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clefairymuke · 4 years ago

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regrets | chapter fifteen

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pairing: levi ackerman x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 1663

Monotonous.

That was the best word you could come up with to describe the past week. The days lulled on without change as you unfortunately pined after Levi, who still seemed to pay you no mind -- but today would be different. You had formed a hypothesis. It was lofty, optimistic guesswork with no actual backing, but it was a hypothesis nonetheless. If you placed the right kind of pressure on Levi, then he would admit exactly what you wanted to hear. Your sadness about the situation, as melancholy typically does, had turned to spiteful anger; you needed to prove him wrong. Even if it amounted to nothing, even if you were left with sadness yet again.

"You want me to what?" Jean asked you in a whisper, face drawn up in disgust. You laughed at him before retraining your eyes on the back of Levi's head. His hair had been cut recently. It looked nice.

"Come on, Jean. It won't be that bad. It's just for a few days at most. I'll hate it just as much as you will. It's a game," you replied just as quietly. Despite his protests, you knew it wouldn't take too much convincing. He cared about you too much to tell you no. You gave him your most sincere puppy-dog eyes, watching the disgust on his face morph to a mix of disappointment and amusement. Score.

"I'll do it," he conceded, laying his forehead in his palm. You knew it wouldn't take much effort. Your plan, albeit a little childish, was what you had deemed a sure-fire experiment to test your hypothesis. Hange would be proud.

Levi, as careless as he may seem, irrefutably had anger as his foremost emotion. He was quick to it, and he wore it well. With such constant anger came many things: a gentle side well-contrasted by the rough exterior that ruled others' perception -- proven true; a likely mix of mood swings and impulsivity -- also relatively evident; and, most importantly, a tendency toward jealousy -- completely unproven but heavily suspected. You relied on that suspicion to make sense of the mixed signals he had given you.

You'd been considering it for days; after a while, you grew weary of being ignored. It beat down on you like a rain shower, leaving you to helplessly question the meanings of fleeting moments within the confines of the infirmary. Being unsure was decidedly the worst part. An explicit yes-or-no answer was annoyingly required to calm your racing mind -- accepting his words at face value was impossible.

You followed the outline of his jaw with your eyes as he spoke to Hange, who was sitting at his side. He always looked so well put together. You fantasized about his hair in disarray and his clothes hanging loose -- how he looked on the morning after the night you spent together. You had long grown past embarrassment; every self-pitying thought soon became validating as the nights in the infirmary consolidated into your definition of Levi. You were sure, entirely, that this newfound attitude towards you was all for show. Otherwise, how could someone so callous become so gentle?

His collected gaze was aimed anywhere that wasn't at you. Jean's stories of certain stolen glances when you weren't looking were enough to assure you that he wasn't as unbothered as he seemed. Sometimes you wished you could catch his eye just to send him a soft smile -- to remind him that the two of you weren't just unreasonably disliked acquaintances. You were almost tired of being mad at him; unfortunately for him, however, you were quick to anger, too.

When you were dismissed to training, you weren't slow to get up. You tossed your tray atop the stack of others and made your way out the door, other scouts surrounding you to form a crowd. Jean put his arm around you when you found yourself outside the door; but, instead of swinging it casually around your shoulders, he slid it snugly around your waist. You watched as he shook his head, eyes rolling so hard you were sure they'd come out of their sockets.

When you looked back, you swore for a moment that you met a pair of narrowed grey eyes.

---

The training exercise was your least favorite of them all: the insufferable wooden-titan practice you'd done a month or so before. You fell in line with the rest of your comrades, your gaze traveling to Levi's stance atop a tree branch. He was leading this exercise, and although it was better for your experiment, it was hard to ignore how hard he had been on you. Slack didn't seem to be in his vocabulary. You wanted to do well.

You all lied in wait for his go-ahead, your hands positioned over the triggers on your gear. It would be your first time using ODM again; luckily, legs weren't really necessary. You looked forward at the back of Bertholdt's head, knowing Jean stood a few feet behind you. Last time you finished -- third? Maybe second? You were confident you could do it again.

You saw Levi travel towards the middle of the group of trees for a better view. "Alright," he called, several yards away. "Go."

It only took a few seconds to realize you were rusty when you fell to the middle of the group. Jean had already passed you, along with Connie and Sasha. Nearly a month out of training had done more damage than you thought. You fought to stay ahead of the curve, your eyes failing you to glance at Levi's disappointed face. You made eye contact for a split second, your chest swelling against your will. A lift of his eyebrow forced your line of sight forward as you narrowly missed a tree branch. He scoffed, loud enough for you to hear him. How embarrassing.

Whether by luck or underestimation, you were surprised that several scouts remained in the exercise when you landed. Levi had moved towards the edge of the trees now, so you could still see him from your place in the grass. You wondered if he knew, and if he had glanced your way, too. Your plan relied on the fact that he had and would again.

You waltzed to where Jean stood, away from the others and sipping from his canteen. You slid your hand into his, fingers interlocking as he gagged playfully. "Your hands are sweaty," he said, discomfort clear in his tone.

You laughed, squeezing his hand. "Yours just feel greasy. Have you washed them recently?" The two of you continued joking back and forth as your eyes darted over your shoulder at Levi. You told yourself that acting as if you didn't even notice him would be the best way to go; it was difficult, though. You wanted to gauge every reaction as clearly as you could -- that's how experiments work, right?

You caught him staring for the very first time. When you met his eyes, his gaze did not falter. He simply lowered one eyebrow inconspicuously. You looked away as quickly as you could to hide the triumphant grin spreading across your face; he had seen, and he didn't look happy. The experiment, though, was not yet complete. You wanted more.

As the last few scouts landed, you and Jean took a seat, hands still interlocked in the clammiest, most uncomfortable form of physical affection you had experienced to date. To make matters worse, you decided to lay your head snugly in the slope from his neck to his shoulder. Of course, you and Jean were not strangers to physical affection, as most close friends weren't. Nonetheless, the connotation behind the prolonged hand-holding and casually romantic cuddling was uncomfortable at best. You were lucky he couldn't tell you no. Another strike of luck was that everyone was used to seeing the two of you close and comfortable, and it would be difficult to anyone not intently watching to notice a difference; were there any downsides to having a male best friend?

"Is he looking?" you whispered nudging Jean with your shoulder.

"I don't know," he whispered back, "I'm facing the same way as you."

You snorted. "No shit. Just look around. Don't make it obvious."

You felt his head turning, looking both ways out at the scouts that surrounded you. "Okay, yeah. He's looking. He didn't even look away when he saw me. He looks pissed."

You smiled. Your hypothesis was not far from being proven true; you just needed another push. "You're not going to want to do this," you told Jean, trying to hide the mischievous grin overtaking your face.

"I'm not doing it. No way."

"Jean, please!"

"Nope. Not happening."

"It'll only last a second," you said in the most convincing tone you could muster.

"This is a stupid plan," he answered, a sigh of concession building in his lungs. You had won, yet again.

"Just kiss me. Fuck, it's only once."

And so he did. He tasted like the disgusting soup you had eaten for lunch. It lasted only a couple of seconds, but you were subject to the time-slowing force that only came from ecstasy and torture. This time, it was the torture kind. When he pulled away, you forced a grin for show. Through your teeth, you said, "I think that was the worst thing that's ever happened to me. Ever."

He laughed, squeezing your hand. "It couldn't have been worse than what just happened to me. Remind me to wash out my mouth with soap later." You looked over your shoulder to see Levi still staring, his jaw set in anger. What could be more satisfying?

When you were all dismissed from the exercise, you were sure to walk slowly as you and Jean swung your conjoined hands back and forth. Surely real couples don't hold hands this long, you thought; this much sweat can't be comfortable. Before you saw him, you heard Levi's voice at your side.

"Get cleaned up and get to my office. I need a word with you."

Had it really been this easy the whole time?

