not here to see what sick torments they can think up. I’ve seen enough. I saw to it that she was punished, made myself witness enough to ensure that I would never be weak enough to see her as mine again. Now it’s done, and I feel nothing. It’s final. I turn and walk away. That’s the difference between Harper and Crystal. That’s why those same five words destroyed me once and set me free the second time. I didn’t mean them when I said them to Crystal. That was never meant to be a goodbye. It was a goodbye for Harper. The fitting words as I leave her to die.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x you #henry cavill thirst #august walker fanfic #august walker #august walker imagines #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill characters #henrycavill smut

[lifblogs]

So I made a mistake with scheduling earlier and my mom said it was CRUEL. Yeah, uh huh, a sick person going through an intense health treatment that makes them more sick for awhile is CRUEL for fucking forgetting an appointment day/time.

She also kept telling me she treats me like a child because adulting makes me suicidal.

I… I almost tried very hard not to be here 12 hours ago. Archer talked to me, and after Loki yelled at my mom for making me cry he came and cuddled with me.

I thought I didn’t deserve anything. I didn’t deserve my belongings, I didn’t deserve my room, I didn’t deserve food, I didn’t deserve to breathe, and I certainly didn’t deserve my cat. After a few minutes cuddling with Loki my thoughts began to change, and I started planning what I could do with Loki later. (Though I definitely think she’ll use me reacting to abuse badly [oh wow, who wouldn’t?] as an excuse to not take Loki to the vet. She doesn’t even believe he’s sick, even when he has post-ictal symptoms right fucking in front of her.)

The thoughts have gone… back and forth. A lot. But now I just realize how ridiculous it is that I am 25 and she treats me like a child because I’m mentally ill. I also tried telling her she treated me like a child at a recent doctor’s appointment, and she denied the entire thing.

She literally started off some of her bs yesterday with, “I’m not being cruel, but this is why I treat you like a child,” after I said I know HOW to adult, but I literally want to die every time I do. So. Fucked. Up.

She also said she won’t help me with appointments AT ALL if she can’t treat me like a child. She needs to fucking stop with these ableist ultimatums and her fucking black and white thinking. She also asked why I can’t just do the appointments on my own. I don’t know, Beth, maybe it’s the fucking seizure disorder. Maybe there are a ton of potential triggers I’d come across in an uber. Maybe I can’t fucking speak for myself when I’m that sick. Maybe I will feel dizzy and need a god damn wheelchair that I can’t fucking push because my wrist is in a splint. Maybe I have an emergency med that someone ELSE has to administer because I wouldn’t fucking be able to.

I also believe she’ll use all this as a reason not to get me a wheelchair. She’s already being a bitch about that one. She kept saying she’d get one from her friend, and when I tried to be dead serious about it she said it wouldn’t fit in the car or the apartment. Thanks for getting my fucking hopes up that I could get help. And oh no, I’m apparently a bitch for wanting to kill myself for being abused because I’m sick, so I don’t deserve any help whatsoever and it’d be better if I just suffer. Thanks, Mom. /s 🖕

I just cannot believe she also said she would continue to abuse me. I’m sorry, but how does that help anyone? Guess it certainly helps herself. Well, she can go fuck herself.

#personal #suicidal thoughts #not having them rn #but holy crap #my mom #abuse

[kiilonova]

kind of losing it with how everything costs money usually at least 100 dollars and like THATS TOO MUCH! THATS TOO MUCH! I DONT HAVE THAT! i cant sell jewelry for more than $10 apiece bc everyone who likes my art is broke!

#cro zone #impulse-bought a tablet to replace my laptop which has been half-bricked into a desktop #for whom we only have the tv as a monitor rn #but um. theres still a bunch of stuff we need yeah #the state of georgia like the state admin is going straight to hell all of them. what the fuck do you mean speeding ticket over $800 #just take the fucking car then bitch. ill kill myself in front of you #scam system wouldve literally cost us our apartment if josh didnt happen to get a holiday bonus (that didnt even fully cover it) #man. i want a table. i want vegetables. i want to afford going to the doctor #i think the cyst that burst is ahving complications but i cant afford the er again #and im out of my antibiotics which were super loadbearing apparently #bc now my skin is a grease pan and ive been having constant stomach aches #and my appetite is gone which is a bad sign since im still on t #and my joints fucking hurt so bad all the time that its making me even more blind than i usually am #im so hurt and worried and sad and im never going to get any peace bc i started adult life broken anyway #and im not rich enough to get other people to take care of me #i really destroyed my health working at bath and body works for like 1200 total #like how could i not kms at this point like i cant take it anymore i want to give up

[sunshine-alibaba]

some excerpts from various Magi stuff i have in drafts:

*notes are bold

~~~

He’d either shrivel up into the fetal position and cry on the floor of the parking lot, randomly start throwing hands at the next person he saw, or he'd drive off and probably crash his car in the process (again). Any of them work.

~~~

He was soon startled out of his deep thinking when a hand tapped him on the shoulder--shocking him so bad he screamed like a dying ostrich and fell onto the floor with the grace of a chicken being chased by a feral coyote.

~~~

The taller man smiled in a concerned way, making Alibaba feel as if he was the biggest idiot on the planet because he didn’t know something as simple as how to cry (which he did quite often, so he does know how, thank you very much).

~~~

He was such a fucking dumbass. Dumb of ass. Dumber than ass. Dumbest of the ass.

~~~

Buffie cleared his throat. “Well, anyway… Uh, where did you hit my car?”

Alibaba was confused. “Here… In the parking lot…?”

Buffie blinked for the fifth time. “I meant on the car…”

~~~

"I died and was brought back to life; I am outside the god's jurisdiction."

~~~

"My bones are filled with rage and my blood with anger. You think you could kill me with fire? All you did was make my blood boil, like water boiling over a flame."

~~~

"I have experienced death face to face in the most intimate way one ever could, and yet here I am, standing right in front of you. What makes you think the likeness of you, a mere solider controlled by the hands of the monarchy, could ever hope to quell me?"

~~~

“My name is Ugo. You are currently in the Sacred Palace. You’ve just died, but you were not meant to die so soon.”

“What the hell is the Sacred Palace??”

“It’s like a control room of sorts. I am essentially the governing body of your world.”

“So… you’re God? Our Lord?”

“N-no… Not really… I am a god of sorts, but I'm not the God--”

[squints] “You control our world, right??”

“Well, yes--”

“Then you’re God, aren’t you?”

“I--” [sigh of defeat, shoulders slump] “Sure. Yeah, I’m God.”

“Great! How the fuck did I get here.”

~~~

If you think you’ve ever seen emo before, wait till you meet this bitch

~~~

she literally Jumps Off The Boat And Swims To Port just as the boat takes off

