Fanart Larry Stylinson Novels & Stories

"Uh, yeah, pretty much. Think you could do it?" Larry stares, and stares, and stares some more. I almost slam my fist on his desk to stop him from blinking so slowly. Larry is your typical fat cat slumlord. He is a large man that only seems to own a dirty white tee and black slacks that he leaves unbuttoned.

“Larry.” “You’re fucking him,” Calvin said. Larry shrugged. Calvin shook his head. He wasn’t bothered about his friend’s sexuality but was annoyed at him for bringing his partner here. What happened to respecting choices? How did he expect Hana to feel about this? “If it makes you feel better,” Larry started. He had a slant cut across his brow that gave him a resemblance to Aquaman. Calvin didn’t like him. “We are fucking each other.” Turning his back to the mirror so he didn’t have to look into the bitter eyes of Larry, he pushed his hands back to grab the sink.

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about my mom is all.” Larry tears up. He actually does, in fact, he starts bawling. “I miss my mom and dad too! I miss mom’s spaghetti Bolognese…and…and..her leftover meatloaf…and…oh my goddess! Mom’s Hawaiian pizza! It’s her signature dish…mppph!” “Shuuushhhh!” I say as I quickly slap my palm over his mouth. “Not so loud, you doufus! They might hear us!” Larry pushes my hand away and wipes the drool from his lips. “You know what, Hope? You have the face of an angel but you speak like the devil.”

" My door became a notice board, covered with different hate speech no thanks to his swarm of robots. I was even thinking of moving into one of the guest rooms when Ryan ran out naked from the bathroom with a red eye. His water supply was hacked leaving only the heater working. We both don't need anyone to tell us who is responsible for this, but I must say he did a great job. When I got to the door I stopped remembering her warning glare. I can't afford to irritate her more than I've already done. I was pacing around suckling on my bottom lip when I saw Larry exit the door with a smug expression. " What happened?Where is she?." I asked looking behind him, but he was alone, " tsk tsk tsk, ju

Like father like son. Lawrence D Simon, son of Simon D Kenzy. Everyone knows him as Larry, The Night hunter. He loves to hunt but only at night. He hunts everything. From drugs to ladies and even human organs. Lawrence doesn't involve with his father's busniess nor does he plans to, he simply wanted to just enjoy life. Marcus and Lawrence are of the same age but they just don't get along. No body knows why even though they go way back together.

LARRY: “That’ll melt half the country. We’ll get sponsors, investors, pity votes. And when the board starts leaning my way again… boom. I take back the company.” Anita scribbled it all down, her mouth tight. She didn’t like the way he was smiling. But she had learned long ago to keep her thoughts quiet around men like Larry. After Anita left, Larry stood in front of the mirror, straightened his collar, and took one last admiring look at himself. “Both women played their part beautifully,” he muttered. “Audrey, the little firecracker. June, the perfect fallen angel.” He raised his glass to the reflection.

He darts his eyes between both of us until it finally stops in front of me like he is secretly asking me for help. I step forward, frowning. "Listen, Caroline. It's fine, it doesn't matter. I'm sure he's got his reasons." She turns to me and rolls her eyes like she is exasperated from asking the same questions again and again. “It's not fine, Larry. He's a little kid and little kids wanna eat cookies and drink milk and do…things." "I know," I say and swallow. "But he doesn't." Little Larry shakes his head. "I wanna eat the kind of cookies Tiffany used to bake for me!"

Keegan always felt that Larry was a bit too concerned about Stella. Getting reassigned and having a pay cut when you're already strapped for cash would make most people resentful. But not only did Larry not complain, he even gave Stella a drawing by his own son, which was quite unusual.

Slowly, my brows wrinkle, and I cross my arms. “This is closing hours, Larry. Sally isn’t around,” I say to him, but he chuckles, walking up to me. The smell hits me hard—a rancid stench of smoke that seems to cling to his skin, and I involuntarily take a deep breath, trying to hold back my disgust. Larry is a creep in his early thirties who knows my mother, and ever since my dad died and we went broke, he has vowed that he would be the one to marry me. Cillian has beaten him up once or twice, but it never seems to deter him.

Larry looked blankly at the boy still smiling brightly in front of Regis. "What is this boy's name?" Larry asked his assistant, Eva Smith, about the boy who dared to call Regis "Uncle Iron Man." He was utterly shocked and embarrassed to have shown something so inappropriate to his distinguished guest. "His name is Rayden Lysander, a first-grader," Eva whispered. "Ahem! Rayden Lysander," Larry called to the boy. Rayden's attention shifted from Regis to the middle-aged man. His eyes blinked in confusion.