#AoT #levi aot #aot fic #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #attack on titan fic #levi x reader #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #snk #snk fic #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin #slowburn #enemies to lovers #levi

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mateoweston · 3 years ago

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A First Punishment → PARA

who: mateo weston, rory flanagan ( @rory-flanagan )

when: april 4th

where: mateo’s room

warnings: n/a

Mateo Weston

There was a little bit of worry tugging at the center of Mat's chest as he finally arrived at Rory's door. Not unreasonably so, but he suspected that the uncertainty of midterms was what might be at least part of the cause for Rory's bad mood and he wanted to make sure he wasn't sitting in that by himself. Letting himself into the room, he walked straight through to Rory's room and knocked only briefly to announce his presence before pushing in. "Hey," he greeted once Rory was in view, beelining over to press a quick kiss to his lips before his arms wrapped around him.

Rory Flanagan

Sometimes it was difficult to gauge why exactly Rory was in a bad mood. It could have been his bipolar disorder, his addiction issues, lack of sleep from his annoyance at his manager at The Wave. It could have even been the knowledge that there was some creepy Dominant hanging around making weird moves on his mates. But the news of these midterms, and randomised pairings is really what did him in. But he acted out with Mat, and he was just grateful that his boyfriend knew him better than to start getting shouty, coming over instead. "Hey," Rory said, smiling at him, allowing Mat to envelope him, kissing back slightly harder, needing to feel something solid and real for a second.

Mateo Weston

Mat's hands stroked broadly and firmly over his back, feeling the tense muscles as he went along. It had been a whirlwind of a month, really, between them getting together, the lapse in administration and now midterms and honestly, it was no shock some of that was hard to keep up with. "We'll figure it all out," he assured again, voice gentle and a bit muffled where he'd pressed his face into Rory's hair. He wasn't sure how much time had passed by the time he pulled back enough to look at Rory again but he knew they had a few things to do before they could curl up for good. Bringing one hand up, he carded through Rory's hair, almost beginning to scratch his scalp -- but he stopped himself in time, not wanting to distract him too much. "Go sit at your desk and get a piece of paper and pen out. And then I want that list we talked about. At least five reasons, more if you can think of them. Either way, you'll fill the page up by repeating them, okay?"

Rory Flanagan

Though his spine seemed to shift in protest at Mat rubbing it down at first, he soon found himself relaxing, wanting to stay in this way forever, but knowing that wasn't what the Dominant was here for. But he could pretend, pretend Mat's face was in his hair, his muffled words ticklish against Rory's scalp, his hands wrapped round him tight, forever. It could have been, for all Rory knew, until Mat spoke and broke the silence. "Yeah..." He murmured, not in the mood to back-talk today, "Yeah, Sir," He repeated, definitely not wanting to add anymore difficulty to the situation. He walked over to his desk, getting his seldom-used notebook out and a pen, staring at his wall for the reasons to come to him. Nothing but snide remarks and sarcastic comments so far. But one weak reason came, and he wrote that down because it was a better start than a blank page. 1. by talking, you both are on the same page about a situation which is better than leaving them guessing.

Mateo Weston

Mat let Rory go and set up shop and stayed in the background. While he did want Rory to know he was there, he didn't want to pressure him by hovering and give him the time and space to get through his task without interruption. So he made himself comfortable on Rory's bed, watching him brood over his page for a bit before he got out his phone to absently keep busy with while keeping an eye on his boyfriend. Only when a good amount of time had passed did he finally speak up again, sure he wasn't interrupting him too soon now. "How're you doing, sweet boy?"

Rory Flanagan

It got easier the longer he went on, though he only had 3 in total when Mat spoke up. Rory blinked, glancing up from where he had been staring at his paper, face relaxing from where he had been frowning. "Um, okay, Sir," He said, glancing back down at the two additional reasons. 2. communicating will help find answers to solve the problem at hand, as two heads are better than one. 3. talking is a better, healthier emotional release than keeping it all bottled up, "I only need to think of two more...it's harder than I thought it was going to be," He admitted.

Mateo Weston

Rising from where he'd been reclining on the bed, Mat crossed over to his boyfriend, hands settling on his shoulders from behind. Glancing over the points he had jotted down already, he hummed approvingly. Those were real promising already and Mat couldn't help the pride that once again swelled inside of him at Rory being so incredibly good for him. Ducking his head down, he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "You're doing great, sweet boy. You can find two more. I'll be right over there in the meantime." With another gentle squeeze to Rory's shoulders, Mat withdrew again, settling back down but keeping more of an eye on Rory for the time being.

Rory Flanagan

The Irish lad let out a little hum of disappointment, half expecting Mat to give him the answers. He did smile at the kiss on his forehead though, and the encouragement, staring back at the page with new confidence and determination. When two more points came into his head, he let a smile form on his face, scribbling them down. 4. Communicating with others helps you easily get your point across and therefore allows others understand you and your needs better. 5. Communicating helps with your skills in socialising, helping you handle feedback and criticism in a healthy way, promoting self growth. "I think I'm done, Sir," He announced, feeling accomplished, "Do you think these points make sense and stuff?"

Mateo Weston

At the mention of Rory being done, Mat stood again and crossed over to him, one hand on his shoulder while he read. He knew Rory liked to pretend he had but one braincell, liked to joke about his supposed lack of smarts. But it was moments like this that proved him wrong and made Mat admire his intellect even more than on any given day. "Those are great," he assured, squeezing at his boyfriend's shoulder. "Now you're just gonna repeat those until the page is full and then we're all done with this."

Rory Flanagan

He felt lighter when Mat approved the points, because he really did try to think of serious notes, instead of falling back to the safety of his jokes. “Thank you, Sir,” He said in response to his Dominant’s assurance, turning back to write the lines, trying not to let his handwriting turn too sloppy, until he reached the last line, barely squeezing the few words onto it, each point engraved in his head clearly. “All done,” He announced, putting the pen down, hoping Mat wouldn’t just scrumple it up, becoming rather fond of the scribbled page in front of him.

Mateo Weston

Mat watched quietly as Rory finished up, keeping in the background once more as to not make him feel too hovered over. Once Rory announced he was done, Mat was back behind him, glancing the paper over before he nodded. "You did very well. Good boy. We're gonna keep that so we can look it over again if we ever want or need to," he decided, then reached his hand out for Rory to take. Pulling him up from his chair, he lead him over to the bed and settled down against the headboard with him, arms wrapping around his boyfriend with ease. "I know talking isn't always easy -- lord know I'm not always the best at it either. But I want us to make an effort - for all the reasons you've just written down. I want us to be able to solve problems together, to understand when something's wrong and for you to not have to deal with them alone. You know?"

Rory Flanagan

Relief washed over him when Mat informed him they would keep it, leaving the paper on the desk, brief musings in his mind about laminating it forgotten when Mat held out his hand. Rory took it gratefully, letting him get led to the bed, still feeling a little sub-spacey, but it only added to the comfort of cuddling with his boyfriend. "Yeah," He agreed, nodding, "I just...sometimes it's hard to explain in words, but I'll try and get better, and even if it sounds like utter nonsense, you'll know I'm trying my best right?" He asked, looking at him for assurance.

Mateo Weston

"I will. And you don't need to have a perfectly planned speech prepared. Sometimes it'll be enough just to tell me you feel weird or overwhelmed or just bad. Then at least I'll know to be there for you and we can work out the details later," he assured, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then slipped his hand up to gently scratch at Rory's scalp. "You've got me to lean on, no matter what."

Rory Flanagan

Rory was so grateful to have someone like Mat in his corner. Logical, rational, firm and fair. It was the complete opposite to what Rory was used to, normally surrounding himself with people who encouraged his impulsive nature, who tended to fly off the handle themselves. "No matter what," He murmured, laying into Mat's chest, eyes fluttering shut. "Thank you, Sir." Upon entering Devereux, if someone told Rory he'd be thanking a Dominant for giving him a punishment, he'd have laughed and told them to go fuck themselves, but it seemed the right thing to do now. "I love you."