~~~

they make out and cry its great

~~~

these last ones are more of a bonus. i was taking down notes when trying to get info on the other demons from the Lesser Key of Solomon for AUs and OCs and i think some of them are very funny. the stuff in brackets [] is my commentary, otherwise its notes. ill put the name of the demon in parentheses () in front of the note. all the info i got is from wiki bc i just wanted a vague idea and nothing big, wanted to leave the interpretation up to myself.

(Asmodeus) Hates water and birds apparently [weird but go off ig]

(Gaap) Steals familiars from others [????] [*takes ur dog*]

(Gaap) Can make men stupid [LMFAOOOOO]

(Seere) Helps in finding hidden treasures or in robbery [Alibaba getting this Djinn instead of Amon: ayo? *calls over the Fog Troupe*]

(Sallos) Rides a crocodile [ohh this guy fucks, thats wicked]

(Gremory) Described as the “Munich Manual of Demon Magic” [okay it said described in the “Munich Manual of Demon Magic” but im leaving this here bc its funny]

(Gremory) Appears in the form of a beautiful woman, but still uses he/him pronouns [so valid]

(Vapula) Depicted as a griffon winged lion [isnt that just what griffon’s are?? Um ok]

(Orias) “3 riding upon a Horse Mighty and Strong” [like has three horses or theres three of him?? Whats happening here]

(Andrealphus) Appearance of a peacock [ooooohhh fancyyyy]

(Andrealphus) “but also including the ability to make men subtle in all things pertaining to Mensuration” [I THOUGHT THAT SAID MENSTRUATION SEND HELP]

#magi #magi but not #my posts #magi the kingdom of magic #magi the labyrinth of magic #alibaba saluja #magi ugo

[callsignbaphomet]

My aunt drove me to the appointment and I was hesitant at first because she is...a stress factor in my life. I know for sure she doesn't mean to be and I'm sure she doesn't even realize she's doing it but it ain't easy talking to her. I feel like my entire family is prone to playing the victim.

Example. A few years ago my aunt planned out a vacation for all of us to go on. The majority of us didn't want to go. It started disastrously bad when my idiot brother wanted to take the long way which here in PR it means going through the middle of the island which meant taking roads that were curves over curves over curves. I get car/motion sickness. I said this aloud. My aunt and my mom have witnessed this first hand. Solution? I gotta drive to avoid throwing up. I didn't want to drive because I didn't know the directions, even then we got super lost, and I was on some medication that forced my p****d out and I didn't wanna go on this vacation but was forced to go (this is me as an adult btw 😐).

So what happened? We had to pull over so I could throw up on the side of the road. I was beyond pissed. The rest of the week went from bad to worse. My sister and her husband insisted that all they wanted to do was go to the beach. I don't like going to the beach, I don't like swimming, I don't like pools, I don't like getting wet. First time at the beach I was on the shore overheating and heavily bleeding and I looked miserable but yeah I'm soooo glad that bitch and her bitch husband had soooo much fun.

Following day they (sister and her husband) wanted to go to another beach. My mom spoke up and said I wouldn't be able to go into the water and didn't think it was fun to just sit at the shore all day. Someone finally remembered me 🙄

So C, who had had enough of the trip since the start had been super quiet and I got a little angry at him for not speaking up either. Turns out he was on the phone searching for interesting things to do in the area aside from going to the fucking beach. So he asked my aunt if he and I could borrow her car. She said okay and during the entire stay all they did was follow my idiot sister from one beach to another, that's ALL they did. Beach hopping.

Meanwhile C and I went to see some weird salt flats, we saw a fuck old lighthouse and befriended some cats, we went to a really old church with an amazingly beautiful garden full of flowers. On the third day we went out to a park and had ice cream. Loooots of ice cream. So all in all C managed to make that disaster better. When he and I got back to the apartment my sister was putting on a show about how C and I didn't wanna spend time with the family.

Dude, I went from 0 to 1 trillion in 1 second and I swear I was gonna lunge at her but C grabbed me basically by the scruff of the neck and held me back and quietly said, "If that's what you think that's a you problem." and we went to take a shower. Which btw only had two temperatures: third degree burn and lava coming out of Satan's butthole. You can imagine how great that felt in the middle of summer in the south side of PR.

Fourth day was an all out disaster cuz my idiot brother, who btw, first day there kicked me and C out cuz he wanted our room cuz it was the only one with ac and he needed it because his crack whore ass was detoxing from some meds. Was yelling and screaming about going to kill himself (read: he wanted something and no one was indulging him so he used the excuse to kill himself to manipulate my mom and aunt to get him what he wanted).

That day was a mess of people pointing fingers and mostly my sister shoving blame everywhere and basically calling out my aunt for making us all go on this vacation when no one else wanted to go.

Drive back was awkward as fuck all with my aunt crying and feeling bad and me and C on damage control. She was super mad that all they did was go to the beach and asked me and C about all we did so we did and tried to make her feel better because my sister told her she has a lot of flaws she needs to work on and now she all boo hoo. Sure, my sister coulda worded it better but I'm glad it happened.

My aunt is one of those "my way or the highway" type of people. She gets set on one thing and noooooothing will change her mind. She constantly hounds me about doing something "productive" with my art. I often just shrug and ignore her but this is constant. I don't sketch in front of her anymore because it's every single time. She also doesn't take social clues, she outright ignores them on purpose. If a subject makes someone uncomfortable she'll keep prying because in her eyes you're probably not working hard enough or doing your best.

On the way to the doctor she brought up art again. I outright told her I wasn't going to do it. I wanted to say not everything has to be about making money but I held on to that one. I told her it was hard to establish a network, that I would be competing with thousands and thousands of people and that it was hard.

All she got outta that was that everything is hard and I'd have to work hard to get out there and establish myself.

Bruh...I was stunned.

So I outright told her no. I don't want to. My art is for peace of mind and she dropped it but I just know she'll bring it up again.

Look. As a hobbyist my art is okay but me charging people for that??? Who the fuck would??? Pay for that???? Jfc.

So we moved on to yet another uncomfortable subject and she said I may have ptsd. Dude...no offense but ya ain't a doctor (thank fuck). So she told me I should check to see a psychologist because then I'd have the tools to handle things better. Fair. I have been thinking about that to see if maybe I can finally get an answer to several things or if maybe I'm making all this dumb shit up in my head. But that was about all the logical shit she said.

She even thinks people are actually not working because they wanna live off unemployment and don't wanna work.

My face went blank. I tried explaining to her that people are protesting unsafe work environments, slave labor/wages, shitty bosses and she heard all of that (granted maybe I could explained it better) and all she said was, "You gotta start somewhere and from there go up".

Then it struck me that of course she'd never understand. This woman NEVER had to work during her entire years of college or even her master's. She has NEVER worked a minimum wage job ever in her entire life. I wanna find articles on what is going on with that and send them to her. She's all of what I said and more but she can sooooometimes see reason. To be honest I'm angry and disappointed in her. She always seemed to adhere to more open minded concepts in terms of society, how differences in generations was good for all of us in general, who's taken to learning what she can about mental illnesses and trauma and so on. She still has much to learn about those last two, she still can't comprehand how me making phone calls scares the fuck outta me, but it's a start? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Idk I just needed to let all of that out. I love her, she's done a lot for me but she's also been a source of stress for me and I can't openly talk to her about anything because she's not easy to talk to. Sorry for the length.

#werewolf howls at dusk

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not Losing You (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is pulled over on the side of the road when a man suddenly appears and proceeds to collapse in front of her. Little does she know, that may be a good thing for them both...

Masterlist

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,200ish

Warnings: language, life-threatening illness, implied past sexual harassment

A/N: Please read the warnings and be aware that there’s a lot of morbid talk in this one...

_____

“Hey, you alright?” you heard. Your car was pulled over on the side of the road and you were staring off into the distance so the voice had more than startled you. After a slight flinch, you looked over your shoulder, a man in a pair of grease covered jeans and light gray t shirt standing there. Another car was parked behind yours and you figured he was trying to be a good samaritan, probably assuming you had car trouble.

“Waiting for triple A,” you said quietly, forcing a smile. You looked back at his car and nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Not to be nosy but you don’t look okay,” he said. He nodded towards your face and your eyes, probably a bit puffy still if you had to guess. You glanced away and back at the ground. “Miss?”

“I appreciate you want to help but I’m fine, alright?” you said. 

“Well, that’s not true but maybe we can deal with your problem after mine,” he said. You frowned and spun back around, noticing for the first time he looked ill. “I uh, I really ain’t feeling so hot and I don’t think I can drive my car again without passing out so would you do me a favor and call me an ambulance?”

“Are you…” you said as the man leaned against your car and proceeded to fall over onto the pavement out cold. “Okay. Definitely not alright.”

“Miss, we’re all set now. I can drive you back to your car if you’re ready,” said the cop you’d talked to in the hospital waiting room an hour later.

“Yeah. Thanks. Is that guy gonna be okay?” you asked as you headed out with him. 

“I’m not sure. I’m sure he’s glad you called an ambulance though,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said, looking back over your shoulder. “I’m sure he is.”

You were gone for four hours before you found yourself back at the hospital, heading to Dean Winchester’s room with a tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies.

“Hey,” you said, knocking on the door, Dean looking away from the TV with a smile. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him strapped to a stretcher.

“Hey! If it isn’t…” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, walking in and setting the tub down on the small table at the end of bed.

“Dean but I’m guessing you already know that,” he said. “Cookies too? I think you got this backwards. You saved my ass, I make you the cookies.”

“It’s no big deal. You seemed like you were having a bad day,” you said.

“You too,” he said. “Your car didn’t really have any trouble, did it.”

“No. It was just a rough moment but then you came along and put it into perspective,” you said.

“Yeah. My body is shot to shit. It’s not anything I didn’t know before. It’s just starting to wear down more than I’d like. But I promised we’d take care of your problem too didn’t I before I passed out in front of you,” he said, nodding towards the empty chair.

“Oh, that’s…” you said, the man smiling at you and you couldn’t not take a seat. “I mean, it’s nothing compared to whatever you got going on.”

“Apples and oranges. Come on. Vent away. You earned it,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well I moved here by myself about six months ago. I don’t know anyone here. I got fired after I bitched out my boss and I just feel like I keep fucking up life. I’m so alone and I’m so tired of it,” you said, the man watching you as he ate a cookie. “Sorry. I know how pathetic that sounds. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“Y/N. Look at me,” said Dean, pointing down at himself. “You ain’t pathetic. It sounds like you’re having a rough go of it lately is all.”

“Not as rough as some,” you said.

“Don’t compare your pain to somebody else’s. My first nurse taught me that,” he said.

“You been sick awhile?” you asked.

“Since I was about twenty three, going on six years now. I got bad bone marrow. No matches. I’m kinda getting used to the fact that my last birthday was probably my last one,” he said.

“And yet you ask about my crappy day,” you said.

“Of course. You know, being kinda close to death is nice. See, normal Dean, he’d be too cocky for his own good, flirt with you, do the whole one of us is shy but secretly likes it thing. Now...now I can say with absolute certainty that if you are that gorgeous when you’re upset, you’re gonna damn near kill me when I see you smile,” he said.

“Oh my God,” you said with a laugh, Dean putting a hand on his heart. “You are something else.”

“Yeah but I can get away with that shit cause I’m all vulnerable,” he said, flashing you a wink.

“Well you put a smile on my face today,” you said as you stood up. 

“Still too cocky for my own good,” he said. “Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah. For sure,” you laughed.

“That’s a cute sound. Keep doing more of that,” he said. 

“To think ordinarily I’d think you’re way too good looking for me,” you said. “I don’t even remember the last time I flirted with a guy.”

“Things must be looking up for me,” he smiled.

“I hope you find a match, Dean,” you said.

“Me too. Oh and Y/N,” he said as you walked towards the end of the bed. “Promise me something. Go flirt with the guy you think is too good looking for you. One of us should end up with a hottie and it looks like you’re gonna have to pick up my slack.”

“I promise, Dean.”

You waved as you left, heading past the nurses station outside when you stilled and went back.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

“Actually, yeah, you can.”

“Hey,” said Dean a few days later, walking down the hospital hallway in a pair of pajama pants and tee shirt. He looked you up and down and frowned. “Y/N. Don’t tell me you got something going on, sweetheart.”

“Just a routine test, Dean,” you said, giving him a smile as he took a seat on a bench in the hall. “You doing okay?”

“Never better,” he said. “I saw it was raining pretty good outside today.”

“Yeah. I don’t mind it. You been here since Monday?” you asked, Dean nodding. “When do you think you can go home?”

“Maybe this afternoon. Mostly I need a ride,” he said. “My car privileges have been temporarily revoked after the whole almost passing out while driving thing.” 

“I can give you a ride,” you said. He smiled but shook his head. “Come on. You can teach me how to flirt better so I can land that hottie.”

“Alright,” he laughed as he stood up. “Swing by my room after your test is done.”

“Sure thing,” you said.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks,” he said.

“For what?”

“For treating me like I’m some normal guy and not someone with an expiration date,” he said.

“Expiration date? What are you, milk?”

You swore you’d never seen a human being burst out into laughter harder. He put a hand over his mouth and started to giggle, shaking his head as a nurse went past. You started to laugh, the sound of him too sweet not to. A nurse shushed the two of you from down the hall which only made him giggle more.

“That is the most ridiculous…” he laughed, trying to get a hold of himself. “Oh, I haven’t laughed that hard in forever. You’re such a dork and I love it.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Dean,” you said, Dean winking at you again. “Alright, Casanova. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart.”

“Your apartment is...cute,” you said, standing in the entrance when Dean chuckled.

“It’s a pigsty. I haven’t cleaned in forever. Totally how you want to impress the hot chick,” he said, walking back towards the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

“Water’s fine,” you said, watching him disappear a moment before he returned to the living area with two bottles. He took a seat and you joined him on the couch.

“Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it,” he said.

“I don’t have a job anymore so I have plenty of free time,” you said, Dean letting out a quiet laugh. 

“Yeah, speaking of which, I never got the rundown on what happened,” he said. “You said you were fired.”

“Well...I sort of slapped my boss in the face...after hitting him in the nuts,” you said.

“You’re awesome,” he said. “Oh, tell me how bad he deserved it.”

“Like sexual harassment bad,” you said.

“You should sue,” said Dean.

“I did hit him.”

“Self-defense. If I were you, I’d sue,” he said.

“Maybe. I have to find a job in the meantime,” you said.

“The hospital is always hiring,” he said. “I have no idea what you do for a living but I hear they pay well.”

“You just want an excuse to come see me,” you said.

“Duh,” he smirked.

“I’ll look into it, lover boy,” you teased.

“Hey, Y/N. I know we’re basically strangers and all that are simply incredibly attracted to one another and have this brewing sexual tension but…” he said, a stupid smile forming on your face. “Oh, don’t deny it.”

“Yes, Dean?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I gotta ask, for my own sake. Did you drive me home and bring me cookies cause you feel sorry for me?” he asked.

“No,” you said, turning away slightly.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense,” he said. You shrugged and felt him bump your arm.

“You, with all of your own shit to deal with, asked me if I was okay. You seemed just as concerned that I was okay and...people don’t really do that,” you said. 

“Yeah. I get that,” he said quietly. “You get sick with something like this and eventually people stop asking if you’re okay too. It’s like people stop looking at you like you’re a person. I’m not even that bad yet. I don’t want to know how lonely it gets when it does.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I used to have a lot of friends. A lot. Now it’s a handful. People want to separate themselves before it gets to a certain point. I don’t blame them. It’s hard is all,” he said.

“That’s stupid. People suck,” you said, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll be your friend.”

“Friend? Oh, we’re going all the way, sweetheart,” he said with a chuckle.

“You’re such a loser,” you said as you stood up.

“Well that’s nothing new,” he said. “You heading out?”

“Do you want me to head out?” you asked.

“What do you think?” he smirked.

“I’ll swing by around six with some pizza,” you said, Dean nodding. “You are allowed to eat that, right?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll see you soon then, Y/N.”

“Ah, mechanic. Okay. Now I get why you were half covered in grease on the side of the road,” you said that night. Dean hummed around a slice of pizza, looking relaxed and a whole lot better at home in his sweats.

“I got a deal going with the shop owners. I come in only on days I’m feeling up it,” said Dean.

“You seem like you’re doing better today,” you said.

“Yeah. Monday was rough but I felt better after that. I get tired kinda fast sometimes is all,” he said.

“And pass out,” you said.

“Needed a transfusion. I always feel better after those,” he said.

“Does it hurt? A transfusion,” you asked, popping a piece of crust in your mouth.

“Nah. Spinal tap? Now that fucker hurts,” he said. “Basically they shove a needle into your back and expect you to stay perfectly still.”

“Not to sound stupid but I’m not up on my bone marrow diseases so how do you exactly get bad bone marrow?” you asked.

“There’s a few ways. Cancer is common, which I don’t like that word but that’s the kind I have. Chemo makes me feel pretty bad so I stopped. No point right now. I got no donor, and apparently I’m special or some shit so it makes it rarer for me to find a match to start with, so I’m sorta screwed,” he said.

“If you got one, a donor, does it go away?” you asked.

“If I take to the transplant and manage not to get sick the first few weeks, my odds go up. If I make it to a year after that, my odds are really good,” he said. “It’s entirely possible I’d be fine for the rest of my life. But it’s not exactly healthy to focus on it happening considering my odds.”

“Well, don’t give up for me. Who knows, you might get a date out of it,” you said.

“A date huh,” he smiled. “That sounds nice but real talk, we ought to stick this to strictly friendship if you get what I’m saying.”

“Oh,” you said.

“I mean, I would love to but I’m not gonna do that to you,” he said.

“Do what to me?”

“Date you just so I can go ahead and keel over,” he said.

“Dean. That’s not fair,” you said.

“You don’t want to date me. Go date that hottie, remember?” he teased.

“Maybe I will,” you said, leaning over, Dean looking all kinds of shy suddenly. “What?”

“You’re really...pretty,” he said quietly. 

“Thank you,” you said, shifting back to your seat with heat in your cheeks. You glanced away and felt his hand on your cheek.

“Last chance,” he said.

“Last chance?” you asked.

“To cut this off at friends,” he said.

“I thought you-“

“Hey, if I’m fucked, I’m going out with a girlfriend like you,” he said. “Obviously you’re free to change your mind anytime. This isn’t-“

You moved your head and he went with you, pressing his lips to yours.

“This isn’t...typical...wow, I am so happy I decided to fall on my face in front of you,” he said.

“Thanks for asking if I was okay,” you said.

“Anytime,” he said, shifting back into his spot. 

“Um,” you said. “Can I...sit closer?”

“I won’t break,” he said, raising his arm for you to sit against his side.

“I’m totally doing this because I’m closer to the pizza now. Don’t let this go to your head or anything,” you said.

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that now.”

“Hey,” said Dean the next day at the hospital. He looked like he was picking up a prescription as you were cutting through the lobby. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just going through my test results with my doctor,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and you looked past him. “Lady doctor stuff.”

“Oh. Well, you have fun with that and if you’re up for it, meet me at 7 at The York,” he said.

“The York? Isn’t that like a super fancy restaurant?” you asked.

“Better wear a cute dress then,” he winked as he went past. “I’ll text you later.”

“It’s too fancy for a first date, Dean!” you said.

“Trust me. I got this. You’re gonna love it,” he said, waving before he headed out. You shook your head and went to the elevators, riding one up to the fourth floor. You had to wait about fifteen minutes before you went in, leg bouncing the whole time.

“Y/N? Dr. Ross will see you now,” said an admin.

“Thanks,” you said, following her into an office and finding Dr. Ross standing by the window enjoying a cup of coffee.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you,” he said, holding out a hand.

“You too,” you said as he waved for you to take a seat. “Nice office.”

“A little stuffy for my tastes. I prefer to be working out on the floor. I know you only had your testing done yesterday but I wanted to bring you in so we could talk.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked with a swallow.

“Oh, yes. Perfectly fine and healthy. Please don’t worry about that. Normally you wouldn’t get a call from us unless something was wrong but this situation is a little unique,” he said.

“Unique how…” you asked, Dr. Ross leaning against his desk.

“Well, you have a very specific marker. Not many people have it. It makes you a little rarer than the average person,” he said. “Still all perfectly healthy.”

“What’s the situation?” you asked.

“I have a patient you match with. If you’re willing, I’d like to get you two paired up so maybe a month from now, he can get treatment,” he said.

“You found a match already?” you asked.

“Yes. He’s local. Most potential marrow donors don’t have this marker which is why I wanted to meet in person to discuss. The odds of someone else showing up on the donor list in a time while he’s still healthy enough to go through with the transplant process are astronomical. You don’t have to agree today but please consider it,” he said.

“Your patient is Dean Winchester, isn’t it,” you said.

“How would you know that?”

“I signed up to be on the list because of him. I didn’t think I’d...match him,” you said, looking up at Dr. Ross. “I like just started dating him.”

“Oh. Well the situation continues to get more unique,” he said. “It’s no issue, perhaps a personal one but that’s for you to decide.”

“I’ll do it,” you said. “I might not have insurance but I don’t care. I’m doing it.”

“Let’s worry about insurance later. Your end of it will be minimal and there’s plenty of special things we can do to make sure you don’t pay a thing. If you want to do this, really do this, I’ll get him back in chemo Monday morning,” he said. “I’m not putting him through such an aggressive treatment for nothing though.”

“I’m doing this. Trust me.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #au

[savage-rhi]

what would higgs do if gene was like unavailable relationship-wise because we all need jealous Higgs in our lives ok

@avenged-nightmare YO. You made me think of this whole drabble when I was in the car doing errands. I think you’re right we need some jelly Higgs 😂💙

Higgs was never the type to regret much, but he could feel it twist and coil in his chest as he watched the locals in town dance to music a small band was playing. As his eyes scanned the horizon, looking over everyone’s happy-go-lucky demeanor, his gaze settled on Gene. Under most circumstances, he would have been amused watching her having fun with folks. Higgs wasn’t a social butterfly, hadn’t been for three years since he went into hiding after Amelie tried to destroy the universe and all life in it, but Gene made it interesting for him. That was until Nick came into the picture. 

Higgs was beating himself up, watching Gene and Nick from afar laughing at some sort of joke before they started dancing. The two couldn’t keep their hands off each other even if their lives depended on it. 

Since Higgs and Gene decided to rest in a settlement after escaping MULEs and needed to ration up for the delivery Eastbound, she had been with Nick the entire time. He was local, an ex-porter turned carpenter in a world where BTs no longer dwelled on earth and civilization could rebuild. A young guy in his late thirties, dark features, a muscled body, had his shit together unlike someone else. Nicks energy outshined Higgs’s charisma, and Gene took to him like a moth to a flame. There was chemistry, even if Higgs dismissed it. 

It shouldn’t have bothered Higgs. Gene could mingle with whoever she wanted. She had needs and Higgs respected that, but that didn’t tamper down how pissed off he was knowing they were joined at the hip the last three days. His mind stupidly wandered over thoughts that further aggravated his stress.  His blood constricted as he caught those little teases of the assumption his brain had conjured about the relationship brewing between Gene and Nick. 

Higgs squinted his eyes, glaring menacingly as he noticed Nick’s arms wrap around Gene’s waist, pulling her closer to him while the music went from vibrant to sensual. His blood boiled. Higgs was tempted to use the last of his remaining powers to put Nick in his place right then and there. 

“How are you holding up?” One of the locals asked Higgs, making him clear his throat as he tried to gain his composure. 

“Pardon?” Higgs asked. 

“You look like you’re close to going on a killing spree,” the man chuckled, shaking his head as he looked in the direction of Gene and Nick. The two were laughing as they swayed, their bodies perfectly synched with the music rising through the crowd. 

“You know, if you want to impress your lady friend, you’re going about it the wrong way.” The man stated as Higgs furrowed his brows, looking over him like he was a lunatic. 

“Ya’ll got the wrong idea, we ain’t an item. I’m just the bodyguard.” Higgs said, crossing his arms. In turn, the local shot Higgs a look that screamed he knew a liar when he saw one. Higgs growled, shaking his head as he looked away and back at the pair. 

“Sure doesn’t explain the crap you’ve pulled these last few days trying to one-up Nick at everything when your porter gal comes around. The arm-wrestling match, the banter, you sabotaging one of Nick’s buildings on purpose, trapping the poor guy in a ditch, trying to knock him down when he was on the portapotty before your gal caught you red-handed and bitched you out in front of everyone and their kin,” the local laughed, slapping Higgs’s shoulder as he shook his head. 

“Call it whatever you want, people can see through your bullshit.”

“Why don’t you fuck off and leave me be?” Higgs said firmly, his voice low as he looked down at the local, who shot his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright, don’t get your panties in a twist if he goes in for the kill tonight cause you were too stubborn to say anything about it. I had an idea to help your little predicament, but I guess you’re too proud.” He smiled at Higgs, genuinely, then began to leave. 

Higgs sighed, rubbing his face before he hollered.

“I’ll bite! What the hell ya had in mind?” 

“Thought you’d never ask!” 

 The music settled down while the band adjusted the set. The local shoved a guitar in Higgs’s arms while he bs’d with the lead singer for a moment, talking on Higgs’s behalf while Higgs looked at the crowd. No one was paying attention, too busy enjoying their drinks and chatter to notice what was going on at the front. He eyed Nick and Gene who were taking a break, drinking together. Higgs felt his fingertips squeeze the neck of the guitar, watching how genuine Gene’s smile looked while Nick’s larger than life persona engulfed her attention. 

“Okay! You’re lucky I know the band. You get one song. Make it count,” The local chimed in, snapping Higgs out of his trance as he swallowed.

“What?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? What song are you gonna play? You said you were good at guitar, no?” 

“Yeah, I am but--”

“Don’t get cold feet, you’re this close to serenading your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girl you two-faced fuckin’ shit weasel--!”

“And you’re on!” 

The local grinned from ear to ear and backed off with the band members. The focus was on Higgs the moment the crowd noticed there was only one person on stage. Higgs would have given anything to punch not only the smug look but thick mustache off the guy's face as he gestured for Higgs to follow through. 

“Fuck me,” Higgs murmured under his breath, gently strumming the strings. He took one last glance over the small waves of people, seeing Gene wasn’t paying mind to anyone but Nick and his shit-eating grin. He could put a cupie doll to shame as far as Higgs was concerned. 

Taking in a deep breath, Higgs sat down on the stool the singer had been using and started to hum. His fingers tested the waters of the instrument, strumming a soft melody as his body began to move along with the beat. 

His brain was fighting with itself, wanting to focus on his envy while the other half debated on what to sing. He had no time to prepare and had never performed in front of a large crowd before. When Higgs was a porter before he threw his lot in with Homo Demens, he played here and there for associates during breaks but that was the extent of showing his talents and hobbies off. 

It was now or never. 

“Unkempt hair, unbroken gal. Strong as the rocks cuttin’ her feet. Never seen somethin’ like you. No, no, I never did. Strange creature, what are you doin’ in an untamed land?” The words broke through Higgs’s lips, voice steady like water smoothing the edges of a rock over time. 

“She crawled up the mountain to me. Her voice soft and steady, I-I don’t know why I never saw stars until that day. Those long, long days. Somethin’ about the way your hair falls in your face brings me back to a place where I could run, and never look back again. Too much spirit for me to take, she’s gone again, free of me free of sin.” Higgs closed his eyes, letting the instrument and its rustic tune speak words that couldn’t be spoken, only felt. He didn’t sense the crowd, not even Gene and Nick--too enraptured in the memories he had of when they had first met.

“Those eyes wide, that smilin’ shine makes me make a beast of myself. Come back to me, come back to the mountain and be with me. Her voice soft and steady, I-I don’t know why I never saw stars until that day. Those long, long days.” There was a pain Higgs allowed to come through his voice, his renewed feelings for life clashing with old ideals and bad habits he had spent years in hiding trying to reconcile. 

“Crawl up the mountain to me. Just a while longer, no-no-no,” Higgs briefly opened his eyes, and he swore in a single split second, Gene was staring right at him. Peering at a past reflection of Higgs that once upon a time begun to quit surviving and started to live when he first became a porter. He’d never admit how much he loved that. Not even to her. 

“Little warrior, crawl back to my mountain and be with me.” Higgs finished, feeling euphoria push down the ill feelings he carried as he received applause. He was quick to let the band go back to their routine, not wanting to steal their thunder despite how much his inner child was relishing at the moment--feeling like a rockstar for a few seconds. 

He needed air. He needed it fast. 

Higgs let out a deep sigh of relief when he exited the huge tent. His fingers shook, carding through his hair for comfort. In hindsight, he probably embarrassed himself, but Higgs wasn’t going to lie, it was beautiful getting a taste of what he could have done with his sad life. 

“Hey,” Gene’s voice broke his train of thought after a while. Higgs cleared his throat, shooting her a quick smile.

“Hey yourself darlin’,” Higgs mused. His face felt warm as she smiled back.

“I didn’t know you wrote your own material,” Gene laughed as Higgs grinned briefly, giving a playful smirk.

“You never asked.”

“That’s fair.” Gene nodded. 

“Where’s Nick?” Higgs asked, looking over Gene’s shoulder before she shrugged. 

“Probably getting more beers,” 

Higgs could sense a disturbance in Gene’s voice, and a twinge of guilt began to sink his gut. As much as he was a jealous asshole, and had been a dick to both of them, deep down Higgs didn’t want to take away Gene’s fun. He knew he was a selfish bastard, realizing it even more so than before.

“He’s probably lookin’ for you. You’re like a mother duck and he can’t stop paddlin’ towards ya.” Higgs said sarcastically.

Gene snorted, shaking her head. 

“I don’t care. I’m sure he’s got plenty of others he can entertain.” 

“Guy’s a-walkin' distraction. Hell, I thought I was a peacockin’ creep way back when. I see what folks admire about Nick.” Higgs chuckled. 

Gene smiled slightly, before taking in a breath. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“If you’re ready for a personal answer,” Higgs smirked. “Shoot.”

“That was us--wasn’t it? The song.”

Whatever grandeur persona Higgs had been putting on during this conversation lept out a window and dived headfirst into an ocean. He was silent for a long time, almost to the very second where Gene prepared to change the subject.

“It was you,” Higgs murmured. “It was all you.” 

Gene’s mouth formed into a grin that made Higgs’s knees feel heavy. Nonetheless, he realized he must’ve embarrassed her doing that whole stunt, much like he did the past few days terrorizing both her and Nick. He was surprised when he felt Gene’s lips on his cheek, her nose softly nudging his skin. 

Gene shrugged keeping her gaze down, smiling big as she walked off to their camp. Higgs watched with a look of awe on his face before he murmured a proud yes to himself. 

He didn’t have the balls to admit his growing attachment to her, the mere porter he bumped into a year ago, but Higgs owned the little victory. It was enough for him. 

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

#higgs monaghan #death stranding higgs #gene dawkins #death stranding gene #higgs x gene #death stranding #death stranding fandom #drabbles #one shot #quick write #free write #thank you! I KNOW ITS LONG #SORRY #MAYBE CORNY BUT FUCK IT #IT MADE ME HAPPY #hope it made you happy too! #sky of atoms #fanfic verse #avenged-nightmare

[iheardarumorxxx]

Midnight Sun, Chapter 9 - Port Angeles

Right. I remember this chapter from Twilight. I also have heard quite a bit about this chapter. This is gonna be a ride. 

Eddie starts off this chapter saying that he used to be the ‘responsible’ one. I would like to remind everyone that Edward Anthony Masen Cullen spent a few years eating people he percieved to be horrible criminals because he didn’t like animal blood and was being a whiny baby. But go off, Eddie.

SM is still trying to paint Jessica as a rude bitch and I still don’t buy it. It is extremely clear to anyone with eyeballs that Mike has a thing for Bella, and it is pretty obvious that this date he’s going on with Jessica is because Bella said no. So her thoughts come off as insecure. She’s a teenage girl, so I think insecure is a pretty standard thing. Not always, but SM has painted these kids as the stereotypical teens, so.

Basically, I still don’t buy the attempt to make Jessica seem evil.

Bella has wandered off to go get that book she wanted, and Eddie is simply freaking out because he let his daughter out of his sight for one minute and she wandered off. He’s about half a second away from considering getting a leash to put on her. Seriously, though, that’s how this reads. A parent frantic because they lost their child in a crowded store or park. We all know she’s gonna get a serious scolding for this one. Maybe even grounded.

a volly of snarls erupted from my throat

Okay, we’re still not to the big rant about vampire instincts in this universe, yet, but I want you guys to remember this for later. It absolutely aides in the point I plan to make there. Also a ‘volly’ of snarls. That sounds so forced and I genuinely laughed out loud when I read it. Anyway, Eddie has found Bella and she is with the Evil Bad Guys Who Have Ill Intentions. 

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the pray. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

Technically a spoiler because it hasn’t happened yet in this book, but not because we’ve seen it in Twilight. Eddie literally does not do anything to this Lanny guy or his friends. He gets out of the car, makes a mean face at them, and then gets back in the car and drives off. Maybe SM has Eddie go back out and hunt them later after he drops Bella off, but that doesn’t fit in with his squeaky clean good boy persona that Daddy Carlisle puts on him, so I doubt it. The scene as we know it comes off as very ‘man, if my girlfriend wasn’t here I’d kick your ass’. Because Eddie is a lot of bloated, puffed up talk.

When SM uses dialogue tags like ‘ordered’ to describe how Eddie says things, it just really hammers home that point I’ve been making about red flags. Even if it’s practical, like him telling Bella to put on a seat belt, especially since Pires bend the will of cars to their inane and idotic physics.

We went on a tangent about one of Eddie’s kills from his Vampire Batman days, and like honestly? I watch a lot of Criminal Minds. I see a lot of this kind of stuff, and it is absolutely awful that people like that exist in the world. I’m not saying that they shouldn’t be stopped. HOWEVER, this idea Eddie has that he was playing a good guy by taking justice into his own hands, I don’t jive with that. Now, I am aware of how faulty the criminal justice system is, especially with victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. I’ve lived that, myself. But if Eddie is so comfortable taking another life, no matter how he tries to justify it, he is no better than the people who he’s deciding to kill for their crimes.

a highly justifiable murder

See, this. This is why I don’t buy that SM’s Cullens are the paragons of good that she is constantly trying to say they are. There is no such thing as a justifiable murder, no matter what. Solving heinous acts with heinous acts simply perpetuates a cycle of heinous acts. 

I wasn’t giving her a chance to say no.

This is a trend that will continue throughout the entire series. I will point you to all of the times that Edward never gave Bella a choice in a matter, including leaving her in New Moon, and DISMANTLING HER CAR ENGINE IN ECLIPSE SO THAT SHE COULDN’T GO SEE HER FRIEND. That one in particular rubs me the wrong way for reasons, but we won’t do that here. Just know that Edward never actually lets Bella make a choice in this series, and even when he pretends to, he does everything in his power to make the outcome go his way.

And now we’re at the restaruant. I’ve heard some stuff about this scene and god, can I not WAIT, but for now, let’s just talk about the one off waitress character. She is clearly only here to be a rival to Bella for this scene. Brief, unimportant, underdeveloped. And honestly? One off characters don’t actually need that development, not really, but what I can’t stand about this one is that she is literally only here, both in this book and in Twilight, so that SM can puff up how clearly Bella is so much better than she is. Because, you see, Eddie doesn’t find the pretty hostess attractive, he only has eyes for Bella. Her entire point is so that Edward can look at Bella, and therefore, the audience as Bella is their SI for this world, and go on about how much better and prettier and more perfect she is than this woman. It’s just gross.

“Do I dazzle you?”

This is still, in my personal opinion, the best and most iconic line in a series full of iconic lines. Eddie the Dazzle Machine. Charming the pants off people when he’s trying to scare the shit out of them. It’s hilarious, and so fuckin’ romance novel cliche, and I love it.

This restaurant is apparently a real place in the real Port Angeles. And from what I understand, at least when the Twilight craze was in full swing back in 2008, they got a lot of extra business and a lot more people ordering the mushroom ravioli. Even put something about Twilight on their menu. Good for them, taking advantage of that free marketing. I have never been to Port Angeles, and am allergic to mushrooms, so I can’t say I’ve experienced the dish, but if any of you have, please let me know if it’s worth the hype.

Its so funny that right now, Eddie is worried about Bella being cold and going into shock, while Bella is over there huffing the fumes off his jacket like it’s a paint can, and he can’t even tell that that’s what she’s doing. The girl is doing everything short of just shoving her whole face in it and inhaling, but he’s too thick to get it. 

And here we are folks. The meat and potatoes of this chapter. The big comparison. The reason the cover has a pomegranete on it. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen has the absolute GALL to compare Bella, the boring, walking video game avatar to Persephone. Lets break down Persephone for a second here. There’s a lot to break down, but let’s stick to the basics, for fear that this rant gets wickedly out of hand before I can stop it. Persephone radiates optimism and hope. Persephone is soft, sweet, but has a temper that could kill a man. Persephone is sympathetic. When in the ever loving FUCK has Isabella Swan ever shown any of those characteristics? She is NEVER optimistic about anything. She fucking exists in a constant cloud of negative thought and assuming the worst. She isn’t hopeful about ANYTHING, not even her future with her PRECIOUS Eddie because she’s always questioning his intentions and feelings for her. She is not sympathetic in the slightest, no matter what SM tries to shove down my throat. She treats her friends like shit, she manipulates and lies her way through conversations so she doesn’t have to deal with them, she compares Mike to a FUCKING DOG. Bella is not comparable to Persephone, and it’s fucking beyond ham-fisted, it’s fucking EGREGIOUS to try to make that comparison. 

I could see more of an argument for comparing Eddie to Hades, since, ya know, Hades fucking stole Persephone to be his wife and most stories about Hades paint him as kind of a moody, brooding dickbag, but I’m still calling fucking foul on this attempt at comparison, SM. No dice.

Moving on.

Eddie describing Bella’s skin as ‘velvety’ gives me war flashbacks to those grocery store checkout novels with Fabio on the cover that my mom used to read. Eghhh.

So, Bella touches Eddie’s hand and it’s described in a way that gives me very G-rated sex vibes. Which just makes me wanna tell them to get a room because they’re in public right now, and also don’t do that in front of Bella’s salad ravioli.

Eddie is still being super controling and weird about Bella eating, and honestly, I super wish that Bella had had the good sense to get the hell out of there with Jess and Angela. Or that she would have the good sense now to excuse herself, find someone on staff, ask to borrow a phone, and call her dad. Because this guy is literally throwing out every red flag that exists. I know I say this a lot, but if Bella were a normal girl, she would not be charmed by this guy, she would be freaking creeped out and trying to get away from him. He isn’t even subtle about his creep factor or charming enough to play it off.

Edward thinking he has any edge at all is like white bread thinking it’s the right kind of bread for a hamburger.

Anyway, chapter ends with Eddie paying the bill and the pair getting in the car to head home. And the drama chord of the last sentence that’s supposed to play in your head when you read it falls flat. They’re on the way back to Forks and Eddie is chomping at the bit to hear Bella’s latest theory that we know from Twilight isn’t actually a theory so much as she heard a story from Jacob and then did some searching on some shitty Angelfire website. Or Geocities. Either way. And then she just went ahead and had a big old prophetic dream about it. 

Next time, we get the awkward car ride home and more. Thanks for hanging around guys. As always, feel free to message me (though, please note to anyone who has sent me anon messages that are rude or angry because I’m making fun of this book, I’m gonna ignore you.), recommend what books I should put on my list for my next recap series, and feel free to buy me a snack using the CashApp tag in my bio.

See you next time, babes.

#sierra recaps stuff #midnight sun #midnight sun spoilers #midnight sun recap #twilight #ms chapter 9

[thefemalethatwrites]

Princess and the Peasant (Roy Harper x Reader) {Part 2}

Request: Nope.

Prompt: Princess (Y/N) was walking through the streets of her kingdom at night, when someone attempted to rob, rape and kill her, however a man came to her rescue and made sure the Princess was alright, she was perfectly fine. However she wanted to repay him, so she invited him to dinner the next day.

Relationship: Roy Harper x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Fighting, Discrimination, Attempted Rape, Death.

Word Count: 1550

(Y/N/N) - Your Nickname | (Y/F/N) - Your Full Name

PART 1 | 