Mateo Weston

As Rory leaned back into him, one of Mat's hands moved to the back of his head, idly playing with a few strands of hair there. This was one of the many reasons he considered punishments important and had taken a whole class on them -- the utter peace and relaxation afterwards, when whatever issue had come up was totally forgiven and done with. "You're welcome, sweet boy," he returned, pressing a kiss into Rory's hair and then deciding that it was the perfect place to simply let his own head rest -- nestled into his boyfriend. "I love you too."

#para #rory

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arabellaflynn · 4 years ago

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For anyone who didn't catch it on other social media, I have finally moved out of the "temporary" apartment I was stuck in for 7 months, thanks to a lot of emotional and logistical support from friends, and a generous amount of financial support from the folks who gave to my GoFundMe. I am endlessly grateful to all of you, and if I weren't so goddamn tired right now I'd be more eloquent in saying so.

I've spent the past few weeks of unpacking and working out the bus routes around my new place trying to figure out how to explain what was so terrible about the last one. Most attempts devolved into page upon page of rage, which is not really what I want to be doing here. On the other hand, I also don't want to downplay how bad it was.

Spoiler: The temp apartment was Very Very Bad.

The tl;dr is that I was offered someone's spare room on the condition that I help out a little extra with household chores and caring for their rats, because the pet owning roommate had recently had back surgery and was still mobility-impaired. What actually happened is that as soon as they realized I had any basic life skills whatsofuckingever, I was cornered into becoming the 24/7 on-call House Adult. I would have gone on strike, but the other two people in the apartment were so terrible at coping with absolutely any aspect of being alive that if I had, one or both of them would probably be dead now.

That is not hyperbole. I sat back at one point and realized that I had talked to 911 dispatch five times in the preceding four months. None of those calls were for me. To be clear, I ain't mad about other people having medical problems. All five of those calls were appropriate and necessary uses of emergency services. I just resent the hell out of being the default option for handling all of it, even though none of the medical emergency problems were mine, and there were other people in the house. Literally, Short Roommate had a catastrophic asthma attack one night, and when she was wheezing too hard to talk she passed the phone to Tall Roommate -- who immediately ran to the other end of the apartment, banged on my door, and handed the phone to me. It got to the point where I just told the operator what was up, went downstairs to unlock the door for EMS, stood in the corner answering the occasional question until they hauled someone off to the hospital, and then went right back to bed, because none of this was my problem. And that's just the 911 calls, not even counting the number of times I had to talk her down out of a dissociative episode, or any of the other shit I was not warned about and did not volunteer to do. They wore me down until my only response to "a fellow human can't breathe" is "fuck's sake, why am I even involved here".

They both needed a lot more, and a lot more professional, help than they could possibly have gotten out of a random civilian roommate. They both fought tooth and nail against actually getting any of it. Every time Short Roommate was dragged to the hospital, her discharge papers included a big fat packet full of social services, resources, and business cards for actual physical people to phone. I know this because whenever I cleaned the apartment, I found them on the fucking floor, whereupon I placed them on her fucking keyboard, and told her point-blank to call these people. As far as I know, she never did.

I am neither qualified nor equipped to be a live-in caregiver for anybody. There is a fucking reason I have never wanted children. I keep critters because if you give them food, water, toys, and boxes to sleep in, you can leave them to entertain themselves for hours while you work or sleep, and no one will arrest you.

There was a bunch of other stuff. Tall Roommate rarely if ever cleaned anything, including herself, unless directly ordered to do so and given a detailed list of instructions of what you meant by "clean". I only ever got her to wash her own damn dishes once, and I did it by messaging her from the other room 'I just found a mouse in the sink eating snacks off your dirty plates GO DO YOUR DISHES'. She had a laundry list of problems, but the relevant one here is that she was high-support-needs autistic with no support and zero inclination to find any.

[Did I mention the mice? We had mice. All over. The rats murdered two of them when they got into the cages, looking for the free-feed bowl.]

Short Roommate clearly loved her rats but didn't actually do any of the rat care beyond petting and playing. One of them was tremendously sick at one point and needed meds q6h. She was supposed to be helping with that and didn't, which meant that I went several weeks on a maximum of six hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. I tore the fuck into her for that one, pointing out in exactly so many words that some of these meds were painkillers and if the rat didn't get them on time HE SUFFERS. Not doing any of the grunt work, Short Roommate evidently thought rats were so easy she should just keep getting more of them! She rescued two, one of whom was preggo, kept several of the babies, and started talking about waiting for one of the girls to grow up so she could breed him with one of her younger boys.

Gentle Reader, I promise you the only reason I did not strangle her in her sleep that very night was that I knew, deep in my heart, that I could not move the body down two flights of stairs by myself, and if I left it up to Tall Roommate, the corpse would still be in the apartment today.

If I were inclined to any sympathy, it would have died when Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend and New Boyfriend's Mother. She initially took all the rats with her, which made them officially not my problem anymore, but I woke up one morning to a message that said something like "[New Boyfriend's Mother] says that if I show up to our new place with the rats she's not going to let me in, [Tall Roommate] is coming back with all the rats and everything they own". I found out later that this was because their new place was in section 8 housing, where you are not allowed to have pets that aren't service or support animals. Which Short Roommate had known the entire time, and just... made no plans for. At all. Unless "ignore everything until bitchslapped by reality, then panic and make unreasonable demands of other people" counts, I guess.

Eight rats. She dumped eight rats on me. Eight. I wound up taking care of them all without help; Tall Roommate was incapable of keeping anything in her habitat clean, including herself, and I wasn't willing to let her neglect animals. I was actually down to one rat of my own, having lost my two venerable old men, and was looking for a new friend or two for Tseng. Which I had to stop doing, because nine fucking rats is a lot of rats, and I couldn't in good conscience bring Rats nos. 10 & 11 into this shitshow. Naturally, none of the rats got along; two pairs of boys had to be kept apart, and both of them tried to pick fights with poor Tseng, and four of them were girls that had to be kept away from all of the boys for obvious reasons. It was exhausting and a catastrophe.

Once I had the rats she apparently made no further effort to re-home them, although she did keep telling Tall Roommate to come knock on my door and take pictures of them. (I put a stop to this. Tall Roommate did it because Short Roommate had broken up with her to shack up with New Boyfriend, and Tall Roommate had literally no way to cope with this other than try desperately to get her back.) I bugged her to do something about this until, predictably, I had to contact the local rat rescue people to find fosters less than a week before my moving crew was scheduled. When I told her, she replied "oh, I was just about to submit that". Sure you were. And while you're here, I have this nice bridge to sell you.

[The four girls and two youngest boys went to Mainely Rat Rescue. It looks like the boys have already found a home, but the girls are up for adoption. I kept the two old men, who both have special care needs; Garion has breathing problems that involve his own asthma inhaler and a steady diet of NSAIDs, and Errand has attitude problems that involve picking fights with any rat who isn't Garion. They're both just shy of three(!) and unlikely to find homes through a foster program, plus I'm already their third caretaker, so I couldn't send them off with a stranger. They are currently sulking because I wouldn't supplement their dinner with all of my dinner -- which is to say, they're fine.]

The point is, my brain just about died off. The only time in that apartment that I didn't spend cleaning up after three grown adults, two of whom weren't even me, were the weeks after Short Roommate moved out to shack up with New Boyfriend, which she had broken up with Tall Roommate to do, and Tall Roommate took it so badly she ended up inpatient before she ate a bottle of Tylenol. (I called 911 when I overheard her plans. It was about 50% "a fellow human is in need of help" and 50% "argh jesus fuck THIS IS NOT MY JOB please go talk to someone who is actually paid to deal with this".) I am slowly clawing my way back to the surface, so if you'll just bear with me, I'll be back on Twitch this Sunday 3-7 Eastern, and type out more things that have been on hold while I tried to retain at least some of my marbles.

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skvaderarts · 4 years ago

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Hiraeth Chapter 5: Necessity

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Five: Necessity

Note: I hope you all liked the last chapter! Here, another to fill out hearts with worry and paranoia, because that’s what the 2020’s are all about, am I right?! *Cries*

-~-

In what precious little light the room provided, he could see nothing. The only sound or sensation left was that of his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped horse attempting to kick down an unwavering door. The sheer panic alone was enough to ground him permanently in place, his limbs perfectly functional but now strangely nonfunctional when he needed them most. To his knowledge, fight or flight wasn’t supposed to work that way. It was in the name, after all. You were either supposed to run or to stand and fight your opponent, but apparently, evolution hadn’t explained this novel concept to his neanderthal brain, because every time that he attempted to force himself to move, his body failed him in new and inventive ways. There was no obedience on the part of his quivering limbs, only paralyzing fear as he played the scene that he’d just witnessed over and over again in his mind.

Why was this happening to them? What could bring someone to such a remote, placid location only to senselessly murder the residents there who had more than likely never done anything to them? And why or why did he have to be here to bear witness to it? Simply reading about something like this in the newspaper or hearing it talked about on the evening news would have been enough to make him uneasy for several weeks, but to actually experience it first hand… well, he had to survive first in order to find out how that would negatively affect him, didn’t he?

“Okay… I need to get out of here. I have to move. I have to.” V said quietly to himself under his breath as he attempted to calm his unsteady, shaking breath. His entire body trembled the more he considered the reality of his situation. He didn’t exactly know how to fight, and even if there were a gun anywhere in the vicinity, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to handle it. The concept seemed pretty straightforward on paper, but that didn’t mean that it actually was. After all, it could jam or the safety could be on or-

“Stop. Stop doing that to yourself. I can’t consider those possibilities right now.” V said, practically shaking himself out of his thoughts as he regained enough self-control to glance from behind the bookcase he’d been taking shelter behind and towards the locked front door. The situation was worse than ever, the hooded figure in black still roaming the streets. They seemed to be looking for something or someone in particular since they were grabbing some of the residents, but killing others on the spot. The only constant that he could identify was that they seemed to be around the same age. No interest was shown toward older residents, many being pushed down or attacked without remorse or remark. People in their mid-thirties or younger seemed to be what they were after by the looks of it, and that was more than enough to cause further unrest in the back of his mind.

As the result of what he could only describe as an entirely unreasonable amount of willpower, he managed to get his legs to move and slowly steered himself towards the back door of the shop, his intention to use it to sneak away and into the back alley. From there, he could head towards his house. If he was going to try and make it out of this town, then some basic provisions were preferable such as food or water or even just a heavier coat and gloves. It was possible to make it to the next town over within a day, but he didn’t own any kind of vehicle, and the foot or two of snow on the ground wasn’t going to be much help in that department.

Just as he reached the back door, a figure ghosted past the fogged-up window, rendering him speechless as he attempted to try and see if they were one of the attackers and if they had seen him. Much to his surprise, that wasn’t the case. It was a young girl, no more than about fourteen from what he could gather, and she was clearly looking for a place to hide. Her panicked expression tugged at something in him. He’d been there before, that look of primal terror was all too familiar to the young man with the white hair. But, if he dared to open the door, he might invite the very death that he sought to avoid. An overwhelming feeling of nausea washed over him as he shook his head, somewhat agitated with himself. How could he be so self-serving. After all, she was a child. How could he live with the decision to leave her unprotected and alone in such a deadly environment, especially when his own miserable childhood was taken into account. He knew what it was like to be in her position, and he had to do something to help, even if it spelled the end of him. It was better than escaping to live another day and realizing that he couldn’t live with himself.

Going against what he assumed to be his better judgment, he carefully unlocked the back door, opening it slowly as he stayed as low to the ground and as close to the wall as he could manage. He called out to the panicked girl as quietly as he could, finally managing to garner her attention after the fourth try. She glanced over at him, a look of utter disbelief mixed with pure unadulterated shock plastered across her otherwise pretty freckled face. He gestured towards himself, insinuating wordlessly that they would like for him to join him within the confines of the building. She shook her head fervently, utterly refusing the offer. It seemed that even during such an outrageous situation, she was unwilling to take the risk of going into an unfamiliar building with a total stranger.

”I’m sorry, sir. I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.” She planted her feet firmly in the ground, shaking her head as her curly medium length sandy brown hair whipped around her head with the wind.

There was a part of him that was utterly flabbergasted at her response, but he respected it nonetheless. At least her family had put some effort into explaining the unfortunate realities of stranger danger to her. But in this very specific and highly time-sensitive situation, he found himself cursing her stubborn refusal to just take him at his word and enter the building. At the very edges of his sensory field of detection, he suddenly noticed the sound of slowly crunching snow, the sound standing out to him somehow over the sounds of screaming and unspeakable acts of violence taking place only a few yards behind him. He didn’t know how, but somehow, he just knew that those footsteps belonged to one of the hoodies individuals. They were going to round the corner and catch them both, spelling their doom.

With no further consideration towards the social ethics of the situation at hand, V made the split-second decision to simply do what he thought was best at that moment in time. He opened the door and grabbed the young girl, yanking her into the dark interior of the building. She was clearly scared stiff, her large hazel eyes going wider than he thought possible and her pupils dilating as she clearly opened her mouth to scream. He hushed her, putting his hand over her mouth as he pinned her against the wall, understanding the disturbing implications of what it seemed like he probably planned to do and why she was reacting the way that she was, but not having the time to explain to her why he couldn’t wait for her to agree in the polite way that he’d like to.

“Forgive me, I know what this looks like. But I swear to you, I have no such intentions. I mean to help you. Please believe me.” He looked at her sympathetically as he glanced over his shoulder, all too aware of the fact that he needed to close the door before they received any unwanted company. “Please, just let me close the door before they find us. I don’t know if I can fight them off. Just stay here, okay?”

He released her and then reached for the door, slowly pulling it to a close before scrambling around the corner and gesturing for her to follow him. She looked apprehensive, but did so without objection, seeming willing to give him a chance to prove himself truthful when her other options were taken into account. She didn’t have much in the way of positive alternate ideas when it came to trying to stay safe during this attack, and this was the only semi-safe option that she’d been presented with, so she was going to take it. After all, what other choices did she have in this kind of scenario?

As soon as the figure approached the back door, they stopped, looking down towards the ground. Resigned fear crept slowly up the base of V’s spine as he registered a factor in this situation that he’d failed to before: footprints. The snow made it nearly impossible to hide the fact that someone had come through the back door, and the door itself had no doubt left drag marks across the top of the freshly packed white powder. For a moment, V considered his options in silence as the hooded individual examined the ground. He glanced between the door and the young girl hiding in the building behind him, her face clearly showing the fact that she had come to the same realization that he had. They weren’t getting out of this building without a fight.

V spared her a final, confirming nod before bolting towards the back door and slamming through it, hoping to catch there would be attacker off guard. The gamble paid off as he slam tackled the individual to the ground, effectively knocking the wind out of them as he panicked to try and figure out what to do next. Incapacitating them seemed like a logical idea, but he didn’t exactly have a way of doing that. They reached up and grabbed him around the collar of his coat with one hand, reaching into their own coat in what seemed to be an attempt to find something he didn’t know about, and he decided rather quickly that he had no intention of hanging around to find out. He kicked the man, using his meager body weight to try and pin him in the hopes that at the very least, the young girl could make a run for it. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for this person to finish him off, but hopefully, it would be sufficient to put some distance between her and their attacker.

The moment he was granted the opportunity to glance back in her direction to instruct her to run, he was met by a singular command, one that took him entirely by surprise.