~~~

(Y/N)'s POV Roy and myself were walking through the garden enjoying each other's company, as we have been doing for the past few months before we stopped in front of the maze, "Shall we find the middle?" I asked extending my hand, he raised an eyebrow before taking my hand as we went into the maze, "How do you know where you're going (Y/N)?" He asked, "Roy are you forgetting I live here? I always come here to hide away from my duties" I chuckled making another turn, I noticed him shaking his head "That's not very Princess like, (Y/N)" he retorted, I rolled my eyes "The Queen tends to give me all of her jobs while she sits on her butt doing jack shit-I mean nothing" I say correcting myself, "They is no need to keep your high profile up in front of me, (Y/N/N)" he smiled making me turn to him, "I never been called that before" I retorted, "Well what would you care me to call you then. (Y/N) is a mouthful" he shrugged, I chuckled "(Y/N/N) is just fine Roy. Plus if you think my first name is a mouthful then you'd hate to say my full name" I say as we entered the middle of the maze. "What is your full name?" He asked, "(Y/F/N)" I stated making his eyes widened, "Thanks to my mother" I smiled, he frowned "If you don't mind me asking how did she die?" He asked, I raised an eyebrow "You don't believe that she was killed by an illness?" I asked, he shook his head "I could see that it was a cover up" he replied, I smiled "I'm glad that I can actually talk to someone about it. Suicide. My mother killed herself after catching my father cheating on her with Olivia" I sighed, "How old was you again?" He asked, "14. Still can't believe it's been 16 years" I answered looking towards the ground tears forming in my eyes, Roy lifted my head up making me look him in the eyes,

"Tears don't suit you M'lady" he said wiping them, I sighed "I'm just glad there's someone I can talk to, since none of the servants talk about it and there is no way my father or Olivia would talk to me about it" I smiled, he gave me a hug "I shall always be here for you to talk to (Y/N/N)" he replied,

"Come along before Connie calls the national guard to come find us" I sighed taking his hand again and leading him out of the maze, Sasha was running towards us "Miss (Y/N), we thought you was missing" she panted, "Relax Sasha, I was in the maze" I chuckled, she gave me a weak smile "I understand, miss" she smiled, I rolled my eyes "Sasha I told you a thousand times call me (Y/N)" I say, she nodded "Of course, (Y/N). Your meal with the King and Queen will be soon" she stated making me raise an eyebrow, "Meal? I have a guest-" "Yes they know that. They want to have a meal with you both" she informed before leaving us, "Roy, I honestly had no idea about this. I'm sorry" I apologised, he nodded "So I'm having a meal with the king, queen and princess. This is going to be pleasant" he commented, "My deepest apologies" I sighed as we headed back to the castle, "Tell me more about yourself Roy" I demanded.

"Well (Y/N/N), I was brought up by my mother before she passed away so my Uncle took care of me" he replied, "What of your father?" I asked, "Never knew the man" he shrugged, "I'm sorry to hear that. If you don't mind me asking how old are you?" I asked, he chuckled "Not much older than you" he said, I rolled my eyes "I want a number, Roy. Or I will use my royalty" I threatened,  "Threats? Is that what our friendship has come to (Y/N/N)? I'm 32 by the way" He asked, I froze "Did you say I was your friend?" I asked, he nodded "Is they a problem with that?" He asked, I shook my head "I've just never had a friend" I say, he raised an eyebrow.

"You've never had a friend?" He asked, "Well there is my personal servants but they're different. Should it be on a level basis they would hate me" I explained, he shook his head "I doubt that" he retorted, "Have you met me? The other royals hate me because of my attitude" I sighed, he chuckled "The people love you though since you don't let classes get in your way. You show you're just like everyone else. That's why everyone is waiting for you to take the throne" he replied, "Thank you but I wouldn't be able to rule by myself" I smiled, he raised an eyebrow "Then marry" he shrugged, "I don't want to marry just anyone. I want it to be marriage with emotions, not political" I chuckled, he nodded, "How about we say that if I don't find love, I can marry my only friend" I bargained, he raised an eyebrow before putting an arm over my shoulder, "You want to marry me? If you don't find love?" he repeated.

"Yes, it'll just make the royals hate me even more and the people love me. It's a win-win" I smiled, he chuckled "You've got yourself a deal. Now do I look presentable?" He asked, I straighten out his top before nodding, "Just to warn you the Queen is going to be throwing as many hateful comments your way" I warned as we approached the dining hall, "I'm sure I can handle it" he smiled, "Bow, speak when spoken to, that's about it" I ordered, he nodded before the guards opened the doors and we walked in and bowed at them and they returned it before we sat at the table, "So (Y/N) what did you think of Prince Jean?" Olivia asked, "He's a respectable man. But he made it clear he's not looking for a wife and I've made myself clear that I don't want to marry for political reasons" I growled, "Jean doesn't know what he wants" she retorted, I clenched my fists "He's quite capable of knowing what he wants. After all you are not his mother, neither are you mine" I spat, "(Y/N) hold your tongue" she snapped, I slightly smirked before eating, "You boy. What's your name?" She sneered,

"Roy Harper, your highness" he answered, "And what do you do?" She asked, "I was studying to become an interior decorator" he replied, "Was. What happened?" She interrogated, "I doubt he would want to talk about it" I say, "Let the boy speak for himself" she snapped, he gave me a weak smile before I slammed my hand on the table standing up "He's not a boy, Olivia! He's a grown respectable man!" I yelled, "(Y/N) sit down" My father demanded, "I'm not mother! You don't get to order me around! Connie!" I yell, he came through the doors, "Yes miss?" He asked "Take Roy to my studio while I have a chat to these two" I say, he bowed "Of course, follow me, Mr Harper" he demanded and lead Roy out of the room, "How dare you bring your mother into this?!" Olivia yelled standing up, "She died because of you!" I growled, "(Y/N) that's enough" father said, "No! She committed suicide! Because you slept with this hag!" I snapped pointing to Olivia as tears began to form.

"Your mother died from an illness" Father retorted, "Don't talk that bullshit! She left me a letter! She caught you fucking this bitch! She didn't want to be a burden on your love life so she kill herself!" I screamed as tears starting to spill over, "Enough!" He bellowed banging his hand on the table, "Don't ever talk to me again" I sighed before storming out of the room, I was walked into my studio to find Roy admiring one of my pieces, he heard my footsteps making him turn around, he came over to me and gave me a hug,

"You really didn't give us time to leave before you ripped into them" he smirked, I chuckled "It's okay to cry to Princess" he commented before I broke down,

"I can't do this" I sobbed into his chest, he stroked my hair, I pulled away before look at him "Can I stay at yours tonight? I don't want to face either of them" I asked, his eyes widened but nodded, "Would you be allowed to do that?" He asked as we made our way to my room, "No but honestly I don't give a fuck" I retorted making him chuckle, I threw some clothes in a bag with my make up before fastening it up and leaving my room, I gave Roy my bag as we arrived outside the servant quarters, "Stay here. I'm going to get us a car" I ordered before going to where all the keys were, I grabbed the car keys and slid a note under Connie's door before grabbing Roy's hand and running out to the car, he got in the passenger seat while I got in the drivers,

"I've got a bad influence on you" Roy stated, I smirked before putting the keys in the ignition before setting off, "Can you even drive?" He asked, "No but it's like riding a horse" I smirked as I waited for the gates to open before rushing out of them and driving to his road.

#roy harper #roy harper x reader #red arrow #speedy x reader #arsenal x reader #DC comics #dc

[mjihkaaaa]

Transcript: “Randy Writes a Novel” by Randy Feltface

I have transcribed this hour-or-so-long comedy piece. if I put the transcript on tumblr, it might pop up in the search results of some poor sod wondering whether it’s a thing that exists. fAiR uSe DiScLaiMEr or something, I’m making no money off of this and am posting it out of the goodwill of my heart, and also I sat down for two hours to make the transcript so it’s probably work. /original date of transcription, not that it makes a difference: 2019-07-16 /link: you can find the actual piece yourself or buy the dvd like a good consumer