“Heads up!” She said as she charged forward, caring something that he couldn’t entirely make out due to his position and due to the circumstances surrounding his current situation. He did as he was instructed and ducked down, pulling himself closer to the snow-covered pavement as he attempted to pin the man beneath him. Much to his surprise, a large, seemingly very heavy object was suddenly hurled forward, nailing the man in black dead in the face. He let out a surprised yelp before going totally limp, the large object sailing over V’s head and just missing him. When he raised his body up to get a better look at what had just happened, he realized that the young girl had somehow managed to lift and throw the medium-sized under the counter safe that had been sitting near the office adjacent to the back door, successfully knocking their assailant clean out.

V spared himself a moment to stare at her in total disbelief as she panted wordlessly. The safe had to weigh at least eighty pounds, a considerable amount when levied against her short stature and all-around unathletic physique. It literally had to weight at least half as much as she did, easily more than that due to her size, but perhaps the fact that she hadn’t had to move it very far had been her saving grace. Still, the fact that she had lifted it and managed to throw it over his back and at their enemy astounded him. He wasn’t sure he was capable of doing that himself, and he most certainly wouldn’t have thought of it. Perhaps the chair behind the desk, but the safe?

“Sorry I took so long. I was gonna use the chair, but it wasn’t heavy enough, ya know?” She panted breathlessly as she leaned over, looking at their attacker. “You think he’s dead? Cause I don’t know how I feel about that. Either way, thanks for doing what you did. It was pretty brave.”

Of all the things that V had been called by a total stranger in his lifetime, “brave” was not one of them. He took a moment to look between her and the man lying prostrate on the ground before nodding, appreciating the compliment in silence. He wasn’t sure he considered himself brave. In fact, not too long ago he’d considered leaving her to her fate in order to save himself. But his actions in that particular situation had been very much unlike him, hadn’t they? Maybe he could take her words to heart just this once.

“Thank you. Though I should be thanking you. It was a good idea to throw that at him. I think I would have gone for the chair, all things considered.” He spared a glance in the opposite direction, the sounds of mayhem and discord sounding loudly through the air as the townspeople clashed with the hooded individuals on the other side of the building. She shook her head and stood up, looking towards him for guidance.

“... My grandparents didn’t make it. I was in town visiting them for Christmas, so now I’m alone. What do we do now?” The sorrow in her voice was evident as she spoke those words. She was trying to be strong and push her pain aside for the time being, but he knew that she was deeply hurt over what had happened to them. And now here she was, alone in a strange town with a strange man while they were besieged by strange murders in black, looking to him to take charge of the situation and get them both out of there.

And he was going to do just that.

With a gentle tug of her sleeve, he began to run in the opposite direction as fast as he could in the relatively deep snow. She quickly took the hint and joined him, keeping pace with him as best as she could given her size in comparison to his stride. But regardless, he wasn’t going to leave her there. He didn’t know her, but he’d die before he did that. It just wouldn’t be right, and he’d never be able to look at himself in the mirror again and have any respect for himself or what he’d done. No, they were going to get through this. Together. Or at the very least, she was going to make it out. That he promised himself.

“Let’s get out of here. Head to the next town over. But first, we have to stop by my house and grab a few things. We won’t make it very far as we are.”

She nodded, hurrying along beside him. “Okay. That makes sense. But how are we going to get to the next town in the first place? Won’t they find us if we try to drive or something?”

Once again, V found himself agreeing with her while also being impressed with her decision-making skills. He hadn’t been half this savvy when he was her age, the bulk of his thoughts going towards completely different interests as he worried over every little thing that he had no sway over. It wasn’t so much that he desired control over everything around him as it was that he didn’t enjoy variables that he couldn’t account for. But at least in this situation, he’d found someone who could handle himself and seemed to possess at least a monochrome of common sense and decision making skills. That would make this entire situation at least a little bit less dangerous since they could attempt to work together to get out of it in one piece.

As they rounded the next corner and entered the countryside, they found that the roads had been plowed recently, a welcome respite from the high-stepping jog that they’d been forced to tolerate up until this point out of necessity. They gained speed, trudging along at a much more steady pace as they rushed towards the far end of the countryside, V’s home coming into view in the distance. If they could keep their pace up for just a few more minutes, they could reach the house and catch their breath before packing up and leaving. That was their only hope of making it out of this situation alive.

“I have a plan, but I don’t think that either of us is going to like it.” He said breathlessly as they forged ahead, looking in every direction paranoidly as they hoped with every fiber of their being that they didn’t spot another hooded maniac. She gave him an apprehensive look as she tried to guess what he meant before a look of realization washed over her face. She stared at him in horror as she dared to allow the words she was thinking to escape her lips.

“No… you don’t mean…”

He nodded, looking ahead as they approached the end of the road, making a right as they crossed the halfway mark, adrenaline the only thing that was holding either of them up as the freezing air stole every ounce of oxygen from their burning lungs. “I’m afraid so. It looks like we’re going to have to cut through the woods.”

-~-

Phew, things were looking up, and now they’re looking down yet again! But at least V has someone along for the ride this time! I hope you guys liked this chapter, and I hope to see you in the comments! This was quite an exciting thing to get to write, and I hope that shows. Take care out there and stay safe. I care about you, ya hear me?!

See you next Wednesday!

#Hiraeth #V #V's backstory #DMC #Pre Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 4 #AO3 #Ao3 fic #Devil May Cry Fanfiction #Ao3 Devil May Cry fanfiction #Vitale

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: Bedside Stories ch.2 (baon)

Summary: Edge is tired of being in the hospital and that is a fact.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Hints of Kustard Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Hospitals

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

With the IVs and all the monitoring equipment removed, the hospital room could almost be mistaken for a hotel. The walls were painted in cozily muted shades and the landscaped paintings were generic enough to match any accommodations they’d been given on their travels, even the most prestigious. The bed was the only distinguishing feature and even it was less confronting with the railings lowered; there was less concern about him tumbling out since the decision had been made to lower Edge’s pain medication to what he still considered unreasonable levels, but far more acceptable than the quantities that left his head swimming.

Currently the bed was somewhat sloppily made and Edge was settled on top of the blankets, fully dressed with his casted foot resting atop some carefully arranged pillows. Not generally one for fidgeting, he couldn’t help drumming his fingers against the bed-covers agitatedly. Today was they day the doctors agreed for his release; all they needed now was an orderly with a wheelchair and he could be out, away from this room and the four walls he’d been staring at for days.

It was honestly starting to verge on intolerable; he had crutches, the walk down to the parking lot was a short one with elevators to ease the path. And having to be the one sitting and waiting impatiently while his spouse read the release papers was a new experience, one he would have been happy to live without.

Particularly since Stretch seemed to be taking some measure of fiendish delight in it, his eye lights bright as they skimmed over the paperwork. He held up the checklist and said cheerily, “okay, babe, let’s go over this one more time.”

Edge sighed inwardly and nodded. He supposed he deserved this, considering how many times their positions had been reversed. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

Stretch looked down the slight protuberance of his nasal aperture at the sheet, “first question; what are you supposed to do this week?”

“Keep my leg elevated,” Edge recited flatly.

“right you are!” Stretch agreed, chipper as an abnormally cruel chickadee. “and what are you supposed to do every three hours?”

“Ice my leg to keep the cartilage from swelling.”

“you’re on fire, which, coincidentally, is not what you should do with your leg. okay, last one, this is a toughie,” Stretch leaned forward and asked with great solemnness, “when are you supposed to take your pain meds?”

Edge glared at him and gritted out, “As directed.”

Stretch beamed at him, flumping back into his chair. “a+, baby, great job! aced the exam.” His humor faded, replaced by an uncommonly steely determination, “so, this is how the week is going to go, yeah? the docs are highly paid medical pros who know what’s what and we’re going to follow the directions they gave us, that they went to many, many years of school for, and everything will go according to plan.”

“I’d like to think I know my own body best,” Edge muttered under his breath. Not quietly enough, Stretch’s eye lights flickered orange and he scrambled to his feet, stalking over to the bed to poke Edge in the sternum with a blunt fingertip.

“highly. paid. pros.” Stretch said firmly. “look, either you do as the doc says, or you might get to change your power stride into a drunken sailor lurch. follow the directions or you’ll never get to face Kevin Bacon in the dance off, yeah?”

“Yes, dear,” Edge grumbled. The situation was irritating, but blaming Stretch for his worries would be more hypocritical than Edge could stomach. Before Stretch could flop back into his chair, Edge hooked an arm around him and pulled him in, ignoring his squirming protests to tug him onto the bed and into his arms, pressing a soft kiss on top of his skull. “Love, I’m all right.”

“uh huh, sure,” Stretch managed to wriggle free enough to glare at him. “if i tried any shit and my excuse was ‘i know better than people who’ve gone to medical school’, you’d have my ass.”

Which was true, but aside from the point. “I’d like to state for the record that since I was admitted, at no point have I disobeyed any of the doctor’s orders.”

“not yet, anyway, but you’re still in arms reach.” Stretch gave up on clever escape attempts and settled against Edge’s side. “keep behaving at home, yeah? anyway, they should be springing us soon.”

“They should.” But there was no telltale sign of footsteps, nor the sound of rubber wheels on a tile floor and the irritable tension in his soul was on the verge of snapping. “Could you help me to my feet, I’d like to go to the restroom.”

Stretch pulled back, blinking with what would be a frankly hurtful amount of suspicion if Edge wasn’t sure he would have done the same thing were their positions reversed, “seriously? for what, all that healing grow you the ability to take a leak?”

“Don’t be crude,” Edge chided, “I want to wash my hands.”

“geez, i can bring you a wet washcloth, we’ll be home in like, an hour, why do you-”

“Please.”

Perhaps it was the urgency in his voice, but Stretch faltered, his sockets narrowing to show only the rim of pale white lights. It was perfectly true, Edge did want to wash his hands; even knowing that the hospital rooms were as clean as possible, everything freshly washed and sterilized, it wasn’t enough. He’d been here for days in this bed made up with sheets that weren’t his own, dressed in borrowed hospital gowns and subjected to sponge baths from the hands of relative strangers. The urge to scrub himself clean was constant and he was very much looking forward to showering in his own bathroom, but for now even though his release was imminent, his agitation was starting to slip his hold. At the very least he wanted to wash his hands with hot running water and plenty of soap before he put on a fresh pair of gloves, he needed that.

That Stretch’s expression abruptly softened was a small measure of its own relief, as was his nod. “okay, baby, let’s get you up.”

With some effort, Edge swung his legs off the side of the bed, Stretch helping guide the way. The cast was unwieldy, but it was hardly the first he’d ever had. Not the first broken bone or even broken leg, though Edge could admit it was the worst. He took a moment for his equilibrium to adjust before easing his weight into standing, faint spots dancing in his vision; it was the first time he’d been truly upright in days, but it was fine, just fine.

“okay, here’s the crutches--”

Stretch reached for them at the same time he did, and that was enough to somehow tangle the ends with both their own feet. They worked exactly as a lever should, knocking them both off balance and Edge tried to catch himself but the damage was done. All he could do was aim them both for the safety of the bed rather than the hard floor and Stretch yelped as they tumbled down to the mattress, Edge’s not inconsiderable weight on top of him.

That yelped turned closer to a wheeze as Edge accidentally jammed an elbow into his rib cage as he attempted to untangle himself from the maze of their limbs. By the time he’d managed to somewhat free himself, Stretch was laughing helplessly between pants for breath, “sorry, babe, that didn’t go as planned.”

“Yes, I suspected as much,” Edge said dryly. He was gathering himself for a second attempt, this time without the ‘help’, when a voice came from behind them.

“huh. didn’t think they allowed that kind of action in these rooms, but you do you.”

They both looked up to see Sans standing in the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets and his normal smile playing on his mouth. The dark stains beneath his sockets were a testament to his own days in the hospital, his normal hoodie and shorts rumpled as though they’d been slept in. Which was often the case hospital or not, but seeing it here seemed particularly poignant.

“heya, what’s up?” Stretch asked. He slithered out from under Edge in an eely little move that would’ve come in rather handy only five minutes earlier.

“only the sky and satellites,” Sans said easily. “heard they were springing you, thought I should stop by.” He stepped further into the room, but didn’t close the door, and his grin didn’t touch his eye lights. “hey, stretch, why don’t you go see how that wheelchair wrangling is going, yeah?”

Stretch gave Sans a brutally unimpressed look; he might cheerily claim the title of idiot, but he was nobody’s fool. Low and through his teeth, Stretch said, “i think the orderlies know what they’re doing, doubt they need an amateur to help ‘em.”

Implying that he wasn’t about to follow the unspoken order to leave. This new protectiveness was not entirely unwelcome; to be honest it was somewhat endearing, but Edge couldn’t allow it to take hold. He gave Stretch a gentle nudge, jarring him from his glaring with a quiet, “Go on, love, see what’s taking so long.”

If Sans needed to speak to him alone, then it was likely Embassy business and from the way Stretch looked between them with an expression of distinct unhappiness, he knew it. He started to reach for Edge, his fingers curling abortively into a fist before they touched what Edge knew was a lingering bruise down the side of his face.

“fine. wheelchair wrangling, sure, yippee-ki-yay,” Stretch said flatly. “yeah, okay, but if you upset him, remember that i’m the one stuck riding shotgun with him all the way home.”

Sans only gave him a wink and a finger twirl, “don’t even worry about it, i won’t give the edgelord a reason to whip out the big guns.”

The sound Stretch made was a step past rude and when he stomped out, he yanked the door closed with a near slam, echoing in the small room. Edge spoke before Sans could, asking quietly, “How is your brother?”

Sans seemed unperturbed by the change of subject, “doing all right. about like you, itchin’ to go home. he’ll be here a few days longer yet, they’d like to keep a closer eye on the noggin, but the docs say everything’s going as expected.”

That, at least, was a comfort. “I’m sorry.”

“ooookay?” Sans said slowly, bemused. He rocked on his slippered feet and something about that was upsetting; he’d given up slippers for sneakers some time ago. To see them making an appearance outside of his own home was disheartening, a step backwards. “mind telling me what for?”

The words came with some difficulty, clogging in his throat, but Edge forced them out, “Papyrus shouldn’t have been hurt. He was my responsibility.”

Sans was shaking his head before Edge even finished. “yeah, let’s back up a few steps here. look, you were leading the security team, but you ain’t the only one on it, and if i can forgive myself for not protecting him, i’m sure as fuck not gonna blame you.” Edge said nothing and Sans’s easy smile thinned, “but hey, since you’re going with unnecessary guilt, guess we can hop into why i’m here. after you get settled in at home and you get a mo’, might wanna check out the paperwork for your psych assessment. once you’re back on your feet, you need to schedule an evaluation with the department head shrinker before you can get back to work.”

Edge frowned, already shaking his head, “That won’t be necessary.”

Sans shrugged carelessly. “maybe, maybe not, but what it ain’t is optional. i had to do it myself. it’s only an hour or so, just a chat to make sure your head is on straight.”

“I don’t need a chat,” Edge said tersely. In fact, he was fairly sure it was the last thing he needed, and it was definitely not something he wanted. “I survived Underfell, this incident is hardly comparable.”

Never had Sans’s grin seemed so like his brother’s, sharp and darkly amused despite his blunted teeth. “welp, have i got great news for you, pal. you’re not in Underfell anymore, you’re here and either you play by the rules or you don’t play, you get me, little brother?” For all his vow not to stir Edge up, those two words made him startle, unexpected emotion heavy in his chest, “and you can keep your bitching about it, this ain’t my idea, it’s from higher up. but i agree with it. get it done, you hear me?”

“Fine,” Edge gritted out. It was a terrible idea and unnecessary, but arguing with Sans was less useful than shouting into the wind and expecting it to obey, “Is that all?”