||[Beard guy] Hey Randy? Yeah mate? ||[Beard guy] Ready to do this? (exhale) Yup! ||[Announcer] Please, without further ado... Welcome to the stage... The purple one... Randy! (Applause) YEEES! HELLO! THANK YOU! LOOK AT YOU ALL, MMMH! This is so EXCITING! This is my favourite bit of the show, this bit; The expectation - You don't know what to expect, I don't know what to expect. I've got high hopes for you people. I think you're gonna be fantastic. Some of you may have never seen me before, there's probably a couple of you wondering what the fuck is going on right now - couple of people up the back probably regretting smoking that spliff before they came in... "... ... ... the fuck is that?" it's alright, just relax. Throughout the show I'm probably gonna walk from about here, over to here. Any further than that, it's gonna ruin the magic, alright? And, um, this is pretty much what it's gonna look like for the next fifty-fix-and-a-half minutes, so just adjust your eyeballs to this shit accordingly. Looks pretty good, we did my tech rehearsal today, and we set this lighting stand and was like that looks good, that's good, and Stu, my lighting guy back there, said "iS tHaT iT?" and I was like ehh... eh... no, Stu, we can turn on the lamp as well, like this ... (lamp turns on). Yes. So we did that just to justify Stu's certificate for... in fucking... theatre production. GIVE IT UP FOR STU! UP THE BACK! (Applause) Who's having an alcoholic beverage this evening? (wooing) Ah-WOOO! I don't drink anymore, I used to SLAM that SHIT into my FACE like a WEAPON but I quit ... and nothing really changed, you know, I didn't notice too many differences between being sober and being a drinker ... UNTIL ... the first time I got pulled over by a cop, and had to do a random breath test sober. Because my physcial and emi-seeonal reaction was exactly the same as it had always been when I was a drinker. Which was ... - "OOOOH fuck I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "wind down your window please sir" - "IIIII'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "one long breath into the bag sir" - "NAAAAAAAAAA I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm- (blow) I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "... you're free to go mate" - !!! ... oh yeah, I am, and the sense euphoria I felt was the closest feeling I've had to being drunk since I quit drinking. To the point where I now drive around on friday and saturday nights, LOOKING for cops. And if I get pulled over, I pretend I'm drunk just to get an extra rush... AHHH! Seriously, if you ever get pulled over, and you're sober, pretend you're wasted. Oh, the BUZZ! It's like shelving nine pills at once, it's fucking sick. Seriously, the next time the cop's walking towards the car, just be like - - "ohh, shush everyone he's COMING! act normal he's comin- put it down! put it down, he's coming! shush he's comi-!! he's here!" - "... ... ... Wind down your window please, sir." - "yeah, I'ma do that, I'ma do that, I'M DOING IT! ... Ah, it's electric. The button's in the middle 'cuz it's electric." - "... ... ... Have you had anything to drink tonight, sir?" - "NOOO ossifer [officer] not on a tuesday" - "It's a friday-" - "NO friday either mate!" - "One long breath into the bag please, sir." - "yes I will, you fucking champion ... y'know, people say youse are cunts but I don't reckon youse are, PBRRTT (blow) - WOOO! hahaaa..." (Cop checks bag, shocked.) - "Uh... You're free to go." - "FUCK YEAH! BRRRRRRRRR MEEPMEEP" (Applause) I took it so far once, I got down to the station for a blood test - ahhahaAA, gets addictive when you get to that stage... I've got track marks, it's out of control! and laDIES AND GENTLEMEN - you're very close, aren't you. Hello! (Shriek) Um... The reason we're here is because, didididii, didididi-didii, I wrote a book! Yes! Woo! Yeah, you can clap, but I'm concerned that it might be a bit shit. I don't know. It's weird - this is it here - I'm not sure if it's any good 'cuz I think I'm too close to it, y'know, I can't tell anymore. I'm concerned that it might be, like, an ugly baby that I'm looking at through the eyes of a loving mother? And it's not until I take it out for a walk in its little pram and people start screaming in horror and crossing the street to avoid me that I'll realize I've made a piece of shit baby? There's nothing worse than a piece of shit baby, is there... - "Ah, who's this little guy- WAUGH YOUR BABY'S A PIECE OF SHIT!" - "God... damn it..." But do I need to be told it's good to know that it's good? You know, that's how it goes with comedy; If I come up here and tell a shit joke, you tell me it's shit by not laughing, and I stop telling that joke. But with a BOOK I won't know it's shit until it's out there. Forever. Until I DON'T sell a million copies. Just wake up one morning, surrounded by towering boxes of unsold books, featuring on an episode of mentally deranged hoarders... We need to lay off hoarders, by the way. I think there's one too many television programmes "exposing the horrors" of people that like collecting shit. It's their house, let them do it! - "No we have to fix them!" No you don't, people are fucked up! If they wanna climb over a stack of cat shit stained national geographic magazines from the nineteen seventies to get to the kettle, fucking let 'em. THEY LIKE IT. - "Yeah but it's a mental illness-" Yeah, well, may be, but I would argue it's MORE insane to film them doing it, and then package it like a tacky microwave meal for one, so assholes can sit at home going "LOOK HOW SHIT THAT PERSON IS! They've got too many of the same thing..." ... Who's more insane in that sce-nario, I ponder... ANYWAY my book... My book is called "Walking to Skye", it's about a young man who walks from the southernmost borders of Scotland up to the Isle of Skye in the far north, retracing the footsteps of his great-great-grandfather and having a massive existential crisis along the way. It's a reeeeeeeeeeal HUMDINGER, and now that I've written it I'm terrified to let anybody read it, so what I've decided to dewwww, is; I'm gonna read bits of the book out, you're going to react, and then at the end we'll all collectively decide whether or not I should kill myself. Okay? Okay. Here we go. Hm-hm-hm. Ready? Everybody comfortable? No-one needs to go to the toilet, or get a drink, or anything? No? If you do, seriously, just go for it, because fucking... (waves hand in front of eyes). I'm not.. going.. to notice... Ahem, okay, ahem... Here we go. Alright. Here we go, here we go, okay. Khm. Blblbl. Okay. Phew. Alright. Here we go. Walking to Skye, chapter one. ... Phew. Okay. Khm. Blbl. Okay. Khm. Phew... (Sigh)... (Shivering) Read it... Just fucking read it... Come on man... Just... Son of a bitch... Pth... EHGgghhh... I'm too scared. (Audience goes "aww") No, fuck off. It's weird being scared for this, y'know, it's strange to be scared of something so intangible as JUDGEMENT. You know, I care what you people think, but taste is so subjective. Y'know, one man's "To Kill a Mockingbird" is another man's "Twilight" saga. Hello there, what's your name? (Matthew:) "Matthew." Matthew! N- where- right about there, mattie (adjusting line of sight)? Tell me, Matthew, what do you fear, what's your greatest fear, what are you scared of mate, we're all friends here, open up, unpack some shit, what are you-.. What's your biggest fear, Mattie? (Matthew:) "It must be rejection." Rejection? Same as me. <close> what do you know about my fear of rejection? </close> How old are you, man? (Matthew:) "Twenty-six" Twenty-six! The twenties are the time for rejection, my friend, it is the best time for rejection. Have you been rejected a few times? (Matthew:) "Quite a lot." Fucking rack it up, Mattie, rack it up mate, you just get- you wear those scars like a fucking warrior, mate! And then you get to thirty-six, my age, and you could not give a fuck, my friend. I'm telling you mate, rack up the rejection while you can, and then just.. fucking.. grab whatever's left. That's what you've got to look forward to. Let's hear it for Matthew! Yes! (Applause!) Rejection, eh? I think, actually, Mattie, Mattaroonie, Matterectomy, I think for me, Mattanoonles, I'm actually more scared of ... failure, in this case. I fear that I might've written a shit book, and as a result I'll fail, y'know. But I believe, Mattress, I believe it was Ernest Hemingway who put it best when he said "The first draft of everything is shit". And I often thought of that while I was writing my book, it's a great thing for young readers and young writers, sorry, to keep in mind, because it kind of lets you off the hook, y'know. And it makes you feel not so bad when you churn out something akin to Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction. - "Every nerve ending in my body tingled as he boldly placed his swollen member directly onto my left shoulder ... and whispered into my ear ... 'tickets please' ... suffice to say, that won't be the last time I catch the bus to Broad Meadows." Khm. True story, true story. Okay, I'm gonna read the book - Broad Meadows, good suburb, Broad Meadows, good name! (Audience member goes WOOO!) Hahahaha, WEEEEEW! Has Broad Meadows ever had that reaction anywhere ever? How good is Broad Meadows- WOOOOOO! WOO! Wooing is one of few things you can do in a crowd. You can't woo when you're on your own, can you... You can't just be walking down the street like WOO! - "What's wrong with that person?" But if there's a group of you going "woo!" it's like, - "Naw, they're having a nice time, aren't they..." Wooing in- when you're in an audience is one of the few times you can get away with wooing. You can't, fucking- don't woo at the butcher's, y'know? - "I'll just have a ... 2 pounds of some sausages and uh, some pound of mince, and let me- six pound fifty WOOOOO!" - "I no longer wish for you to purchase my meat products." What was I talking about? Ah, Broadie? Yeah, Broad Meadows, it's a good name, Broad Meadow, like it makes sense, there was an expanse of just fucking... no stuff, there was some broad meadows, and they went "let's fucking build it here" and it was an honest name. All these new subdivisions now, they're all fucking, just... - "What are we gonna call this deserted swamp?" - "Um... Spring Valley Mountview Niceface." Fuck that! Name them honestly, y'know? - "Where are you living now?" - "Shitty water feature." - "Ah!" - "Where are you?" - "Stabbyville." - "Ah! ... How's that?" - "Yeah, it's good, it's close to schools, which is great, but um... We do get stabbed a lot though, it's a... You know, we knew the risks..." - "'Cuz it was in the name?" - "'Cuz it was in the name! yeEEeeAh." I like an honestly named place. I was Broken Hill recently, that's an honestly named place. - "We had a hill, we fucking broke it. Welcome to Broken Hill." Actually, Broken Hill have gone one further, they've named all the streets in the centre of town after elements. 'Cuz it's a mining town, they went thematic with that shit. So you're walking down Chloride, and you hit the corner of Bromide, or Oxide, I love that! That makes sense to me! I live in Collingwood - it'd be much easier to direct people to my house if I could send them to the corner of Soy Latte and Hipster Fuckwit. That'd take out all the guesswork ... When you're heading to Frankston, don't forget to check out the beautiful parklands on the corner of Bucket Bong and Pregnant Teenager. They are just enchanting. Alright. Gonna read the book. Blblblbl. You cool Matt? Sick. I'm gonna keep talking to you so you feel included. Therefore, not rejected. Khm, okay. Alrighty. Okay. Here we go. Alright. Shut up, I'm gonna read it. Okay. Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one . . . Fascinating man, Ernest Hemingway. I didn't know a lot about him, but I kept thinking of that quote, "the first draft of everything is shit", while I was writing my book, and I started to think, "who are you to tell me my first draft is shit, Hemingway? What did you ever do that was sO fUckIng gOOd?" So I realized I didn't know anything about him, so I decided to do some research on him, and it proved to be an excellent means of putting off writing my book. And now I can tell you everything I know about him as an excellent means of putting off reading you my book, so... Swings and roundabouts, my friends, swoongs and rimbledibbledoodledoodoos, as they say in Scotland ... They don't say that. No-one has ever said that. Anyway, what I suggest we do, okay, is I'm just gonna tell you a little bit about Ernest Hemingway, bit about Hemmers, and then we'll just let the segway into reading the book develop organically. Like a runaway fungus at the bottom of a misplaced coffee cup. - "Aw, guys, how long has this been behind the couch? ... There's little people in it!" - "Save us! Save us from our porcelain prison!" - "wwWAAH!" (tosses cup) KSSSH - "We're free!" - (Running noise, tktktktktktk) - (Randy steps on the little people with an audible crunch) It's just for me, that bit, it's just for me!.. Okay. Okay, here we go, ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time I would wager in all of your living memories, I now am proud to present to you, the life and times of Ernest Miller Hemingway in approximately three and a half minutes. Go! (Background shifts) Born in Chicago in eighteen ninety-nine, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War One, got blown up in Milan and spent six months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs, fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life-long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Take note, Mattie. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommate's sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein, they kicked it with Pablo Picasso, he started writing in earnest, moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, converted to catholicism ... ... ...  Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet, and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto his face, moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason, had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery - Karma! -, published another book, moved to Cuba, shot himself in the leg whilst aiming at a shark! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, published "For Who the Bell Tolls", sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer prize, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, became the self-appointed leader of a band of village militia outside of Paris, and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva convention and got away with it like a FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba, and spent most of his spare time on his boat, tracking nazi u-boats with a machine gun and a pile of hand grenades - I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got clawed while playing with a lion! ... Got depressed, drank, got fat, published a couple of more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals and barely survived two separate plane crashed in the space of twenty-four hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle - Karma! -, won a Nobel prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho paranoid that the feds were following him, which they were, because he spent most of the nineteen fourties working for the KGB! AGAIN, NOT-MAKING-THIS-SHIT-UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia, and impotence - Karma! -, got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got re-committed, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favourite twelve gauge shotgun into his mouth, and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF. WHAT A GUY!!! (Applause) Ah... That is all true! What a fucking unit! Hemingway is the quintessential anti-hero, the talented, charismatic, belligerent, suicidal, alcoholic genius that can't keep his dick in his trousers. And he still found time to write about fifteen books! I've written one, and it took me ages, because I procrastinate like a motherfucker! I only got this written by doing most of the work in my local public library, because it's very difficult to masturbate in the reference section without getting caught. It's... It's almost impossible, in fact ... Almost. I don't even enjoy masturbating anymore, I just do it to avoid other tasks. And if it's something I really don't wanna do, I can seriously just go back-to-back wanks, just AARGH, just 'till it's painful, like NAAAAAAAAH, like hurty cum, like MWOOOAAARGH, WOOOMMMHHH MHHHH MMHHMHMMM RMMMMMHHHHOOkay fine I'll do the fucking dishes. And you know the weird thing about books is that you only really need to write one to be considered to be a great writer. Until last year, "To Kill a Mockingbird" was the only book that Harper Lee ever published. One book in eighty-nine years. To be fair that one book did win the Pulitzer prize and sold over fourty million copies, so she didn't really need to do another one, did she... - "Hey Harper, you gonna write another book?" - "Nope! Did you read the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one. Just doing the one." Imagine if I did that. Came up here, told one joke, and then stared at you for fifty-eight minutes. - "You gonna tell another joke?" - "Nope! Did you hear the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one." There's not many jobs where you can just do the one, is there... Just... Writers, and... Suicide bombers. Hard to do two of those... Or maybe UFC fighters that get punched in the head so hard in their first bout that cerebral fluid trickles out of their eye sockets. - "Ohhh, that's fucked Randy..." It happens. It's pretty much the perfect example of why we're sort of festering in this evolutionary cul-de-sac, isn't it? - "Welcome to planet earth, there's approximately seven billion of us, as you can see there's quite a few of us that don't have any clean drinking water, OH! Here's a large group of us that get paid millions of dollars to knee each other in the face! Obviously still... Ironing out a few of the kinks." Martial arts, mixed or otherwise, should not be the domain of fat-necked roughians trying to stomp on each other's ballsacks. Just as yoga should not be taught by twenty-two year old gym instructors that did a one week yoga retreat in Bali and now get around in low-slung fisherman pants with a bindy and a plat talking about mindfulness like they've ever had any fucking life experience at all. I'm sorry, you can tell me to relax and center myself when you spend maybe ten or fifteen years considering what that actually means. Until then, go back to taking photos of the froth on your coffee and shut the fuck up. And I'm torn! I'm torn because I do yoga! I buy oragnic vegetables. I blindly sign internet petitions without reading the fine print, give myself a good old pat on the back and go back to downloading hardcore pornography... I'm trying to be a good buddhist, I'm trying... But it's even difficult to identify as buddhist in the current climate without coming off as some sort of new-age pompous twat dipping his toe into the "What does it all mean?" kiddie pool while holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and staring lecherously across the back yard at your cousin's tits. - "Geez, Tamara's grown up since last Christmas, hasn't she..." And I mean, Buddha was just a dude who found enlightenment sometime around the fifth century, and he decided to stick around and talk about it, y'know. But he made it clear that everything's optional, I guess, y'know, "here's the thing I've discovered, I think it's pretty nifty, but you can find your own way through it". He was kind of like a benevolent woodwork teacher, just overseeing the workshop, but allowing his students to discover for themselves which machine is most likely to cut their fucking head off. - BRRRRRRRRRRR-WAUGH! - "It was that one, Gareth, well done. A plus, matey, A plus for you." And there's been loads of other buddhas since, right, but they haven't necessarily felt the calling to stick around and talk about it. I guess they just become enlightened and fuck off. I think that's fantastic. But ... Are you only enlightened if you're able to share it with people? Y'know? If I write a book and nobody reads it, is it still art? What is the collective noun for monkeys? ... ... ... Seriously, does anybody know what it is? I was trying to think of it all day. Anybody? (Inaudible audience response) What? (Audience member:) "Gang" Gang? Gang of monkeys? Coming through on my gang of monkeys, we're a little gang of monkeys, ooh-A-A-A! It's not gang! Anybody else? If you come up with something stupid, I'll sing a dumb song about it ..? What else? (Inaudible audience response) What is it? (Inaudible audience response) ... Oh you people are fucked. Does anybody know what it is? It's not barrel, by the way. It's troop. What, what did you say, uhh... Gang. Who-what, what's your name, who said gang? Where are you? (Victoria:) "Victoria." Victoria? How are you, Victoria? (Victoria:) "Great." Thanks for coming to my show. Hey, Victoria, riddle me this m'sister, have you read "Go Set a Watchman"? Harper Lee's new book? (Victoria:) "Naw." Naw. Has anybody read it? (Audience member:) "Half." Half. That is the best book review ever. - "I read half." Has anybody read "To Kill a Mockingbird"? (audience responds yes) yEES we reAD IT at scHOOL, fuck off. For those of you who haven't- for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, "Go Set a Watchman" was the Harper Lee book that came out last year, right, and if you don't know the backstory, alright, I'll just fill you in. Victoria, listen up. Um... Basically, Harper Lee, right? So, Harper Lee, she had a stroke in two thousand and seven, and until she died earlier this year, she was in like, assisted care, she was in a wheelchair, she was deaf and she was blind, and her sister Alice had been taking care of all of her affairs, until Alice died in twenty fourteen at the age of one hundred and three, like a fucking boss... Anyway before Alice died she was pretty much the last line of defence between Harper and this 'lawyer' that had just sort of been loitering in the wings, right. And when Alice died, this 'lawyer' just happened to discover the manuscript for "Go Set a Watchman" in the locked safety deposit box in an obscure vault in a random bank, where it had been busy minding its own business for the last fifty-six and a half years, and according to the 'lawyer', Harper was delighted that the manuscript had been discovered, and suddenly reversed her life-long vow to never ever ever publish another book ever ever again, particularly not "Go Set a Watchman" which she actually wrote before "To Kill a Mockingbird" and didn't think was very good. Other people think that maybe the 'lawyer' was attempting to get filthy rich by brutally fist-fucking an eighty-nine year old stroke victim, but the question is; ... ... ... The question is, if "To Kill a Mockingbird" had've stayed in that vault, alongside this newly discovered manuscript, would it still technically be a work of literary genius? Or is it only when something's been evaluated by the world and possibly someone's made some cash off it that it's considered to be valid artistic expression? Is art only art once it's been witnessed? Acknowledged? If I don't take a bow at the end of this show, does it devalue the performance? Will you feel unsatisfied? Or rejected? ... I recently read that book "The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work" by Alaine de Button, and in it, he says; "we might consider art as anything which pushes our thoughts in important, yet neglected directions". Now, I'd like to consider what I do artistic expression, but that sort of poses the question - do people really need their thought pushed in the direction of old ladies being brutally fist-fucked? Is that my artistic legacy? Is that what I'm gonna leave behind? Y'know, "Randy... He was the old lady fisting guy, wasn't he? Eh. Very droll, very droll. Yeah." Because Ernest Hemingway is remembered more for his literary talents than for being an insufferable cunt with a penchant for killing shit and cheating on his multiple wives, does his artistic legacy outshine his tactless and unfortunate personal life? Is it better to be a mindful human that leaves no palpable remnants of artistry behind, or a violently unlikeable sexual deviant that shits handfuls of heart-breakingly beautiful sonnets and sonnatas out of his asshole before brunch? Because it's the image of the tortured, self-destructive artist that prevails nine times out of ten. Amy Winehouse was just a girl that wanted to sing some songs, do you know what I mean? So... Should I just keep my fucking mouth shut? And try to navigate towards enlightenment, leaving behind an intangible trail of good deeds? Or do I dive deeper and deeper into the inky, black ocean of self-destruction and self-indulgence until I nail my chosen art form, leaving an echo for the eternal wonderment of countless future generations that will just breeze over my asshole personality? ... it's what's keeping me up in the night times. Eh... (Pause) Y'know, from the moment we're born we become less than human? You know that? E-... E-hh... Eh... All the bacteria from our mother is passed onto us on the way out of the womb, and from then on, we just continue to collect shit, on the inside and the outside, until the day we expire. Occasionally, you get to choose what that shit is, but most of the time you have very little say in where it comes from or when. You just have to duck and weave your way through the shit for as long as you can, until the chunk of shit with your name on it finally-AAARGH! cleans you up. Look, I know this was billed as a comedy, but a-ha-ha-HAA! LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH! Woo! There are some pretty fucking ridiculous ways to die, though- OH, like that guy, that scuba diver they found when they put out the bush fire! *oh my go-od have you heard this fucking sto-ory?* They put out, like, a bush fire, and they found a dude in full scuba gear, and they figured out that the water bomber plane or helicopter that scoops up the water to put out the fire accidentally picked up a diver and dumped him into the flames! What a fucked up way to go! It's pretty much the polar opposite of "He died peacefully in his sleep", isn't it? Just dumped out of a plane into a blazing inferno... with a highly flammable gas tank instead of a parachute strapped to your back? - "NOOoo!" (Explosion noice) "I just wanted to look at the fish..." What do you say to his family? - "Uhh... At least he died doing what he loved." Well, he was a firefighter that enjoyed skydiving and water sports, but I'm not sure he ever wanted to combine the three... That's better, isn't it? - "Tell more jokes you little purple fucker." I had a good joke the other day - How do you know if a hippie has been to your house? ... They're still there. Haa... How do you know if someone's vegan? ... They'll tell you, yes, ahaHAHAA! Hahahaha, I'm vegan. Um... I initially became vegan for environmental and ethical reasons, and now I just do it to give people the shits at dinner parties. Like, - "Get it away, I can't eat that, meat is murder, STOP HAVING FUN EVERYONE!" It's a funny conversation, the vegan one, you bring it up, people just go - "... shut up fuckhead" But it's funny, 'cuz you know you don't actually need to eat meat. You don't NEED it. Nobody actually needs it. Unless you're on hemodialasys and you have to inhale a rare porterhouse steak every three hours to stop your kidneys backing in, you don't actually need it. That makes it a choice, and it's your choice. As long as you understand that that choice is born from belief and that particular belief is called "carnism". It's an inherited belief system that sort of conditions us to eat meat, and the notion is so... pervasive, I guess, it's viewed as a given rather than a choice. But it's totally a choice. - "Where do you get your proteins from then you little poofter!?" PEAS! (Gasp) It's crazy. And I know it's easy to just lump veganism in with all the other food allergies and just go - "They're the annoying fuckheads that don't eat the good stuff" which I get, I totally get... We're having Christmas at my house this year, right? Three months out, my cousin calls me to discuss her son, my cousin's son, which makes him... Someone I couldn't give a fuck about, anyway; She calls me up, the first thing she says - she doesn't even say hello - the first thing she says is "Brayden can't have blue." - "What the fuck? - "BRAYDEN can't eat BLUE FOODS." Apparently this kid, if he eats anything with a blue food preservative in it, he just KLKH (imitates death) just taps out. That is bullshit! Firstly, don't call your kid Brayden. Secondly... secondly, blue is not even a natural colour for foodstuffs. It occurs very rarely in nature- name me one blue food. (Audience member:) "Blueberry." BLUEBERRIES ARE FUCKING PURPLE! I'm talking about mentos blue, like seven eleven slushie blue, what flavour is that? Fucking highlighter? - "Ah no Randy, blue means mint-" MINT IS GREEN- if you planted mint and it came up blue, you would SET that SHIT on FIRE. - "And that's cool! It's cool! it's like ice, it's like water!" Water is clear. The only time water is blue, is when there's billions of tonnes of it and it's all in the one spot. And then it's got all sorts of shit in it, like salt, and SHARKS ... BLUE MEANS SHARKS IN IT! don't eAt iT it'S gOT SHARKS IN IT! You know, when sharks eat people, it's fucked, but it shits me how they immmediately go out and kill the shark like - "awrH it's gONe roGUe. iT's gOnE rOgUE!" No it hasn't, it's just doing what millions of years of evolution have programmed it to do, fucking swim around eating shit. - "yeeeeeeeah but ... ... ... it came into our bit. thIs bit's oUR bit oF tHe ocEAn." No-see that bit there? That big fucking wet bit? That's its bit. This bit here, all of this dry bit here, that you're standing on with your legs, your legs that have evolved to stand on the dry bit, that's your bit. You go into its bit, you're going to get bit. That's the lesson. ... Paddle out next to a seal colony and wiggle your ass around like a slutty little ol' dove, complaining when you get munched. It's that weird disconnect, y'know, it's the same thing as carnism, it's like if I imagine a pig is just a pig, and all pigs are the same, then I can detach what is on my plate from how it got there. It's just how most of us are brought up, y'know. But if you saw someone slit the throat of a Labrador, and then string it upside down to die an excrutiating death just squirming and bleeding out at the end of a steel hook, you'd think it was a bit fucked. How is a pig any different? It's not. It's actually not ... I said that on stage in Rock Hampton, in Queensland about four months ago. I was like, "how is a pig any different?", and a man in the audience yelled out "BACON!". Touché, sir. You win this round. He actually came up to me after the show - I was standing at the merch desk not selling anything - and he-.. I saw him coming from the other side of the room, just this massive dude, like - (stomping noises) - "Ah, you're a large man" and he said - "I was the one that said bacon" - "fucking don't kill me" and he goes - "nah, you alright mate, you alright mate, you alr-" It's the most passive-aggressive Aussie male thing you can say to another- - "naah, you alright mate, you-" It basically means "I wanna punch your fucking head in, but I don't wanna upset me misses. You alright mate." Anyway, he goes to me, - "Mate, you're not gonna make any friends in rock hampton being vegan. Did you know that Rocky is actually the beef capital of Australia-" - "ah fuck I didn't know that" - "-with over two and a half million head of cattle within a two point five k radius of the town centre?" - "fuck I didn't know that either" - "And that is a fair wack of the thirteen million head of cattle in Queensland alone, seventy percent of which is bred purely for export. Few fun facts for ya matey, few fun facts." I said - "thank you sir I did not know any of that" Did you know that, globally, cows produce thirty-eight percent more greenhouse gas than every single car, truck, bus, boat, train, and plane combined each year? That breeding animals for food uses up one third of the planet's fresh water? Takes up fourty-five percent of the earth's surface, and is responsible for a whopping ninety-one percent of amazon destruction, making it the number one leading cause of species extionction, resource consumption, and environmental degradation destroying the planet on a daily basis? FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA MATEY, FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA! Now, I'm aware this is in danger of becoming a TED talk at this point... - "jesus, a lot of statistics, is there gonna be a test?" It's alright, it's fine, I'll read the book, alright? I'll read the book. Not forcing my opinions on you, I'm merely saying them with a microphone, and you're paying for it. LOCK THE DOORS-no, seriously, okay, here we go. Khm. I'm gonna read the book. Y'know we've got McDonald's home delivery now? Does anyone do that? (Audience responds) You... You do? You know you can already get it in your car? You can get it without getting out of your car, but what McDonald's have now done is they've removed the gruelling walk from the front door to the car, so you no longer have to do that humiliating - "BWAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH- WUUUUUUUUUAHHHH! OOOOOOOAAAAARGGHHHH! Now I have to reverend carpool! Oh, God damn you, God damn you -click- MRRRRRRGHHHH! HMMMMMRGHH! MMMMOOUUHHH WHY CANNOT THEY JUST BRING IT TO MEIN HAUS?" Well now they can. I think it's a good thing. Keep the fatties off the streets, STOP 'EM HOGGING UP THE FOOT PATHS, if they wanna eat shit, let them do it in their own home- WHO'S WITH ME? (Audience starts applauding) Don't clap that, it's a horrible thing to say. yoU'RE moNSTerS! ... Okay. You all good Mattie? Sweet. Okay, here we go. Blblblblbl, okay, kh-hm, alright, here we go, buggedabuggedabuggeda, okay. Stop it! Okay ... Do you like my typewriter, by the way? Isn't it beautiful? It's basically here just as a prop, but occasionally I am always tempted to just go ... (humming). Eh? A few "Murder She Wrote" fans in the house? Heyo? Everyone else going - "What? What is that? Sounds like an old person's joke." ... it is! It is! It totally is! Alright. Here we go. Okay, fuck, here we go. Blblblblbl. Walking to Skye, chapter one ... I bought a bookshelf on Gumtree recently, um, it was an amazing experience, I'll quickly tell you about it and then I'll read the book, but- I found it strange, becasue it made me start to think about the way our, like, methods of communication have sort of changed over the years, y'know? In the old days, if you wanted a bookshelf, you'd just go see Gareth the Bookshelf Guy, 'cuz he was the dude in your tribe that made the bookshelves, he had a little bookshelf cave, he was REPUTABLE. Now any mad bastard can sell their shit on Gumtree, you know what I mean? As a species, we're sort of able to cope with knowing and gossiping around like a hundred, or a hundred and fifty people. That's like the limit of our tribe. Any more than that, it starts to get confusing, which is why we created abstract constructs like territories and deities to unite larger groups of people under an imaginary common factor. And it works the trick, because we only really gather en masse on special occasions, but I think like social media and mmmh... It's fucking all that up, y'know? I think we're able to deal with the thousands of people we're connected to on a daily basis, and as a result we neglect our immediate one fifty, y'know? That's why I never get invited to parties anymore. It's not 'cuz I ramble on about veganism and fisting old ladies, it's because I'm not on facebook and everybody just assumes you are. I am so behind on the births, deaths, and marriages of my friends that I feel like the time traveller's wife every time I go to a party, I'm like... - "This is Tim, he's our son, he's six now-" - "Fucking... Didn't even know you were pregnant." Anyway, you know smartphones, aren't they great? You know that, right, they're not, they're not that great, you don't need the internet in your pocket, you work at Cole's, okay? You're not working for the president, you don't need it, you don't need that much information. And also, what was the point of developing opposable thumbs for you to take a photo of your head, post it on the internet, and then just stand by for validation. No-one gives a fuck about your head! They'll only validate it in order to gain permission to post a photo of their own head on the internet and stand by for validation. The people who give a fuck about your head will at some point see it in real life. Fuck your head and the neck it rode in on. Your vanity is sucking up my bandwidth ... Anyway this is what's going through my head as I'm on Gumtree looking for a bookshelf, because- you know when you put something on the... on the... in like... in the search in booktree- in booktree? what the fuck- When you put something in the search on Gumtree - I'm having a stroke up here - When you put something in the search, right, and like, there's always a couple of things that come up in the list that are like the polar opposite of what you searched for, and like "get out of my head gumtree algorithms, CONSPIRACY!"? No but seriously, it's all you type, it's like "bookshelf", and it's all bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, grammophone? Huh. Bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, combine harvester? What the fuck? ... Huh, that's actually a pretty good price. Anyway, on this particular day, I found two bookshelves that worked for me, in terms of cost, and more importantly, geographical convenience, 'cuz I'd be fucked if I'm driving to Broad Meadows to pick up a bookshelf, right? So I type in bookshelf, and I see the two things, and I'm like okay, one seller is Cathy, the other is Morgan. I send them both the same text message, "Hello! I saw your bookshelf on gumtree, is it still available?". Cathy texts back straight away, saying - "sorRRY iT wENt thIS MorNING!" - "That's cool, Cathy, I'm sorry I gave you an annoying voice in the retelling of this story." Morgan's response came through a couple of minutes later, and simply read, - "It was my wife's bookshelf." ... HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT? Aside from the fact that it doesn't answer my fucking question... His use of past tense in that sentence unnerved me slightly. I'm like, aahhh, I should probably just find another bookshelf... And then I noticed he lived in the suburb next to me, so I replied; - "Is it still available?" He responded with the letter Y. Just a Y. Is he asking me why I wanna know if it's still available? Or is it a Y for "yes", and he's so in the throws of grief that he can't manage the E and the S? I assume it's a Y for "yes" and respond, - "Cool! I'll take it. When's a good time to come and pick it up?" No reply for fifteen minutes, I'm like... ah he's forgotten about it, fuck it, I'll find another bookshelf, and then when his reply actually does come through I realize he spent those fifteen minutes crafting his response, because it's a FUCKING THESIS. He must've felt so bad about only using a single consonant in his previous text that he just massively overcompensated with this one. Also, for some reason, felt that the use of punctuation? Entirely unnecessary. So it's just one obscenely long sentence, which reads; - "You must come and pick up now I only have short time here at house and also it wide so bring van or trailer and there's stair but I can help you carry it down stair if you come park out front walk up path ring bell and I will help you carry it to trailer or van I only accept cash and if you do not come now I will sell it someone else" (Shriek) Again I'm thinking, ahhh, I should just find another bookshelf at this point, but now I am FASCINATED by Morgan, and I simply must meet the man. So I drive over to his house- before I left, I sent him a message saying - "Cool, I'll be there in ten minutes" and he replied "ok", but spelled it OK-A-Y which just fascinated me more, that he'll use four letters to spell a two letter word, but only one letter to spell a three letter word, MORGAN IS OFF THE FUCKING CHAIN! And as I'm driving over to his house, I'm trying to picture what he's gonna be like, y'know... His pidgin English might suggest ethnicity of some sort, but I don't wanna racially profile him; Maybe he's an old man who recently lost his wife and is not that very good at texting, or maybe, and I'm really hoping this is the case, Morgan is just batshit crazy. So I get to his house, and I go up to the- ehe, I park out front walk up path ring bell, and I... I brace myself for the door to be opened by like, an old man in a smoking jacket, wearing fishnet stockings and suspenders, just puffing on an opium pipe while a butler just creepily polishes a goldfish in the background, and then a tiny pugdog wearing a fez hat just trots up the hallway, sits on the mat, looks up at me and says "RELCOME TO OUR ROVERY ROME!"... And then the door opens, and I am thoroughly disappointed. Before me stands an average caucasian male in his mid-thirties, dressed casually, hipster sheek, stubble, glasses with designer frames, expensive watch - I immediately think "architect?" but the house is too cheesy for that - it's like a double story doll's house with bay windows - but definitely a designer of some kind? Maybe a graphic designer? He's too skinny for manual labour, but he's too hip for the public sector, BUT THIS CAN'T BE MORGAN. Because Morgan's text messages would suggest that he's not that technically savvy, and then the man standing in front of me says - "Hello my name is Morgan" AND THE PLOT THICKENS! He invites me in, shakes my hand, closes the door, and twenty minutes later, I will be witnessing Morgan perform some of the most aggressive acts of violence I've ever seen in my life, and I will be speeding away in my car bleeding from the face. Here's how this shit went down... I go into the house, and I notice two things immediately; One, this is a house in the throws of renovation. Nothing too extreme, but there's like drop sheets on all the furniture, there's freshly painted walls, there's a bathtub wrapped in plastic in the hallway, awaiting installation- someone's doing some work on this house. The second thing I notice, on the way up the stairs to the second floor, on the first floor landing, is a wedding photograph featuring a very cleanly shaven Morgan with a very beautiful bride. Very much in love! The photograph is very much on the floor, and the glass in the frame is very much smashed. She's not dead, she's left him, and THE PLOT THICKENS A BIT MORE FOR MORGAN! And as Morgan unceremoniously like, kicks the photo frame to one side on the way up the stairs, I really wanted to pry into Morgan's life and ask heaps of inappropriate questions... But he was clearly a broken man. He had this terrible air of sadness around him, so I didn't wanna intrude. Luckily for me, though, I didn't have to, because Morgan immediately began oversharing and told me the whole fucking story aaAAAH! Thank you Morgan! I shall hang off your every word and then retell your tale to two hundred strangers and record it for a fucking DVD! He IS a graphic designer -YES!- and he's really good at it. He does like massive rebranding campaigns for large corporations, he gets flown all over the world doing this shit, right? About four years ago, a woman hired Morgan to rebrand her florist business, and he did such a great job she married him. And he thought everything was just fine, until about three months ago. Morgan had to do a presentation in Sydney, right? But he was on his way home from overseas and got stuck in Dubai due to a flight cancellation, so rather than cancel the meeting, Morgan suggested to these businessmen in Sydney that they do a Skype chat, because he's so technologically savvy, despite his fucking baffling text message style. So Morgan checks into a hotel, cracks open his laptop, and starts skyping with this room full of businessmen in Sydney, who are all watching Morgan on a massive screen on their boardroom wall, right? And everything's going great, Morgan is totally nailing it, until about halfway through; He realizes that a file he wants to show these dudes is on the desktop of his home computer back in his home office in Melbourne. And he decides to live share the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. He knows how to do that, he can remote control his computer from anywhere in the world, it's not particularly new technology, but Morgan makes it sound so impressive. So this room full of businessmen are all watching keenly, like - "OOAHP! MARGARET, BRING IN SOME BISCUITS, THERE'S SOME NEW-FANGLED SHIT GOING ON IN HERE!!!" as Morgan clicks a few buttons and (click) brings up the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. Now, what Morgan doesn't realize is that his wife has been using the "Photobooth" app on that particular computer to take pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself... doing some pretty fucked up shit. It's embarassing, to say the least, just as Margaret came back in with the biscuits- - "I've got you the b-WHUIEAAAAURRRHHH!!!" Now, those of you who are familiar with the Photobooth app will know that how it works, is it accesses the built-in camera in your computer and with the click of a button, (click) takes a photo of you when you're standing in front of your screen. And if you know that, you also know that if you leave that application open, the camera also stays open, witnessing whatever may be happening in front of the computer, in real time. Such as your wife, in your home office, fucking your best mate. OOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOOORGANNNN... Nooooo... Morgan then goes on to tell me she's keeping the house, his former best mate is moving in, and while they're out for the day shopping for fittings, Morgan must suffer the indignity of moving his shit out, and selling the stuff they don't want on Gumtree to this guy. Ahhh... It's at this point of the story that Morgan starts crying, he breaks down, and I do not blame the man, it's fucking horrible and I just wanna give him a big hug and say "Everything's gonna be alright, Morgan", but I am holding the full weight of a BOOKSHELF halfway down a set of STAIRS and Morgan is the only thing stopping that bookshelf from caving my face in- I was like, MORGAN! MMMMORGAN! And Morgan managed to pull himself together ... for about eight seconds? And then just went BAHHH and let the bookshelf go. I fell backwards, it literally rolled over me, and took out the light hanging above the staircase, I'm now lying on my back getting showered in broken glass, as the bookshelf turned end over end and just went FONK right through a freshly painted wall at the bottom of the stairs. I'm like, AAH. aaAAAh. aaAAAAAAhhh. aaAAAAAHHH. I've got a tiny cut on my forehead which is just pissing blood, for some reason - apart from that, I'm fine. Morgan, however - he's not fine! Morgan is the opposite of fine. Something happened when the bookshelf lodged itself in the wall and his sadness just (click) went away in a second, and he started PISSING HIMSELF laughing. Hysterical. And he had the creepiest laugh I've ever heard in my life- I'm standing there like "this is weird" and he's like "mwhueHUEUEEUEUEUE! mhhwuEUEUEUE!" like some sort of demonically possessed baritone cookaburra, - "mwhueEUUEUEE, a-HOGUGUGUGAGAGAGA!" - "Um... Uh..." - "mwueEUEUUEUEUE" - "can I still have the bookshelf?" - "yuuEEEEAAH" We extract it from the wall - the bookshelf, incidentally, showing no sign of having just rolled down a staircase and smashed through a wall. We carry it out to my car- we had to stop about six times, 'cuz Morgan was like - "Hang on a minute, mwueHUEUEUEUEUEE" We got it to my car, put it on the trailer, and Morgan was in such a great mood he let me have the bookshelf for free. Ohh! Hahaha... Mm... And that's where the story SHOULD end. But there was something about the bookshelf going through the wall that flipped a fucking switch in Morgan's head, and he is now hungry for more destruction. So as I started tying the bookshelf down to my trailer, Morgan just strolls over to like an upright mailbox on the front lawn and just starts trying to wrench it out of the ground. Really putting his back into it. I'm like, "are you okay buddy" and he's like "YEAP" (struggling) HUAH! He pulls it out of the ground whereupon he wields it like a fucking battleaxe and just starts smashing up the front garden, just beheading the daisies, fucking up the lavender... I'm like, "uhh, hey Morgan, maybe you wanna stop and think about that" and he whirled around and looked at me like Jack Nicolson chasing Shelly Duvalle up the stairs in the shining and said - "WHY DON'T YOU MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS?" ... yep, yep, cool, man, yep, yep... Now, I like tying knots. I'm quite good at tying knots if I tie something down I take my time because I want it to stay there... But as Morgan nonchalantly strolled up the driveway, rolled up the garage door, and put the mailbox through the windscreen of an Audi!? I must admit, I kind of rushed my knot tying job. I got in my car, I'm about to drive off, I'm like, looking at the house going "ah, I'm sure he'll be fine" and then an armchair smashed out of an upstairs window and just went DOINK DOINK DOINK DOINK down the front lawn. I was like "... what's my duty of care in this situation?". I didn't want to call the cops on him, I didn't want him to trash the house, I'm like - "daw fuck I'm gonna have to talk to Morgan" So I got out, I walked up the driveway shitting myself- you know when someone does something really violent and you're just like "ah, fuck, we're not supposed to do shit like that!"? Yucky, just yucky feeling in my tum-tum- and I'm standing there, standing there in the garage and there's like an adjoining door in the garage that leads into the house. I can see in through the door into the house, up the staircase, it's like a wooden staircase, and I'm standing in the garage just going - "ah fuck..." (gulp) "morgaaaan. Morgaaaan!" Like I was calling a cat for its dinner? "Morgan! Moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie!" And then I notice a small trickle of water start to come from the top step. And then a little bit more water, and then QUITE A LOT OF WATER, just pissing down the stairs like shitty water feature, I'm like "aw that can't be right" and then Morgan appeared on the top step holding a hammer like this: - "BAAAH!" (jumps out) I was like - "WOAH!" and he's like - "mwhuEUEUEUE" Starts running at me wielding the hammer, like "UEUEUEUE", I'm like "aw no no I just wanted to buy a bookshelf..." he's like "UEUEUEUEUEUE-.. RRAH!" runs straight past me, I'm like - "Where are you going?" he's like - "UEEEH!" made a beeline for my car, I'm like - "NO, MAN! STOP!" he's like - "UEUEUEUEUUEUE" - "STOP IT! JUST STOP!" He spins around and goes - "I just checked my phone, she texted me fifteen minutes ago saying she'll be here in fifteen minutes, WE'RE GONNA GO!" and gets into my car! - "fucking... jesus... fuck me" I run down the lawn, get in the driver's seat, I'm like - "What was with the water?" he goes - "Ah, I put plugs in all of the sinks and turned all the taps on!" I'm like - "Oh that's fucked" He's like - "JUST DRIVE!" I was like - "AAH!" I took off so quick, rounded the corner of his street, and the bookshelf just went "mrrreeUUWh-BOOSH" and exploded against the guard rail, just exploded in a shower of badly tied knots and broken dreams... So me and Morgan just fucking left it there, like a little breadcrumb for his ex wife to find on the way home to her destroyed gingerbread house. I dropped Morgan at a train station. I have never seen him again. And that, my friends, is why I no longer shop on Gumtree. Thank you very much! Thank you very much. (Applause) Haha, ah, fuck... You know my favourite bit of that story? I just made it up. Yes, not true. There is no Morgan. MMMH! It's very unsatisfying, isn't it? - "But I saw him in my head. I saw Morgan in my head." ... ... ... Why is it we can feel so robbed when someone tells us a story we just heard isn't true, and yet so satisfied at the end of a fictional novel? Y'know? You know that? ... You know the other great thing about that story? First draft. FUCK YOU HEMINGWAY! ... (sigh) Can't end on that, can I? - "Those LIES? WE DID NOT COME HERE TO BE HOODWINKED, SIR!" The truth, eh? ... The truth is, I'm... I'm not an exceptional person, y'know? Nothing interesting really ever happens to me, I'm massively flawed, and I think I'm quite forgettable, if I'm being a hundred percent honest. And this isn't the shit bit at the end of the show where I get on the cross, I'm like "lOve mE on the wAY OUt thE doOr". It's not that, it's just that I don't think- on a scale from one to memorable, I'm not that memorable. Not on like the Morgan sort of scale, not on the Ernest Hemingway scale, certainly, y'know... But if I tell a great story, maybe people will remember that instead. Remember the card trick and just... pretend that they don't know how it's done, y'know? ... But must we leave a legacy? MUST we make an impact? Do we HAVE TO leave a footprint? Is it okay to just settle, seek safety, nest, y'know? Or must we constantly shake our lives up, or suffer the indiscriminate cruelty of having it shaken against our will? Must we try to carve a path through the tall grass, feeling as though no-one has ever felt how we feel? Terrified at what may be lurking low in the grass on either side of us, but just pressing ever on with that paleolithic instinct deep within our chromosomes that the only way is forward, that you HAVE TO keep going? That eventually you'll stumble upon the edge of the field, hitch a ride from a passing car, and meet up with the rest of the gang for tea and sandwiches at the old town hall? ... (deep breath) Do we feel like the path that we are carving through the grass is all our own? Only to finally float above the field with the sweet relief of expiration and realize that the field is insignificantly miniscule in size, and that there's only one path through the grass - the exact same one that every human has trod before us will ever after, just stumbling blindly along a tiny hyphen between the words "birth" and "death". And when reduced to that level of crisp simplicity, fear cannot exist ... So. (pausing, readying) Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one: (Blackout) (Applause and credits)