“it was everything on my shortlist,” Sans said, all languid ease once again, “stretch should be back soon. go home, get some rest, watch some shitty tv, smooch your honey on his face as many times as you can. i’ll try to stop by once paps is back home, maybe we can schedule a playdate for you two martyrs, and you can chat about tossing yourselves on grenades or whatever else you have planned. maybe if you two idiots can stop taking on the blame for any shit that rolls downhill, you’ll have a good time.”

He started turning to door and Edge blurted, “Sans.”

Sans stopped, head tilting curiously.

It was difficult to ask, given the state of whatever the relationship between Sans and Red was, and yet, Edge’s normal sources were failing him; the Embassy servers were still closed to him and normally his brother would be the one he’d go to first. Therein lay the problem. “I haven’t seen my brother since the day they brought me in.”

“no?” Sans said lightly, but before Edge could do more than keep the tight hurt from showing on his face, Sans sighed tiredly, his head drooping, “yeah, i know.”

“Do you know where he is?” It burst loose and to ask this way, so straightforward and desperate, felt wrong, almost felt like a betrayal, but it was his brother and his bottled up concern was starting to leak around the edges.

Sans sucked on his teeth loudly, but the sudden sincerity in his voice weakened Edge with uncertain relief, “working on it. i’ll let you know if i get any bites.”

“Thank you.” It was all he could hope for.

Sans gave him a nod and then he was gone, sidestepping into a shortcut. Edge sagged back on the mattress, exhausted despite having done nothing today but a foiled attempt at standing.

If he couldn’t investigate his brother’s absence on his own, then Sans was as good as he could hope for as an alternate. He might be somewhat kinder than Red, but Edge recognized a commonality between them, especially when it came to seeking information with less than traditional methods.

Sans was wrong about one thing, though; it had been Edge’s responsibility to watch over all the diplomats, and he’d allowed his personal distractions to interfere with his duty. If his mind had been properly on the task at hand, the damages would have been so much less, and he could only imagine the fallout that the Embassy was currently dealing with because of it since his access had been taken away. It was strikingly similar to the events at the Golden City restaurant with Jeff, his distraction keeping him from protecting those he was supposed to keep safe.

Liabilities, Red called them. Called Stretch. His pretty little liability.

Even worse was a truth he hardly wanted to acknowledge. If he’d given in or ignored Asgore’s instruction and brought Stretch with him, Edge had little doubt his instinct would have been to protect him to the exclusion of all others. Protocol dictated that his concern should have been for the diplomats, but he couldn't pretend that would be true if his husband was there.

Edge shifted higher on the mattress, wincing as he struggled to arrange his cast back on the pile of pillows. The room seemed too quiet without Stretch, echoing emptily, and Edge let his head drop back on the pillows, staring up at the plain white of the ceiling as he waited for the wheelchair and the much-needed freedom to go home.

But the word ‘liability’ was heavy on his mind, and the voice was his brother’s.

~~*~~

As it turned out, the coveted wheelchair was so close to their room, Stretch came damn close to tripping over it when he sulked his way out. And yeah, it satisfied a certain vindictiveness in him to sweetly ask the guy if he couldn’t come back in a half hour or so, since there was important Embassy shit going on behind that closed door.

The orderly didn’t even grumble, probably too awed imagining what the top secret shenanigans might be to think about the fact that Edge was supposed to be off-duty, like, really off, not supposed to be doing any work at all and if almost getting blown up didn’t qualify a person for some paid time off, then that contract needed some review.

But even if it was satisfying to send the transport guy off while Stretch indulged himself in a little justified annoyance, it didn’t exactly keep the guilt from skittering on up his back. Stretch ignored it and wandered down to the nurse’s station where there were a few chairs and a table lined up in a sort of ‘waiting hallway’.

The chairs were even shittier than the ones in the rooms, thin-cushioned and cramped, and way too short besides. Stretch slumped down into one anyway, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him instead of trying to sit properly with his knees up by his ears. It was awkward as hell, but even that was almost welcome. Better to get all his sulks out before he got back into the room, because he honestly didn’t want to fight with Edge today, not when he was about to get him back home. Once they were there it’d be easier, he was gonna make sure of that; one week of rest wasn’t too fucking much to ask.

He was playing a very morose round of ‘Words With Friends’ on his phone, trying to figure out what he could make out of FIX with the letters he had, when the tippy tap of shoes on the tile made him glance up.

To his surprise, it was Toriel and Frisk, and they seemed equally surprised to see him. That at least made sense, he didn’t have many good reasons to be sitting in the damn hallway like an uncommon sort of houseplant.

“Why, hello, Papyrus,” Toriel exclaimed. Sweet lady that she was, she didn’t ask about his current location, even if her shrewd gaze said she certainly noticed it. Technically, she wasn’t a diplomat herself, she only came along as Frisk’s guardian, but try to explain that to anyone who met her, staring at the way she towered over most Humans as they looked up into her regal face.

Yeah, there was a reason that most Monsters still called her the Queen even if she and Asgore were divorced.

Hearing his name from her made Stretch smile reluctantly. Tori was about the only person who called him Papyrus these days aside from his therapist. It was per his own request, way back when she’d come to him and asked for his help with the lab work. She wasn’t his friend behind the door any more than Asgore was, but somehow, it was soothing to have at least one Monster call him by his real name. Plus, she had jokes; it was something, anyway.

Frisk offered a cheerful grin of their own. They were currently making the teenager years their own, all gangly limbs and flared rashes of pimples, but their smile was always warming. Good kid, worked tirelessly to get Monsters the equality that they damn well deserved. They’d gone a long way in showing Stretch that most Humans were all right.

Not that the little fucker from Underswap really deserved the title of Human, but yeah, anyway, that was trauma for another time.

Stretch forced a little leftover cheer into his voice, “hey, guys, what’re you up to?”

Toriel smiled, dimpling prettily through her short fur. “Visiting the other Papyrus.” Her laughter was bright and sincere. “He’s a dear, truly, but it is rather like eating a clock. Time consuming.”

“especially if you go for seconds,” Stretch added gleefully, and Tori let out another peal of laughter, shaking with it as she leaned against her child. Who only shook their head and took her weight stoically, their smile sincere.

“That was a good one,” Toriel sighed finally, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “But if you’d something a little tastier than an hour, we’re heading down to the cafeteria for lunch. Would you like to join us?”

“can’t,” Stretch said, with true regret. Wasn’t often he got to spend time with a pure spirit of the punny kind. Stretch jerked his head towards the hospital room door. “edge is about to get sprung.”

Toriel only smiled, unoffended, “That is wonderful news, dear, won’t you give him my love?” And as Frisk bounced impatiently, she chuckled again. “Apologies, our love. Yes, yes, dear, I’m coming.”

The kid gave Stretch a cheekily salute and darted down the hallway towards the elevators, but before Tori could follow, Stretch caught her arm.

"tori?” Stretch asked, low, “can i ask a favor?"

"Of course,” Toriel glanced at Frisk, who’d paused, looking back quizzically, and called, “Go on ahead, dear, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.” She returned her attention to Stretch, her expression curious, “What is it?”

"you got enough juice for a little healing yet?" It’d been a few days, she should be replenished, but Stretch didn’t want to assume, not when he was already begging favors.

Immediately, suspicion filled her soft face, "Yes, why?"

He glanced distrustfully around the empty hallway as if someone might spring out of the walls before he tugged up his sleeve, showed her his wrist. The bruises swelling there were stark against the bone, slender, dark smudges only slightly wider than skeletal fingers. Toriel’s eyes widened briefly, then narrowed, studying them, but when she looked back up at him, Stretch met her gaze steadily. There were any number of Monsters here in the hospital with healing capabilities but none of them were ones he trusted enough to show. Not even Blue, but that wasn’t exactly about trust, now was it.

Very carefully, Toriel took his wrist in hand, the fur on her fingers ticklishly soft. Her thumb skirted over the mottled bruises as she murmured, "He wasn't quite awake, was he?"

Stretch said nothing, only nodded shortly, and her expression softened. "I spent a great many years married to a former soldier myself. Promise me this isn't an ongoing issue and I'll heal it."