[camsthisky]

where Dick and Jason argue because they love each other

for @brambleberrycottage who asked for injured or ill Dick + Jason realizing/ acknowledging Dick needs his family - including him - more than he ever lets on. With a happy/hopeful ending

thank you so much for donating and i apologize for this being so late!

donate to @cerusee

“You’re a bimbus,” Jason says to the body he’s dragging into the alleyway—out of sight, better coverage, and not in the fucking way of a gunfight, so it’s perfect.

He’s got his gloved hands hooked under the unconscious jerk’s armpits, and Jason hates that despite being taller, it’s still more of a struggle than he would like to admit to get both of them deep enough into the alley and behind a dumpster so that they’re not targets.

“An absolute plastic fork,” Jason continues, sort of out of breath. “And not even the good plastic ones, the really shitty ones that break the moment you try to stab something with it. That’s what you are.”

There’s no reply. Of course there isn’t. Dick is unconscious, and it’s all Jason’s fault.

Bruce isn’t going to kill him, but he’s not going to be happy.

Damian, though. Damian is going to try and kill him. Jason has a contingency plan just in case, because Dick doesn’t look great. He’s pale, his breathing is short and ragged, his lips are almost blue with cold and oxygen deprivation, and Jason’s sure if he takes off Dick’s gloves, his fingernails will be the same.

Focus, a voice in his head tells him. It sounds too much like Bruce, and Jason promptly swears at it to shut the hell up.

“The hell were you playing at, Grayson?” Jason says, gritting his teeth as he starts checking vitals. He’s already done this, right before he moved the both of them out of the line of fire, but it never hurts to do another. “You’re not invincible, and throwing yourself in front of that gun was the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever seen you do.”

Dick’s breath hitches, and his eyebrows scrunch as he mumbles, “Not stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” Jason says, leaning over Dick to shield him from any prying eyes as he peels away the mask. Concussion, from what Jason can tell, but he can’t be absolutely sure. “I once saw you triple somersault over three trash cans and a car because you thought that asshole was insulting your dignity as an acrobat.”

“He was,” Dick says, eyelashes fluttering. His eyes don’t stay open long.

“He wasn’t,” Jason tells him, feeling along the back of Dick’s head. His fingers come back stained red. “He was telling you to be careful, and I’m right because you ended up landing ass first into an open trash can and that’s about as dumb as you can get.”

“What? Trash can?” Dick’s not following the conversation.

“Shit,” Jason says. “Maybe you’re not even a plastic fork. Maybe you’re a fucking spork. Why the hell would you jump in like that? I had it handled.”

Dick opens his eyes again, and he’s blinking rapidly, trying to focus on Jason, but the bright blue doesn’t stay on his face for long before it’s drifting down to his neck and torso. Dick pales further, breath that he can’t afford to lose freezing in his chest.

“You’re hurt?” Dick whispers, his voice thick and strained with emotion. Pain, too, if Jason had to take a guess.

“No, you’re hurt,” Jason tells him fiercely. “Can you even tell me where?”

Dick seems to have to think about that one. “Uh, chest? Ribs, I think? I…I don’t know? Everywhere.”

Fucking hell.

Jason’s helmet is gone who knows where. It’ll be a bitch to replace, but there’s no way that Jason is going back out there to get it right now. Gently, he takes out Dick’s comm. and places it in his own ear.

“I’m calling the Bat for help,” Jason says, leaving no room for argument. Dick doesn’t even try, which is infuriating for some reason Jason can’t fathom right now.

All Dick murmurs is, “Stop being so emo and just call him Batman like the rest of us, you heathen.” Somehow, it’s all in one breath, though he’s winded after.

Jason elects to ignore him.

Tapping the comm., Jason calls, “Hey B, Nightwing’s down. I can’t get him to the Cave by myself.”

There’s some heavy breathing, a grunt, a gunshot, and then, “I’m sending Red Robin and the Batmobile to your GPS location,” and it’s all Jason gets before the connection cuts out on Bruce’s end.

Fucking typical.

“Take a chill pill, Jay,” Dick coughs out. He looks even worse than before.

“Shut up,” Jason snaps. He’s tense. Too tense. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like one more bad thing is going to make him shatter and neither of them can afford to pick up the pieces right now. “You’re literally fucking dying, how about you take a chill pill.”

Dick doesn’t have the breath to answer him. Jason starts prodding at his ribs. Cracked, probably. Maybe broken. Jason just hopes the lack of blood on Dick’s lips means that there isn’t any internal bleeding, because that’ll be another mess and a half.

Jason turns to his last problem.

See, the thing is that Dick had jumped in front of a gun aimed for Jason. Dick had been stupid and gotten himself shot in Jason’s place, when Jason had been immobilized, grappling with some thug. And the shooter hadn’t seemed to be worried about his man at all.

Dick jumped in at the very last minute, and had gotten shot in the fucking leg. Jason had killed the thug and the shooter, taken care of the gunshot wound via pressure bandage before he’d moved them to a safer location and he hates that all he can do now is keep Dick from falling asleep and dying on him.

Jason shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Dick’s shivering form. He probably should have done that first, but Jason’s nerves are shot. He’s human, despite popular belief. Sue him.

“I swear to God, Grayson,” Jason says, because he doesn’t know what else to do, “if you even think about dying, I will go into your room and deface your comforter. And you’d fucking deserve it, too—”

“Shut up,” Dick moans. “I’m trying to sleep, you asswipe.”

“You’re the asswipe.”

“And you’re,” Dick pauses for breath, “a child. Name calling. I heard the thing ‘bout the spork. You’re a spork.”

Jason wants to punch something, and Dick’s face is looking sort of punchable. Jason tells him exactly that, and adds, “If you didn’t look like you were about to keel over, I would be throwing you at the Riddler so he could fucking riddle you to death.”

“A child,” Dick repeats.

“You’re the one who your face’d me.”

“I didn’t,” Dick says. “Jay, you’re my brother, and I love the ever-loving fuck out of you, but I would never in my life, your face you. I’m not sure if I respect you too much…or too little.”

“You’re worse than Cass.”

Dick snorts, even though it’s breathless. “No one’s worse than Cass.”

“Yeah,” Jason says.

“Cassie’s the absolute worst,” Dick continues. “I love her so much.”

“We’re all the worst.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Dick agrees.

“You’re a lot more coherent than you were two minutes ago,” Jason says.

“An’ you’re a lot less angry.”

Jason swallows, because it’s true. Dick, his dick of a big brother, has somehow calmed him down, even though he’s literally lying in an alley dying. Uncomfortably, he shifts over Dick’s body to assess his condition.

“How do you feel?”

Dick hums. “Like I took a bullet to the leg.”

“You’re not funny.”

“And you sound like Tim,” Dick sighs out. “When will you three admit that I am so goddamn funny.”

“You mean four? Or five including Bruce?”

“Cass and Bruce appreciate my humor.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You mean they tolerate it.”

“Cass laughed at my joke yesterday,” Dick informs him very seriously.

“I’m sure she was just laughing at your face. It’s stupid.”

“You literally,” Dick coughs and coughs, and then he breathes in shakily, and something in Jason’s chest clenches as he waits for Dick to continue, “literally just your face’d me. And fuck you. I’m as good looking as they come.”

“I’m not sure the handsomest goblin in the goblin factory counts as a compliment, Dick,” Jason tells him.

Dick opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, another coughing fit rips through him, this one more violent than the last. And this fit brings blood to Dick’s lips. It sprays into the air as Dick coughs and coughs and coughs.

“Shit,” Jason says, dizzy with the panic that floods through his veins. He checks Dick’s pulse and it’s too fast, too fast, and Dick can’t breathe and then—

“Move,” Tim’s demanding, somehow magically appearing while Jason had been focused on Dick and pushing him aside, and fuck that, because Jason’s been sitting here with Dick for the past however long, keeping him awake and talking while they wait for help and he’s not going to not help save his big brother, even though Dick is Tim’s big brother, too.

Fuck. He needs to calm down. He takes a breath, and then another, and then he dives into helping Tim stabilize Dick and getting Dick into the batmobile and to the Cave, and then there’s the usual rush of Alfred swooping in to help Jason and Tim save Dick’s life.

And then it’s Tim and Jason sitting at Dick’s bedside in the Cave, doing the same dance they always do when one of theirs gets hurt.

Except, until recently, it hasn’t been Jason sitting in this chair, holding an injured family member’s hand, waiting for them to wake up. He’d done it for Bruce a million times before and he’s been in the bed himself, but it’s only been the past year or so where he’s actually found himself caring enough about these people.

“Hey,” Tim says a while later, and Jason blinks up at him. He looks as worried as Jason feels. “Thank you.”

Jason scoffs, and looks back towards Dick’s sleeping face.

He feels more than sees Tim lean forwards over Dick’s blankets legs. “No, for real, Jason. If you hadn’t been there, he would have died.”

“If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have gotten shot,” Jason says simply.

And it’s true. Dick had taken a bullet for Jason, and Jason had watched his big brother choke on blood in the dead of the night in some random alleyway while there was a gun fight literally thirty feet from them.

“Maybe,” Tim says. “Or maybe he would have gotten shot anyways, and without you there, he would have bled out in the street.”

Jason levels a look at Tim. “Weren’t you supposed to be a dumb irrational teenager?”

“Only when Damian’s involved,” Tim says, and well. At least he admits it. Jason says nothing for a long moment, and Tim sighs, and continues, “I’m just saying I’m glad you were there.”

“Whatever,” Jason sighs more than says.

“Don’t compliment him,” Dick mumbles from the bed. “Called me a spork.”

“You are a spork,” Tim says, and Jason feels his lips tugging up into a grin.

Dick scoffs, his voice raspy when he complains, “Why do my little brothers like picking on me?”

And then his eyes open and Jason finally feels some sense of relief thrum through him, and all he can do is exhale shakily and bury his face in the blankets on Dick’s bed. To their credit, neither Dick nor Tim comment, instead starting up a new conversation.

Jason just lets their words wash over him, and lets himself relax. It finally feels like he can breathe, and it’s dumb but if he’d lost Dick (again, because there was that thing with Spyral, and yeah he’s still sort of pissed about that, and he didn’t care for how much that freaking hurt), he doesn’t think he’d be able to stand doing this family thing anymore.

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he looks up and interrupts whatever Dick’s saying, and tells him, “You’re such a bimbus.”

Dick smiles, exhausted and pale and alive, and says, “You’re a bimbus.”

Yeah, they’re gonna be okay.

#dick grayson #jason todd #camryn writes #prompt #donation prompts #dc

[alias-b]

Without The Lights~ Billy Hargrove x OC Camille Harper

Chapter 7: Every Breath You Take

A/N: The Snow Ball was so much fun to write. :) Camille hands Billy his ass this chapter after he fucked up at the Byers’ House. I stan a queen. Also rereading Hopper’s first impression of Billy is basically “who the f* is this ugly dumbass?” and it still kills me

  The party came back together again in the shambles of Joyce’s yard. Thankful words and hugs were shared between them. They took soft beats to relax again. To appreciate the gifts of life and friendship.

  “Uh, who the hell is this drooling kid in the Camaro?” Hopper broke the moment when he peered into the car to see Billy with his mouth open, still passed out in back. "Was he even here before? Am I losing track of you guys already?"

  “That’s the new Keg King, Chief.” Steve began, touching his cut lip. “All hail.”

  “My stupid brother.” Max shrugged, gesturing to Camille. “Her stupid boyfriend.”

  “Not even close.” Camille decided, draping Billy’s jacket over his torso as if to tuck him in there. “He attacked us looking for Max. We kind of had to…maybe drug him. Just a little. He’ll be fine. Don't even worry.”

  “You, what?” Jim spun on his heel so Camille touched his arm.

  “Just a little bit. He is... He was a friend and he...lost it. Also, he knows…some stuff. About me.” She clasped her hands to shrug with innocence. "He won't say anything, I'll make sure."

  “Another squirrely kid I get to keep quiet.” Jim grumbled, shutting the door to leave Billy there snoring. “Hawkins lab is finished. In this town, at least.”

  “Jonathan and I made sure of that.” Nancy came forward. Joyce and Jonathan were holding Will between them, wrapped up in blankets on the steps. His friends crowded.

  “And my mother?” Camille lifted her eyes.

  “We can get you out of there.” Jim nodded but, instead she frowned. He realized it then. Camille noted he seemed truly disappointed. “You’re going back.”

  “I have to go back. I have to finish this part. My father is dead. Hawkins lab will be gone. Mostly. Gate’s closed. I’m not leaving that house until I have everything I need. I don’t think it’s safe still. Just as you said, I can’t make waves. I have to pretend. Have to go along with whatever half-baked story we have now.” She was stern. “It’s going to crush her. My mom. Fake mom. There are people out there who could come after us still. I have to play house. If I'm unaware, they might think they're safe. Experiment can continue. Just a bit longer.” Camille held herself and Hopper dropped his hand when she went around him. “I’d like to know you better, El.” The little girl reached to take her wrist, nodding. They went up the steps into the house together to begin sharing.

** ** **

  “Still asleep back there?” Camille drove Billy’s car up to a cliff overlooking Hawkins. The sun would rise soon. A brand new day. A brave new world. Max turned and nodded. Steve drove his own car behind them.

  “He’s out but…moving.” Max looked up, buckled in next to her. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” Camille stopped the car and turned to get into the back. "Billy." She shook him, rousing him further. Billy hitched a moan, eyes glazed when they opened. His head and neck both ached something awful. Camille was in his blurry line of sight. Soft again. Face cleaned. She took the time to wipe drool and blood from his chin with an old t-shirt on the seat.

  "C-Cam...ille." His tongue slurred, trying to function.

  “Hey, you.” She'd eased. Steve’s car came up along side them to park. Billy saw her clearly and gave a jerk, lifting his now bound hands.

  "The fuck?" He'd mouthed.

  "Don't worry about those, sit still for a sec so we can talk. You attacked us. Do you remember everything? Don't lie.” His bright eyes darted across her face. “Nod.”

  “Yes.” The tone scratched. Eyes huge. He tried to take in the surroundings all at once, licking his lips to wet them. “Untie me.”

  “I have something to say to you first. Few things I just need you to hear.” Camille brought her legs up to the seat, arm propped by his head. Delicate fingers tucked a loose curl from his temple. “You look nice. Devil's pride nice. The cologne is to die for. You know, I had a whole outfit planned. I think you would have liked it too." She sounded wistful. "First, you’re not going to talk about anything you saw. There are people out there who will kill us. They'll come for you too if you make a mess. Nod.”

  “Camille.” Billy squirmed in the seat belt.

  “Nod.” She ordered again so he did. Max watched from the front seat.

  “Second. You’re…You are not a good person, Billy.” She saw him glance away, groaning before he tried to sit up. Her finger tipped his chin so he was looking at her eyes again. “Maybe I’m not either some days. What you’ve done is…disgusting. You disgust me. What you did tonight. Attacking Steve and…Lucas. A child. Don’t think I also didn’t notice how you targeted a young boy with dark skin. You probably didn’t realize that at all too but we did. Interesting how parents rub off on us without us realizing it until we're spitting their venom.”

  “It’s not like that. They-”

  “Not like that? I'm sure. Do you think it matters? Intentions? We notice shit. And now you know because your greedy Jew whore told you. As if I haven’t gotten that ever. Do you really want to look back and remember how your father’s words sounded coming out of you’re mouth? How they tasted? I know you, Billy. Well enough. He is awful to you and I know you’re in so much pain. But, to use that to cause pain to others. That ugly shit doesn't fly. Life is a god damn pain and there are people out there hellbent on making it worse. I'm not sure why you're fine being one of them.”

  “Please-” His eyes crushed shut, teeth clenched.

  “But, I know there is a little girl in that house that needs protection too and you could give her what your father never gave you. Do you realize that? That’s a chance you wasted.” Camille gestured to Max. “You both could spit Neil’s terrible words back in his face by being better. You think Max would let you do that alone if you tried just once to love her? Tried to be a brother. Didn't bother to try. You’re gorgeous but now…I see you. I see you for what you are.” Billy let tears fall. Just a few. Exhausted. Teetering. Torn to shreds. Utterly wounded. Camille was gentle when she wiped them. Harsh and truthful. Unworried. Explicitly tender to break through Neil's rough conditioning.

  “I-”

  “You know, I watched my father die tonight and…what’s terrifying is that I’m most upset about all the things I never got to say. The answers he took with him. The fact that there had to be something flickering in him that loved me back and it wasn’t enough. This father who chased my monsters away turned out to be one himself. He hoarded me from them to keep me all for him. I was a beloved family hamster in a wheel and I'm fucking done with it all. But, the loss of my father. I know that I’ll live. The fact that I let him die…I think I’ll forgive myself for that too. Little by little.” Camille's eyes welled and he just watched her expression. Impossibly still.

  “Billy…” Max sighed then. “I know you miss your mom. And California. And everything. You think I don’t miss it too? You think I want to see my mom cower from him? She can’t replace your mom but she can care about you. I just… I miss it all. I hate it. I hate it but, I don’t hate you. You're an asshole but, I don't hate you. I’m angry too, you know. I can’t…fix any of it.” Billy’s eyes slid to her carefully then panned to focus on Camille.

  “I know what I said. You are not a good person, Billy Hargrove. You are a bully. You’re lost. You’re abusive and too damn young and above all that shit, you are better than that. You're a fucking asshole but, I'm telling you right now that you can be better. Maybe Neil neglected that fact. But, is being him and completing the cycle the future you want? I think you just needed to hear it. From a friend. You want to waste that, it's no one's fault but your own. But, right now, the only thing I can give you is pity. Nothing else. It’s on you. Awful or not, you can still do good things. Maybe they won’t forgive you in a million years but you can still do good things despite it. Scariest thing about humans, I think. A choice like that in a world so fucking messed up. I just want to be brave and be happy again. With some help from my friends, I think I can do that. But, you know, we’re just kids still…we have a lot of time to grow and I don’t want to waste it anymore. I truly wish that you don’t either one day. People are liars and bullies…and some grow out of it. Maybe you’ll try. It’s on your shoulders and…I hated myself once and I was a damn bitch and a coward but…I think I’m going to keep trying to be more that that. I hope it works out for both of us. Goodbye, Billy. See you around school.”

  “Let’s go.” Max opened the door when Camille cut Billy’s ropes and dropped his keys in his hand.

  "That's all I had to say." Camille shrugged and slid to leave.

  “I can’t…” Billy lowered his head, near silent. “I can’t go home without Max.”

  “Steve and I will take her home. She already called to check in. Covered for you too. Because she’s a good sister. You can follow us. I just don’t think she’s safe to be with you right now. Change our mind.” Camille watched his face, those trembling lips, before she got out to get into Steve’s car. They drove back in silence. Camille opened the door to hug Max tight when Billy emerged to park. She turned to go but he stopped her quietly.

  “Camille.” He tried not to beg. Voice grounded and low. “Let me show you something before you leave.” She debated it and nodded to Steve, turning. Max raced up the steps to go in first, hurrying to see her parents in their room. Camille clasped her hands and Billy walked her down the hall in silence. Didn't try to touch her or invade her space.

  “This was for you. Had to ask the guy which one it was. Stupid thing is dying already.” A pink peony. Beginning to wilt. Two fingers offered it so she took it from him, nodding.

  "They do that when they're cut from their home." She began, eyes trained on his when she touched the soft petals to her nose and lips to inhale. "Little attention and care though, they can make it farther. You stop dragging your feet and put in the work."

  “One more thing. I lied to you.”

  “About?” She watched him lift his mattress and pull an old, tattered photo out. Tentative, he entered her space to show her. A woman in a long sundress grinning with a young boy next to her. He had a toothy smile and surfboard in hand. The beach behind them was full and gorgeous. His mother. “She’s very beautiful. You have her eyes.” Camille lifted her gaze and he nodded, voice hushed and honest. “You look happy.”

  “I was.” He took it back when she extended it out, thumb tracing the corner. Something to show them both it was obtainable. She hesitated and offered the truth with a great belief that resonated.

  “It’s possible, I think, to get there again.” Camille touched his face and Billy let his eyes close. That too soft grain of compassion heated his skin.

  “I won’t say anything.” He whispered, sighing as she slipped away from him. Too far away.

  “Take care of Max. Take care of each other. Own your shit... And tell my friend that I miss him.” Camille paused again when he pulled his saint pendant off to offer it. “I can’t. It’s your mother’s necklace.”

  “Just watch it for your friend... Until he gets back,” Billy slipped it over her head, shifting hair aside. There it was reciprocated in one tiny flicker. Hope. She stared at him so he spoke. “Goodbye, Camille.”

  “Good luck, Billy.” Camille left the house and got into Steve’s car.

  “You okay?” He touched her shoulder while she looked outside at the brightening sky.

  “Yes.” Camille exhaled. Not red. Not at all. “Let’s go.”

** ** **

  “I can’t let you do this.” Jim Hopper shook his head.

  “She was my mother once.” Camille replied. His Blazer pulled up to her house, flocked by police cars. “We can’t do anything else. I have to be oblivious. Until it’s safe again. We went over the story several times, I got this. She won't know.”

  “I’ll watch over you, all right? You need anything, you call me first.” Camille welled up and took off her seat belt to hug him. A man who also lost too much and who was trying to make things better for a girl he barely knew in truth.

  “I’d like to see El more when I can.”

  “I’ll try to make that happen.” He followed her out and up the steps.

  “Camille! Camille!” Her sobbing mother raced outside, pushing officers aside to hold her. Camille didn’t want to crumble. Yet, it happened. She needed a mother right now. “Oh, god. Oh, my god. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there. I will be.”

  “I know… I know.” Camille cried it out, fingers scrunching up her mom’s dress. "And Daddy..."

  "Hush, I have you. I'm so sorry, baby."

  "Milly, thank god." Edna approached and Rosemary hissed.

  “You’re fired. Leave us.”

  “You cannot do that.” Edna, for the first time, looked deadly. Cold. Camille peered to meet her eyes. Sink. “Mrs. Harper, this is not over. We both know that.”

  “It is,” Rosemary led Camille into their house, rubbing her back and cooing to calm her. “You’re all mine now, my sweet. It’s over, baby. It’s all over now.”

  Camille knew better.

** ** **

  “They boarded the whole place up today,” Nancy poked at her lunch a week later. Life continued. Mostly. Camille was met with students sorry for her loss. Hawkins Lab grasped some of the blame it was owed. School picked up again. Her mother was home almost every night for dinner. Almost. Mourning her husband even still. Her own work and grief pulled. Unknowing that Camille found out the truth. She played the part. Good daughter. “And Barb’s parents…they’re holding a funeral.”

  “I’ll be there,” Camille nodded. “How’s Mike?”

  “Frustrated. Wanting to see El again. Hopper said to give it time.” Nancy smiled when Jonathan sat down and Steve joined the table with him. “Heard that you and Dustin are best buds.”

  “I keep good company.” Steve was wistful. Accepting. A good person. “Taking him to the damn Snow Ball in style.”

  “Nancy, Jonathan, and I are all volunteering for that.” Camille smiled, she ate a meal with her friends. Queen Bee again. Freak. Camille. Lunch ended and they scattered, Camille caught up with Nancy at the door. “Want to go to the movies tomorrow?” She took her hand.

  “I’d like that.” Nancy grinned this time. Friends again. Camille missed this part most. Billy barely said two words to her when school life resumed. Leaving a space between them. Not like a gaping, endless pit. More like a cool moving river. She watched him give Max rides and scurry to class.

  They minced few syllables in chemistry, he stuck his nose elsewhere and she didn’t pry. One occasion, Billy dug into his empty bag for a pencil and Camille slid one over as if it were a peace offering. His hand slipped to take it. No words followed. She only ever spoke during labs they had to do. Aloof and even. No energy to be spent and wasted. Billy took to following her lead. A new position for him. Quiet as he did. Careful not to shatter the cracked and mending glass. He avoided Max’s space at home too. Leaving the room when she entered on occasion. Distance was better for him. So he told himself. Susan found him curled up in his room on a Saturday and he didn’t bark at her for once.

  “Max left for her friends.” She began and he sniffled. Footsteps crept closer to his bed. "It's Saturday...you're not going out?"

  “Leave me alone.” He begged instead, face muffled into a pillow. Tone changed. “Don’t tell him.”

  “I won’t.” Susan reached to touch Billy’s hair. The first time she’d ever reached out for him. He whimpered so she pulled away. “I’m making breakfast now. Omelets. Green peppers. You should come eat something, Billy. I could bring you a plate.” His head lifted at that. His favorite. She went out of her way for him.

  “Okay.” He was barely audible. She was trying. He decided to try too. When it didn't bleed, Billy let himself relax.

  “Haven’t seen that pretty girl in a while.” Susan turned. “Camille was sweet.” Billy turned his eyes, sighing out before he wiped his face. “Neil…he…he can’t say much if she comes over as a tutor instead of a friend. Just a thought.”

  “I’m not like him.” Billy paused and the realization brought him to a complete halt. “I don’t want to be.”

  “Then don’t be.” She was careful.

  “What he thinks about certain people. I don’t think that. I don’t. I didn’t…know. Fuck.” Billy clenched with tears, pressing the pillow closer while he faced the wall still so she wouldn’t see him. “Do I? Dad wants me to be... But, I'm so fucking...tired. I hurt people. I hurt Camille. She... What if I’m already like him and I can’t…I can’t fix it.”

  “Do you think he ever stayed in on a Saturday and stopped to ask himself these questions?” Susan was honest at last and Billy felt his heart give a great shudder. There was a beat.

  “I’m sorry, Susan.” His simple, raw words stilled her entire world. “Bout…my dad...and me.”

  “You can give Max a ride to the Snow Ball.” She replied, earning a nod. “Thank you, Billy.”

** ** **

  “Hey, Harper!” Chief Hopper pulled up to the school before Camille could get into her car. One month later. Time didn’t heal all wounds but it was a start.

  “Am I in trouble, Chief?” She approached with a grin.

  “Maybe,” he chuckled. “Need a favor. I have an address and I need you to bring some items to it in the next two hours. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Oh, you have a mission for me?” Camille clasped her hands.

  “Your biggest one yet.” Jim beckoned her to the window. Camille raced down the road an hour later. Dressed to help at the dance. Excited, she tapped the steering wheel. Snow trickled down in little flurries, barely sticking. She thought of her mother. Holidays to be spent alone this year. Her father was buried. Rosemary still played the game of house and Camille with her. She never broke down. Not once. When would the right time emerge? Still, she was contented to be with her friends. Pulling up to a cabin, she got out and craned her next. Eleven ran down the steps in flannel with Jim behind her. They hugged and she pulled back.

  “I missed you.” Camille came to her level. “I may have brought too much.”

  “What the hell…” Jim watched her heave a whole trunk from the backseat. “Seriously?”

  “Girls like options, Jim.”

  “Yeah, we like options,” El agreed and he rubbed his face. Camille lifted her hand, teetering before the trunk came up. Eleven helped, arm out and they beamed.

  “Okay, cool it with that.” Hopper followed them back in. El opened the trunk to see clothing. Nothing she’d ever worn.

  “Old stuff. Should fit her, I was about her size at that age.” Camille smiled. “Hair first then makeup. Ready?” Eleven grinned now. Sister. A long lost sister.

  “Yes.”

** ** **

  Sparkling lights played off the winter decorations. Music echoed into the auditorium while awkward children roamed. Camille poured punch with Nancy, setting cups upon the table. Across from them, Jonathan took photos, waving at the two girls.

  “Want to come over for our Christmas dinner? The boys and Max are going to bring toys that night, play some D&D. Mom has like twenty desserts planned.”

  “We could dust off some old costumes.” Camille giggled. “I’ll convince Hopper to bring El over.”

  “How’s Rosemary?”

  “Sad. Still working by force. It’s just us now. We care for the house and…it feels normal. No one came for me. Not yet. I can’t…read her all the time.” She sighed. “Hopper offered me a place when…if things go sour. I know it’ll come out one day. I think I’m looking for something first. Something inside her. Just to see if it’s there. Can't find it in dad anymore after what I did. She knew where I came from. She knew and had a huge part in it. She tried to make amends. Even if it was sick. And if I make noise…”

  “I hope you find it. Whatever you need.” Nancy offered. Across from them, Dustin entered with a style dressed similar to Steve’s. Hair and all. “Oh, my god.”

  “Aw, can we keep him?” Camille touched her heart. “Precious thing.”

  “Ladies,” Dustin passed.

  “Hey,” Nancy spoke as he went to greet Mike and them.

  “Max,” Camille stopped to hug her. “Pants? How edgy of you.”

  “Mom did this to my hair,” she grumbled.

  “You look great. Promise. How are things?”

  “Quieter.” Max nodded, eyes brightening. “Nice.”

  “Good,” Camille gestured. “I won’t keep you, go have fun.” Max hurried away and they poured more punch. Fixed up the table. Enjoyed the night. Another song started and couples came together. Max and Lucas joined them. “Remember when it was that easy, Nance?”

  “Was it ever?”

  “I try to think it was,” she joked. “Uh, oh, check my three o’clock. Boy down. Mayday.” They watched Dustin try to ask girls to dance and get brushed off. He looked crestfallen. “I’m going in, cover me.” Camille followed Dustin to the bleachers while he sniffled. “Hey, Dusty.”

  “Cam…Camille,” he hurried to wipe his face and she sat down. The most popular girl in her school smiled at him. Other kids took note.

  “Not giving up already, are you?”

  “Ngh…no.”

  “Good, because the Dustin I know faces all frights head on. Especially when one of the party needs assistance.” She crossed her arms over her knees and nudged him with her shoulder, he brightened just a little at that. “A very wise kid taught me that after he roped me into monster hunting. I used to help babysit him.” She kissed his cheek, earning a smile and Nancy paced over.

  “Wanna dance?” She put her hand out.

  “Uh, Nance, I’m talking with Dusty here.”

  “Snooze, you lose, Cam.” Nancy took Dustin away and Camille laughed after them, shaking her head before she stood up and watched the couples move. Heels clicked while she made her way back only for Max to stop her, hand in Lucas’s.

  “By the way,” she began, “he’s outside.” Camille turned, arms crossing. “Just in case you needed that information.” Max pressed a sort of half smile and went back to the floor. Another song bloomed when she decided and headed out. Eleven appeared at the same time, nervous and looking around.

  “You look amazing,” Camille touched her shoulder. “Own it, it’s your night.” Eleven spotted Mike standing and crossed over to see him. Heading outside, the air chilled when Camille saw Joyce and Hopper waiting together.

  “Ms. Harper. Up to no good?” The Chief regarded her.

  “Me? Never.” She batted her lashes and smiled at Joyce. “They’re having fun in there.”

  “They needed it.” She agreed.

  “I hope you’re well too.”

  “Thank you, Camille. You take care.”

  “Just where are you headed?” Hopper added, lighting up a cigarette.

  “Oh, I…” The teen regarded them. “I was just…uh, going for a walk. There are way too many hairspray fumes in there. Not good for the brain. Why are you two here, huh?"

  "Just friends." Hopper was too quick.

  "Right…so…bye now and mind your business, Chief.” Camille smirked and Jim scoffed with amusement. She hurried off before they could question it further, rubbing her arms for warmth. Camille spotted that familiar blue Camaro up the hill, parked off to the side under the stars. Billy took some time to look at them, half seated on the hood with a cigarette between two fingers.

  “Look nice, do they? Finally taking the time to see them.” She watched him snap to focus on her. Blue eyes awed and looking her up and down once. Lips parted to mouth her name, too scared to offer it to the cool night air. A beat lingered.

  “Harpy. You clean up nice. Devil's pride nice.” He didn’t move an inch more so she paced around the car toward him, standing a few feet away. Pretenses lowered.

  “You feel like sharing that?” She shrugged and he flicked ashes aside, lifting his hand to offer it. No interest in going home as usual. The company was well received. Camille joined him against the hood, smoke slipped from her lips. Billy stared for a quiet moment when she instead looked up at the sky. A slight hum of contemplation sounded. She exhaled and gave a soft shudder against the cold weather. "Not a bad view from manure land. Not one bit." Billy agreed with that, eyes direct on her. Shifting, he shrugged off his jacket. That brown leather bomber she loved. Camille offered him the smoke back so he put it between his teeth and helped her into the coat. Music was still echoing soft in the distance. “You know, I got a strange call from a concerned stepmother a few days ago.”

  “What?” Smoke billowed out soft lips.

  “Had a few things to say. Good things. Hopeful things.” Camille took the cigarette again to inhale. Her nerves subsided. Billy studied her face and panned to see the stars again. “Nothing red in sight today, huh?” Silent, he agreed again, finishing the last drag before crushing it under his boot.

  “What did she tell you?” He puffed slower.

  “That you’re still angry a lot. Naturally. And sad. And quiet. Extremely quiet. That you take Max to the arcade almost every day when needed and you pick her up. That a mysterious new skateboard appeared in Max’s room…"

  "This fucking asshole ran over the old one with a Camaro."

  "I'm sure... She also mentioned that green peppers solve just about everything.” She chuckled and Billy turned his head when his lip quirked. “That you avoid Max but you don’t lash out like you used to. That Neil hasn't stopped despite it all. And when your Camaro had a recent engine problem, your sister was out there silently passing you tools to fix it. You let her do that. Progress. Always happens in small bouts if we stop to notice them. She also invited me to dinner Wednesday. Said your dad would be working late.”

  “Haven’t heard that one.” He lifted his eyes.

  “You’re having pot roast.” Susan was not his mother. But, she cared.

  “She always burns the damn edges,” he joked, softening. Camille shifted to brace her hand back and covered his.

  “I want to try something.” These syllables always brought stillness to his world. She tugged once without fear and he stood up with her. Camille guided his hands to her waist, shifting to touch his shoulders.

  “Never been to a school dance. Just hit the parties after.”

  “Smart. And it’s easy,” she watched his eyes flicker to the pendant hanging from her neck. Gentle hands clasped behind his shoulders and she swayed to the music in the distance, bringing him with her. “You haven’t lived until Hawkins High prom season starts.”

  “Think this year will hurt your chances as prom queen when we’re seniors?” He cocked his head as they turned and she shrugged. Glowing. Beautiful.

  “Ah, I guess we’ll see.” Camille watched his eyes, something connected again. Small but still there. Billy swayed closer until her head came to his collar. Two hands laced. Her arm went around his shoulders and he slipped one hand along the small of her back. The dance continued. Perfume invaded his senses so he closed his eyes. “I really did miss my friend, you know? Tell him that again for me.” Friend. Billy felt himself smile. Only slight. This amazing chance she'd offered without fear or anguish would not be wasted.

  “I’ll let him know,” he nudged his head into her own. There it was again. The pull that things might turn out fine. Or something close to it. The belief that they both deserved better here. The song ended for another and they stayed there in place. Camille inhaled and came up to see his blue eyes in the moonlight.

  “I have to get back.” She whispered against him, slipping away yet again. Cool and light. Hope filled the river that ran between them.

  “Keep the jacket.” He winked and she sucked in her cheeks, hugging it closer. “See you around, Harpy.” Camille shifted down the hill, spinning on her heel to see him as she went. Her luminous smile resonated.

  “Be kind to yourself, Billy.”

** ** **

  “How was the dance?” Rosemary busied with a new drawing when Camille came into her studio.

  “They had fun.” She stayed at the door until the older woman looked up.

  “Lawyer and I got your father’s affairs in order finally.” She went on. “We’ll be fine. I’ll try to be home as much as I can but with him gone…”

  “I get it,” Camille held Billy’s jacket around herself. "I'm sorry." The words just came, eyes welling.

  "About what, sweetie?"

  "Just..."

  "He loved you so much, you know. I love you, I always will. You and I will make it. We will be just fine. We have each other." Her mother pressed her lips. Camille felt guilt and shame pool. But, not all over Noah. He made his bed. She tried to tell herself that. The shame that this was not enough. That it never would be. That the reality of it all was too ugly and that ugliness could rub off on her. That the cycle was not broken.

  "Just...sorry." Camille would find what she needed another day. Her heart stilled. Tried to be brave. Rosemary looked at her eyes. There had to be something. Anything. She hadn’t kicked Camille out or given her to enemies in the distance who would love to study her.

  “We have a long supply of your medication as well.”

  “Oh?” Camille flushed them each day. “Good.”

  “Our party this year will likely not be happening. But, we can still do gifts and candles. Chinese for Christmas morning before my flight?”

  “Definitely… Nancy invited me over after. Almost everyone’s getting together. Heather went on some ski trip for winter break.”

  “I’ll be out around New Years time. Will you be alright here alone, Camille?”

  “I’m not alone.” Camille admitted, lips lifting because saying it with such conviction felt amazing. “I never was.” She turned without explaining to go up to her room for the night. Billy’s jacket hung over the vanity mirror. Her hand gripped a little crochet doll before she was lulled off to sleep.

  Hope made the world less red.

#Hopper: Where the FUCK did this mullet kid come from??? #billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #without the lights #BILLY X CAMILLE #Camille Harper #writing #mine

[steviemae]

knight in shining armor // rm

requested by @mavelfanatic: Could you write a Reggie one shot where nick st Clair attempted to rape Reggie’s gf instead of Cheryl and he finds her just in time and beats him and after he’s all soft and protective?? Pls??❤️❤️

Your boyfriend was raging. He’s never felt so much anger in his life until the moment Cheryl told him what happened to you.

The party for the SoDale project was going well. You were here with your father, and per request of Cheryl. She didn’t want to go alone, but also didn’t want to be stuck with Veronica all night so seeing as your father was going you decided to tag along. You tried your best to convince Reggie to come, but he held football practice at a higher priority, which you didn’t mind.

You stood at the bar next to your father as he handed you a champagne flute of sparkling grape juice since you were well underage.

“I’m going to speak with Hiram. Enjoy yourself, love.” he said kissing your forehead.

“Sure thing, pops.” you said as he walked away. You leaned one elbow on the bar, sipping your grape juice while scanning the crowd for any signs of Veronica or Cheryl when you spotted the ever flirtatious Nick St. Clair walking your way with his award winning smile.

“y/n, fancy meeting you here.” he said holding his hand out. You shook his hand with a smile. He brought it to his lips, placing a small kiss along your knuckles. You jerked your hand away giving him an uncomfortable smile.

“You knew i’d be here, Nick. Don’t play dumb.” you said rolling your eyes playfully.

“I was betting on your being here. I’m hosting a little party at the Five Seasons. I invited Veronica and all of her friends, but i wanted to invite you myself.” he said. You opened your mouth to make up some lie about you and Reggie having plans but Nick raised his hand to stop you.

“Your boyfriend will be there so you really have no excuse not to come.” he joked.

“Sure, Nick. i’ll be there.” you said finishing your drink. You looked over Nick’s shoulder, hearing Veronica and Cheryl calling your name.

“Go on over, i’ll bring you girls some more drinks.” he said nodding over to them. You hesitated at first but went ahead anyway.

You chatted with the girls for a little bit, them of course asking where Reggie was because the two of you are normally inseparable. Nick came over with drinks for all of you, you took yours mumbling a quick thank you and taking a sip.

“I have to go mingle with the other guests. Daddy is the man of the hour. I’ll catch you guys later.” Veronica said bidding her goodbye. Cheryl left as well, finding her way to some handsome guy sitting at a table.

“And then there were two.” Nick said taking a sip of his drink.

“What a lovely coincidence.” you said sarcastically downing the rest of your drink. Nick watched you creepily as you sat the glass down on a tray a passing butler was holding.

“Would you like me to get you another?” Nick asked you raising an eyebrow at you.

“No thanks. I think i’m going to go find my father.” you said. You turned to walk away but lost your balance. Nick caught you before you fell. He placed his glass on a nearby table, placing his arms around your waist and walked you towards the exit.

“Wait, i wanted to talk to my dad.” you slurred.

“It’s okay, pretty. We’re going to go have some fun elsewhere.” he said as he opened the door to his car and placed you in the backseat. Little did he know, Cheryl and Veronica saw the whole thing.

Reggie bypassed the front desk already knowing where Nick’s room was because of the text invite for the party tomorrow. Cheryl, Veronica and Josie jogging to keep up with the angry football players fast walk.

“Open the fucking door, Nick.” he said pounding on the dark wood of the door, blocking him from you and Nick. after a few seconds, Reggie only grew more and more impatient and he told the girls to step back as he kicked the door in.

“You son of a bitch!” Reggie yelled grabbing Nick by the back of his jacket and throwing him to the floor. He was so angry he blacked out as his fist connected multiple times to Nick’s face.

“Reggie, okay. That’s enough. You don’t want to kill him.” Veronica said grabbing his arm before he was able to land another punch to Nick’s face.

“Reggie.” you croaked. Your head was pounding and the entire room was spinning. Reggie’s face softened and your voice brought him back to reality. He looked at Nick’s bleeding face and loosened his grip on Nick’s colar letting him drop lifelessly to the ground.

“Baby, oh my god. He didn’t touch you right? We got here in time? Please tell me we got here in time.” he pleaded.

“My head hurts.” you mumbled.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re gonna get you out of here. I’m gonna take you home.” he said picking you up and cradling your close to his body. He walked out of the room with you in his arms, the girls following behind him. He was only worried about you and making sure you weren’t violated by some privileged little boy who thought drugging girls was a good way to get laid. He was mad - no livid. But his main focus right now was to get you home and flush whatever drug Nick slipped you so you could tell him exactly what happened. Though a part of him wanted so badly to go back in that room and beat Nick until there was nothing left to him, but the way you gripped his shirt and clung to him made him stay right where he was - with you.

--

You woke up, your head still pounding. You felt around you, feeling the softness of your favorite blanket. You opened your eyes, taking in your room. You let out a sigh of relief. Reggie walked out of your bathroom running his fingers through his hair. When he looked up his eyes met yours and he practically ran to the bed, sitting next to you.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asked.

“My head hurts, but i definitely feel ten times better than before. How long was i asleep?”

“A couple of hours.” he answered. The two of you sat in silence for a minute as the memories of what happened came back into your brain. You felt disgusting as you brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and rested your chin against your knee.

“I hate to ask you right after, but i need to know - did he touch you?” Reggie asked softly.

“No, you guys got there shortly after we did. I don’t know how you managed that, but you did and i couldn’t be more thankful.” you said as your eyes filled with tears. You took one look at Reggie and began sobbing.

“Oh no, baby.” he said quickly moving to sit next to you and scooping your into his arms. You cried into his chest for a minute until your parents knocked and walked into your room.

“y/n. My baby girl.” your dad said sitting on the edge of the bed, “just know that this is being taken care of, though i wish i could’ve done what Reggie did. I can’t thank you enough for getting there in time, son.” your dad said.

“I’d do anything to protect your daughter, sir.” Reggie said while petting the back of your head to get you to calm down.

“Nick is going to jail, y/n. There’s no question about it. This wasn’t the first time he’s ever done something like this and i can only thank Reggie for not letting it go any further.” your mom said as she rubbed your back soothingly.

Hiram, Hermione and Veronica came a few hours later. They offered their apologies and condolences and promised to help put Nick away for what he did and what he almost did. Reggie didn’t leave your side the rest of that day - or any day after that. He felt like he was somewhat to blame for not going to the SoDale party with you, but you assured him that it wasn’t his fault whatsoever. Your father even allowed Reggie to stay the night as it gave you comfort and gave him peace of mind that you were well taken care of whenever Reggie was around.

#riverdale imagines #reggie mantle imagines #riverdale imagine #reggie mantle imagine #riverdale fluff #reggie mantle x reader #riverdale #reggie mantle #reggie mantle fluff #imagines #writing #steviemae

[ill-skillsgard]

Phoenix Rising, Part 1 - Valter Skarsgård

Title: Phoenix Rising

Description: The struggle for domination is paved with deceit and destructive lust as two enemies battle it out for control night after night.

Warning: 18+ swearing/mentions of rape/violence/femdom/DDLG leanings

A/N: This is the first and only series I’ve written with Valter in it so far. One day I will finish it. This is for all the babies riding that V train with me who miss this story. Enjoy!

I was down to my last round of bullets. The gun in my hand was a pistol and ill-suited for long distance shots. With my back up against a stone wall, I breathed in deeply and weighed my options; I could either stay there and have him come hunting for me or I could peek out from my cover to try to get a glimpse of exactly where he was located. Both options posed significant causes for a quickened heartbeat. On one hand, I could wait it out and test his patience which could buy me some time to think of a better plan, or on the other, I could risk having a bullet put in my head while I tried to put one in his. Whatever decision I made I had to make it quickly. I couldn't be sure what kind of guns he had left. For all I knew, he could have had himself a precision sniper rifle with a magnifying scope pointed right at the corner I wanted to steal a glimpse out from. If that were the case I knew that half my skull would get blown off if I risked it. But if he was left with slim pickings as I was, perhaps his accuracy wasn't all too good either. Then it became a game of luck. I knew I was just as good a marksman as him but I wasn't sure if I would be quick enough. I felt my heart start to thump loudly in my chest as I readied my gun in my hand. "Come on, bitch. Where are you, huh? Don't be scared. I'm just going to blow your head off!" I listened to him yell. His voice had an accent in it that I couldn't quite place. I gritted my teeth. Everything I wanted to say to him involved different ways that I would mutilate his genitals if I were to ever get ahold of him. If I wasn't so nervous I would have replied with how badly I wanted to shove the edge of a knife in his dickhole and give it a twist. I was better than that though, or at least I liked to tell myself. No, I would have to keep my cool until the right moment. The moment that would realize my death or be one of the most important kills of my career. "Come out, girlie. I want to see you!" He yelled and made kissing noises at me as though he were trying to beckon a pussycat from it's hiding place. "Fuck you!" I finally fired back. "Maybe I'll fuck your dead corpse." I turned my body around so that my chest was almost to the wall. Raising the gun, taking aim and preparing myself to dart out from the corner, I drew in a deep breath through my nose as a practice run. On the exhale of the next breath was when I would make my move. I couldn't hide from him forever. Once I let my lungs deflate fully for the second time, I stepped out from behind cover and saw him peeking over the mangled hood of a wrecked car. Perfect. I unloaded three shots and the recoil almost made me shut my eyes but I didn't and I held my aim as steady as possible as I dove out from behind the stone wall. I rolled low after firing and heard him yell at me. Then everything went red.

YOU WIN.

"Ha! Fuck you bitch boy! Shot you right in your fucking face!" I yelled at the TV screen. "Fuck you. Noob. Stupid bitch, you sound like you're twelve." "I still fucking raped your throat, you little bitch. Fuck! You!" I jumped up and down on my couch and laughed, the controller still in hand as the load screen to the online lobby came up, effectively cutting off our communication. I had finally won a match against Vscars. The victory was so sweet and I knew it was going to look really good after the new ranking loaded. The guy's voice kept ringing in my ears and it sounded so sweet. He was always very high up in the leaderboard fighting for the third place spot with a couple of other players that spent nearly all their time playing every day. I didn't have the time to devote to it but I had steadily worked my way up from the bottom of the leaderboard to a respectable place at about fifteenth. The more I played through the more I was determined to get myself higher up on the board. I managed to get pretty good at the gameplay and started rising higher. Then, once I broke the top ten, I started to hear the voices of the Agents of Carnage Elite. It was just a bunch of guys that sat around and played all day and night and nothing but narcissistic and sexist things to say the entire time. I liked to keep my mic off while playing but I always listened to my opponents. Their misogynistic conversations became fodder for my fiery need to vanquish them. They were all so stupid and immature-sounding and I longed to destroy them. Vscars was well-known for being nearly impossible to beat. There were three players always at the very top of the leaderboard and it was him and two other guys with just as shitty attitudes. Over the jobless days and nights, I focused on getting better and better until I was pitted against Vscars. The first few games we played he had killed me easily. I almost stood no chance against him. But he was a predictable player and I quickly caught wind of his strategy. He knew the boards well and obviously knew where all the best hiding spots were and in turn, the best hiding spots to observe said hiding spots. He would stoop down and just wait for somebody to unknowingly set up shop at one of the prime lookout locations and always found himself the sniper rifle. He would just sit there and wait, looking through the scope until he knew where you were. Then he would just shoot once when you lined up with his sight and that was it. His silly little strategy couldn't work all the time and I had finally cornered him on the board. I could still hear his stupid voice echoing in my head even as I took off my headset and logged off for the night. It was earlier than usual for me but I knew I needed to get a good night's sleep if I was going to wake up early enough to do my hair and my make up instead of one or the other. The next day I had a job interview at a store that I had been going to my whole life. It was a little shop in the corner of a plaza that specialized in buying and selling video games. It wasn't a big chain gaming store though and that was the charm of it. It was a family-owned and operated business that specialized in retro gaming. I had been trying to get a job there for the better half of my teen years and had finally landed an interview at the age of twenty-two. By that point, I still wasn't convinced that wanting a job at a video game store was for teenagers. It was more than just that. It was a store packed wall-to-wall with vintage gaming memorabilia, collectible toys, fan merchandise, and newer generation games too. Naturally, I was excited about the interview and just hoped that didn't try to challenge my knowledge of old school video games. Still feeling confident from my epic victory in Agents of Carnage from the night before, I wondered if I could bring that up as a selling point of my resume. Laughing, I dismissed the thought. The idea of sitting in front of a potential employer trying to explain to them that I had beaten one of the best players on the world leaderboard of a video game seemed silly. Yet once I was seated in front of the interviewer, I remarked that he seemed like somebody who might actually be impressed by trivial gaming prowess. Either that, or he would have a snarky remark about how it was probably just a chance shot and that the maneuver I had pulled off was nothing but luck. He had thick horn-rimmed glasses on and the speckles of scarring from a years-long battle with acne sprayed over his gaunt cheeks. He definitely fit the typical gaming nerd description. "So what would make you say you are qualified to work in this store?" He asked, trying to sound intimidating but failing in anyone's eyes but his own. Well... " I started. "I play a lot of retro games. I have an almost ninety percent completed NES collection. I like games a lot. I feel like I would be a good addition to the team because... Well, I know a lot about old-school gaming." "What about new-school gaming? Are you up on your knowledge of new releases because that's what we find people are most interested in this day and age. Not much need for people who only play classic Nintendo." I squirmed in the padded chair uncomfortably at first but then straightened my spine and asserted, "oh, I am very knowledgeable about new games. I play everything Bethesda releases and right now I'm in the top ten on several leaderboards on some popular games." "Really? Like what?" "Um... Agents of Carnage?" "You're in the top of the leaderboard on Agents of Carnage? What's your gamer tag?" "PhoenixRising. Last time I checked I was sixth." "Hm," he mused with a lame shrug. "Guess I should try that game out. You're the third person today to mention it." "It's pretty good," I said meekly. "Well, I can see here that you have other retail experience but we have a very tailored approach to selling. You will find that it's not so much like a regular store with customers coming in knowing what they want. You will have to work hard to sell things and it definitely makes a difference whether you do or not." "So, does that mean you want to hire me?" The interviewer's magnified eyes dropped down from my face to my chest and then quickly shot back up. "Uh, I guess so. I have to hire two people by noon and," he paused to look at his watch. "It's almost noon so... Sure. You can come in on Monday for orientation and the beginning of your training." "Awesome! Um, should I wear anything specific?" "Black pants and black shoes. You'll be given a t-shirt later." "Cool! Can't wait. Thanks!" I enthused, standing up and thrusting my hand out for him to take. "Uh, wait, what's your name again?" He asked as he shifted through the papers that comprised my resume. "Phoenix. I just go by Nix though. For obvious reasons." "Yeah... Like the bird." "Yeah," I snorted. "Like the bird." After the positive conclusion of my interview, I left the back room that I had been shown to with palpable confidence. That was until I noticed somebody sitting in the chair that I had sat in before my interview started. He looked like he was there for an interview as well with a grey collared shirt and black jeans. He had this pout on him that made it look like maybe he wasn't exactly happy to be there but as I walked through I saw the corner of his lips tug. He ran his fingers through the blonde hair framing his face and it all fell back down pointlessly. I couldn't help but smirk too as I passed by him. When I got home I felt like the only way to celebrate getting the job that I wanted was by sitting on the couch, turning on my TV and putting on my headset. When I logged in, all of my recently played games popped up including a notification in my inbox. I cocked my head subconsciously as it was a rare occasion I got messages from other players.

Lucky shot. Let's see you do that again I instantly deleted the message from my inbox because I usually wasn't one to engage with other players but the fact that he had reached out to me to call me out made me grind my teeth behind closed lips. I sat there on the couch with my controller in my hand wondering if I should even entertain him by sending him something back. After all, he was one of the best players on our server and I was just some girl who wanted to prove that she could beat any guy. Now he wanted to initiate a war and I wasn't sure if I could replicate my win from the night before. After a while to think about it I chose to simply ignore him and started playing something else for a little while. Once I grew bored of the game it was close to dinner time and I had to sign off to meet up with a friend anyway. I saved, logged out of my game and saw that there was another notification in my inbox. My chest tightened. "What the fuck?"  I whispered to myself as I opened my inbox.

pussy. I was just about ready to whip my controller at the TV but I stopped myself. There was something about his persistence that got me thinking about replying to him. I didn't want to just blatantly insult him but I didn't want him to think he could just go around sending vulgar messages to people just because he got beat. 

This pussy beat you. Sorry. Get over it. Instead of turning off the console as I had initially planned, I logged onto Agents of Carnage and saw that he was there too. It didn't take long for me to sit in the lobby before I got a challenge notification.

Vscars wants to challenge you! Accept? Deny? I automatically denied the challenge because I knew it would show up as a notification for him right away and it would either drive him crazy or help him take the hint that I had no desire to play with him again. I didn't log in at all, simply waited for another message from him. Instead, I got a friend request.

Vscars has added you as a friend. Accept? Deny? Scoffing to myself, I scrolled over to hit deny but instead chose to accept. "Oh, fuck," I whispered. It was too late at that point. I had accepted his friend request and that meant he could look through all of my achievements and see exactly what kind of gamer I was. That would mean he could see that I had hundred-percent completed a lot of girly RPG games and that meant I would have to prepare myself for more derogatory statements about being female.

Come on, pussycat. Let's play? Biting my lip, I decided to finally write back to him.

I'm busy. Go play with your little friends on AoC. There was almost no time in between my reply and his. I couldn't believe he was so determined to challenge me again.

But I want 2 play with U pussycat. Was this weird foreign guy getting off on my degradation toward him? It was hard to tell if he was engaging me or mocking me. But before I could go any further my cell phone started ringing and I could see it was my friend calling, probably to ask me what time I would be ready for dinner. I answered the call as I signed off completely, turned the TV off and scrambled to my room to change out of my interview clothes.

#valter skarsgård fanfiction #valter skarsgard fanfiction #valter skarsgård smut #valter skarsgard smut #fanfiction

[destiels-w]

Chapter Two

This chapter isnt as long but I think ill post these twice a week if I’m lucky. I would love some feedback.

triggers: abuse

word count: 1k

----------

Hours turn into days, It’s been 3 says since I was at the stark tower & I still haven’t manned up the courage to tell my parent that I was leaving. I made my decision. Maybe I could sneak out, and never return? No. That’d be taking the easy way out. I couldn’t do that. I get up from my room.

They were both sitting on their own recliner. I took a deep breath, making my way to the couch.

“Can I talk to you guys for a second?” I asked quietly.

“Can it wait?” Trisha, my foster mom, the mother of nightmares.

“Not really, it’s kind of important. Please?” I begged. I wanted this over with & their stalling is not helping me.

Tyler, not even a foster dad, he’s just here. The reason I thought broken bones was a norm. The reason I don’t sleep throughout the night. An actual nightmare. He turns off the tv in a huff & slams his remote into his lap.

“You’ve got our attention, brat, what do you want?” He barks at me. I took a breath, & without thinking, I say what pops into my head.

“I met my biological father today, and he wants me to move in with him” I say, trying to read their faces. It stays silent for minutes before Trisha speaks.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to tell him you already got a place.” She says with a matter-of-fact attitude. After 20 years, you learn to deal with her snarkiness but today was not the day I was going to deal with it.

“I told him I’m considering” I stated back. She kicked her recliner in, placing her feet firm on the ground.

“You what?” She snarled.

“I told him I’m going to consider it. You guys don’t need me here anymore.” I stood up, trying to keep my ground firm. Tyler stands up.

“It’s a shame you made say shit you don’t mean. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right the fuck here.” He said with fury.

“No, Tyler. I really think that’s where I need to be. With my biological family.” I said.

“What a disrespectful shit you are, we’ve provided a life for you, we feed you & put a roof over your head. Has your biological family done that for you?” Trisha remarked.

“It’s not up for debate. I’m 20 years old & can legally leave whenever. I’m sorry but this is what I need to do.” I turned & walked back to my room. The shouting did not cease. I ran through the hall, packing what little clothes I had & a few objects of value. It wasn’t long before I hear Tyler’s boots rumble the hallway, I quickly through my suitcase outside my window. Knowing that if they saw me with it, they’d prevent me somehow.

“Y/N, you’re not leaving this fucking house. It’s not up for discussion. I don’t know where you think you got the balls to tell us what you’re gonna do.”

I ignore his demanding tone & try to walk past him. My hair was pulled back hard, as I was thrown to the floor I wince at my sudden headache.

“YOU ARE NOT LEAVING BITCH” he screams in my face, forcefully kicking his boot into my side causing me to cry out. He leans down, colliding his fist with my cheekbone. A tear rolls down my face, the burn of his rings becoming unbearable.

“Stop! Please stop!” I cry out. His continues his acts of violence, kicking & punching the shit out of me until they feel like mere motions, my body numb.

“You wanna leave so damn bad?” He screamed. He grabbed a hand full of my hair, pulling me down the hall, my headache become excruciating. Tears continuing to run down my busted up & bruised cheek. I was thrown into the rain outside, “good luck out there without any of your shit!” And with that a slam of the door. I laid in the rain, I couldn’t move. My body sore & my spirits broken I could find the strength to get up. I couldn’t find the will. I pulled my phone out, after scooting myself under the house ledge where there was no more rain. I called the number from the business card. Hoping to god someone picked up, I hadn’t realized the time was 2am until I heard the groggy voice answer.

“Hello? Y/N?” Happy answered.

“Happy... I need... please get here. I need help..” I said as best as I could without getting winded. My breath was heavy & my ribs heart to talk.

“Y/n are you ok?” Happy sounded alert.

“Please, just hurry. I can’t stay here” I pleaded.

“I’m on my way” and with that the phone call was over. I limped my way over to my bag I previously had thrown out the window. I couldn’t move it without the horrendous pain piercing my rib age again. I sat next to the bag, and waited for happy. My vision blurry. The need to sleep was calling me, my eye lids felt heavier than ever. The rain kept me awake for another 15 minutes before happy arrived.

“Oh my god, kid, are you ok?!” His arm wrapped around me as he held my arm around his shoulder, getting me to the car.

“Happy... I need to sleep..” I whispered. Any louder & the ringing in my head would’ve made things worse for my vocalization. He grabbed my bag & threw it into the trunk. Street lights buzz by the windows. I can hear Happy talking on the car phone, “Tony, shes all banged up & I think she has a concussion. You’ll need to get the medical team ready to get her.” I can only remember being dragged out of the car, a million times being asked “are you ok” & “what happened”.

I can’t recall what’s happening before I get a light shone into my eyes, asking me my name & my age. Tony is sitting right in front of me, asking me what I can remember.

“Tony... I’m so tired, can I please sleep?” I beg. “My head is killing me”. Before he answers, my eyes are shut & my mind goes blank.

#james bucky barnes #reader x bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #stark!readerxbucky #stark!reader

[erratic-erotica]

Hard Night: The Penising

‘Kay, so.

I don’t, historically, do the tamblr thing. But I’mma try it out anyway, because why the fuck not, right? Also because my friend, Fry, literally made a tumblr for me because I am a luddite and also a tiny frightened baby bird. But Fry shoved me out of the nest with a loving, “FLY, BITCH” and so here I am.

You don’t care about me, and that’s fine. But let me tell you a quick story before I kick things off here.

So my boyfriend (hereafter referred to as Boyfrienddicks) came home the other day from his work at a hotel. He brought with him a large sack, and dropped it on the bed, and said, “You like to read, right?”

BOY HOWDY, DO I EVER.

Boyfrienddicks continued, “So there’s this ladies’ readers group that meets at my hotel every so often, and tonight they dropped off a couple of sacks of books at the front desk. So I grabbed a sack and brought it home for you.”

As you might imagine, I was rubbing my little hands together in absolute glee, because it was shaping up to be the best day of my life. FREE BOOKS?! HELL THE FUCK YEAH, SIGN ME UP. THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS ARE EXPENSIVE.

So I did my gimme-gimme hands and he kindly passed me the sack, at which point I simply shoved my hands into it, the better to fondle my new treasures. With no small amount of glee, I lifted the first one from the confines of the sack and held it up into the light like Simba on Pride Rock.

And then I faltered.

“This is smut,” I said aloud, somewhat feebly.

“What?” asked Boyfrienddicks.

“Smut,” I said, flipping the book around to show him the nearly-naked dude on the cover. “Sssssmut. Ladyboner material. Trashy romance novels.”

“Oh,” he said. “Is…is that one called Hard Night?”

“It sure is,” I replied.

He cackled for a solid minute and then insisted I read it and tell him about it.

So I did.

Anyway, Fry (and others) were amused by the prospect of reading Random Smut That Totally Didn’t Fall Off the Back of a Truck or Anything, so Fry helpfully created this…I don’t know what you call it, tumblr group? For the reading and reviewing of – not carefully selected and deliberately chosen romance novels, but literally whatever random romances we can find.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say about that. Take from it what you will. Or don’t. It’s no skin off my nose.

Here’s my review of Hard Night, by Jackie Ashenden. I want to preface this by saying that it took me two whole days to finish this book because I did not want to finish this book. And not in the “I wish this would never end” sense, but rather in the “I wish I had never started this” sense.

JUST LOOK AT THIS. DISCRETION. SKILLS. SECRETS.

Hard Night starts off with our (ostensible) hero, Jacob Night, looming over our ill-fated heroine, Faith Beasley (aka Joanna Lynn), as she lies in her hospital bed, unconscious and emaciated.

She’s the only key to reuniting with his long-lost brother, because of course she is. And she’s also probably his brother’s lover. Or something. But he found her too late, and now she’s clearly been roughed up, and, as a result, has developed amnesia. Because of course she has.

What’s a fella to do with that, except to claim he’s her cousin and take her home to live with him, which, miraculously, absolutely no one questions. Did I mention he’s the one who told everyone her name is Faith Beasley? Because he did, and it’s not her name. Sergeant Doucheyacht literally took it upon himself to name this poor lady.

Anyway, not even “Faith” questions this miraculous turn of events, which is good for the plot, but bad for anyone in real life. DO NOT GO HOME WITH STRANGERS WHO DEFINITELY CANNOT PROVE THEY KNOW YOU OR THAT YOU ARE IN ANY WAY RELATED. That’s just some solid life advice from your friendly Vodka Aunt Dragondicks.

Captain Dudebro also helpfully gives her a job doing things and they rub along relatively smoothly together, despite both being tightasses of the highest caliber. Also despite the roiling sexual tension, since Jacob is constantly thinking of how awesome “Faith’s” ass looks in her tight pencil-skirts.

But he would never act on those impulses, of course.

Until one day, for no reason in particular that I have been able to ascertain, someone starts shooting at them. So off they run from sunny San Diego, all the way up the Pacific North West, where they hide out for a bit in Major Dickhead’s convenient bunker.

They spend about a day there before Jacob startles Faith in her sleep, and she just fuckin’ flips him and lays him out. Which, you know, cool. I like strong heroines as much as the next person.

So Genius McSmartypants deduces she’s probably Special Ops, just like he was before his mercenary days, and he’s like, ‘Hey. I like strong women.’ But also he’s a douche about it because he’s also like HEY BITCH YOUR REAL NAME’S JOANNA AND YOU HAVE TO REMEMBER THAT NOW TO SUIT MY PURPOSES. BECAUSE I NEED THAT INFORMATION IN YOUR HEAD.

Dick. But I digress.

So now it’s combat training time, because maybe that’ll jog loose some memories (that Joanna/Faith clearly doesn’t want to remember). And of course, Dickheads gonna Dickhead. Somehow, fighting mysteriously turns into fucking. Fightfucking. Fuckfighting? I don’t fucking know, but there’s a lot of it in this book. Like, we took a fifty-goddamn-page fuck-break on page 86.

Eventually, however, it appears that our Noble Author realized, “Oh, shit, wait, this was actually supposed to have a plot, too.”

And the story continues. Faith remembers she’s really Joanna. And that she sort of also shot General ConstantBoner’s long-lost brother, Josh. And that she’s a Secret Badass. Also that she was never romantically involved with Josh, which is good news for Rear Admiral Knobjockey, who probably does not want to become Eskimo bros with his actual bro. Probably.

But that’s not important because we have more penising to get to.

Of course, Jacob confesses to a Tragic Past: a parade of foster homes that he was subjected to because he stabbed his pseudo-stepfather for molesting his younger twin brother, whom he really, really wants to reunite with.

Anyway, eventually Faith/Joanna realizes that telling Lieutenant Arsebarge that she totes shot his brother is probs gonna go down like a lead balloon, so she fucks off back to San Diego, because it totally makes a fuckload of sense to head right back to the same city where you got fucking shot at just a couple of days ago.

Of course, Corporal Fuckwad catches up with her in a motel, because he’s somehow GPS tagged her clothing. How? Don’t ask me. I don’t fucking know. It’s explained as “new technology.”

Anyway, more fuckfighting (fightfucking?) ensues. This time, with spanking! Scandalous! Faith also confesses to shooting his brother, because bro was part of her Special Ops team and he betrayed them for money, or whatever. To which Jacob replies something like, “Meh.”

Commandant Thundercunt realizes that they’ve been found out – there’s a car stationed right outside their motel, and this is clearly bad news. But Faith is just like, “Hey, you know what? I bet I could offer myself up as bait to those guys who have already tried to kill me. They might have info on your brother who might not actually be dead, idk.”

Of course, Colonel Fucknuts is having none of that. But she cold-cocks him and goes anyway, so it’s whatever.

But surprise surprise! Jacob’s little bro was actually the Evil Twin all along! Because he’s there with the real bad guy, whose name I disremember because I was pretty checked out by this point, not gonna lie. Started with an F. Pretty sure.

Anyway, of course Warrant Officer Fucktrumpet Supreme turns up to rescue his lady, and for reasons, Evil Twin helps them escape. Go team!

But Brigadier General Fuckface has just enough time left in the book to have a Crisis of Conscience! He is just no good for Faith! He’s a Bad Man! He has done Bad Things! He doesn’t deserve the Love of a Good Woman!

Faith, of course, drowns her sorrows in whiskey for a couple of hours before one of Chief Petty Officer First Class Bumblefuck’s friends (yes, incredibly, this man has friends) shows up to be like, “Hey. He is actually a Good Guy. I know because I know many things. You should totally just hop right back up on his dick.”

And Faith is like, “Time to get my man back,” or some shit. So off she goes, to confront Ensign Twatwaffle in his natural habitat. He’s taken aback, of course, but powerless to resist her charms (and vagina, presumably). There is more fuckfighting, and probably spanking, and then there’s THE END.

Did I mention this book was dedicated to Darth Vader, because of the author’s love of “dark heroes”? I don’t think that means what she thinks it means.

I AM NOT EVEN SHITTING YOU.

Remember, kids. I read it – so you don’t have to.

Love,

DD

#romance novel