"i promise,” Stretch said immediately, all stark honesty and he didn’t think he imagined a certain tension leaving Tori’s shoulders. “it's only the second time he's done anything like that in all the time we've been together.” Well, not including fun-time bruises, but that was probably some tmi. “and he was drugged to the gills, too. it was an accident, but my bro might not see it that way."

"You may be right,” Toriel said, with the tone of one who worked often with his bro and had a fair idea of his inner workings. “I have a slightly different understanding of these matters than he might. Hold still, now."

Warmth glossed out from her touch, the soft green of healing and instantly the bruises faded along with the lingering discomfort. A couple seconds of effort to keep back a possible defcon situation with his bro. Not quite a lie, not in his opinion, but even if it was, it was one Stretch could live with.

“thanks,” Stretch said gratefully, tugging his sleeve back down.

“Of course, dear. You take care now, won’t you?” To his bemusement, she leaned down and planted a kiss on top of his skull, the same way she might’ve to Frisk on any given day. “Take care of that husband of yours as well.” Her smiled turned tremulous. “I owe him a debt that I can never repay.”

“every day i can,” Stretch assured her, watching as she walked after Frisk. Come to think of it, might not just be a favor for him that she’d healed those bruises. Hiding them from Edge had been a hell of a chore, too, trying to keep him from feeling even more like shit about it, and not for the first time Stretch wished he was better at healing himself. It would be a nice trick for special occasions, for sure.

The sound of the wheelchair returning caught his attention and Stretch hopped to his feet, wandering back towards the hospital room. Looked like it was finally time to head home, and that, friends and neighbors, was probably gonna take all the patience he could get.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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miranema · 5 years ago

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When you are still talking about a show you are too old for..

warning: it’s loooong (TL;DR section at the bottom)

Just to be clear I have no intention to look into and review any more Winx Club related content and it’s not just because the current environment is not conducive to this kind of endeavor. After I finished paying off my debts I considered getting back to this but eventually decided against it because some of my thoughts regarding this show have changed a little and I overall no longer see the point. One of the things I wanted to accomplish when I first started was to figure out why this show never appealed to me when it first came out on the FoxBox and well, the answer was very simple if not ridiculously obvious. This show was not made for me.

I was a few months short of 13 when the show premiered in the US and had just enough experience in the genre to have expectations, and this was the problem. When western magical girl series started to show up in the early 2000s, I expected shows that improved upon the standards and cliches left by the likes of Sailor Moon and its genre contemporaries, not just in terms of visuals but writing as well. Winx Club however, seemed more in line with the type of cartoons that (since the 80s) popped up every now and then as promotional material for emerging lines of fashion dolls generally targeting younger girls, with the only difference being that it had a progressive story-line. Even if you argue that Winx Club was not so merchandise-driven in its first seasons, contemporary fashion and aesthetics had always been the selling point. By then, shows that prioritized visual appeal over writing and seemed to exists primarily as toy commercials, were starting to lose my interest. I was also getting tired of certain staples like romantic relationships being bland but senselessly overemphasized and characters (specially protagonists) being archetypes with little to no complexity.

As an adult, I since looked back at shows of similar quality/target audience and I have surprisingly been able to find joy within them leading me to another conclusion. It’s not that I am too old and weary to appreciate animated media aimed at young girls. It’s more likely that Winx Club is a sore spot for me because it is the show that made me realize (if subconsciously) that networks in charge of delivering animated media to mainstream television were no longer invested in appealing to me. As a non-white, lower-middle class girl who was never all that into relationship-melodrama I felt that most cartoons of my day didn’t really catered to my interest and I think I saw the rise of Winx Club as a bitter indication that even the animated genres that I liked or tolerated would eventually become completely inaccessible to me.

I had some trouble finding out what the target audience bracket was for the first season. From what I eventually gathered it is either 4-8 or 5-10, although apparently concept-wise the show was intended for a slightly older age group. I give more credence to the first bracket because honestly I think this show works best as baby’s first magical girl series. The less experience you have in the genre, the less fed-up with tropes and the less expectations you have going in, the better.

Lets just make a thing clear. There is no such thing as being too old to watch cartoons. An art medium is not inherently tied to an age group. Unfortunately, everything is at the mercy of capitalism, specially art produced for entertainment. There is a lot of stupidity and outdated ideas governing how mainstream shows are made and to whom they are made for. Industries don’t like to take chances and they are reluctant to change in accordance to society unless an increased in profits can be assured to some degree…

Look, look! I swear I was just going to post a simple paragraph-long note to whoever cared, stating I was not going to continue reviewing Winx Club even though I am no longer in debt. But, I made the HUGE mistake of looking at the Wikipedia page, specifically the part where they quoted show creator Iginio Straffi defending the controversial choices made for season 8, and here I am, annoyed and rambling. To paraphrase, he claims kids around 10 years and older just don’t watch cartoons as much as they used to (sure, Jan) and they just had to retooled their show for a younger demographic and that just means it cannot be as complex as it used to be. Yes, complex is a word he ascribed to the earlier Winx Club content (level of complexity to be clear). I rolled my eyes, I died a little inside and overall I also decided, among other things, to never read another Iginio Straffi interview ever again.

In an effort to wash away this BS and exorcise some demons let me throw here some of my still lingering unwarranted Winx Club thoughts in no particular sequence before this platform collapses any further:

Winx Club is one of if not the longest running western magical girl group series and its success is likely attributed to the fact that back when it premiered in the US, it was the only accessible and visually appealing series to come out of the genre since the beginning of the millennium. It practically had a monopoly of its intended audience. In my neck of the woods, it was available without the need of a cable/satellite subscription. In contrast, Dinsey-owned W.I.T.C.H. didn’t have that same accessibility and I don’t think I even need to bring up anime in general. The one other magical girl show from around the same time that I remembered coming across in syndicated broadcast was Trollz, and well you look that up and tell me how much staying power that looked like it had.

If the show has struggled in recent years is of course NOT because older kids don’t watch cartoons nowadays. Rather I think the show runners are not quite grasping how the circumstances surrounding their target audience have changed since the early 2000s. There are a lot more options out there in terms of entertainment even if you narrow things down to only western magical girl cartoons, not to mention that Winx club no longer has an edge on accessibility. I also think we consume media faster and that along with all the new options of entertainment means we have less head space to dedicate to one single show. Putting a new coat of paint to the newer seasons is simply not enough to remain relevant.

Adding to the above, It’s been well over ten years since the show first premiered. I don’t have data to prove this, but I am willing to bet that a sizable chunk of viewers were there from the beginning or joined at the start of the Nickelodeon era. It makes little sense for changes in writing to include hacking its continuity, rewriting established lore and deleting whatever meager character development they ever had. Maybe it’s not a good idea to turn your show with progressive storytelling including aging characters, into a cash cow you intend to milk for as long as you can and beyond. Maybe they should have given the early seasons a proper conclusion and laid the groundwork for new groups of characters to lead fresh series within the same universe...or you know, a full reboot.

I am not saying that the show should suddenly conform to my tastes (though that would be nice) after all it was not made for me. I just think that people that stuck with it deserve more than what they have been getting. I saw some positive feedback with regards to World of Winx but from what little I saw I don’t think it was good enough to be the series for older fans. Tone might be slightly different but writing-wise it feels more or less the same as the current series. The attempts at humor are still not landing for me at least. Also, how old does Straffi thinks the older fans are? 10? Who knows, maybe season 8 did its job in drawing-in the next gen, and maybe the planned live action series will be all that the older fans have been asking for. I do wish them the best.

Regarding things that I changed my mind about (though only a little bit)...In more than one occasion I referred to Bloom as a mary sue and this has been digging at me. Either the term has become toxic and too often unfairly assigned to any female character in a leading position, or it was always an improper way to discuss mediocre writing. There are main characters that are created in part to serve as vehicles of indulgence for its intended audience. I don’t think these these type of characters need to be complex to be successful or serviceable but I do think relatability and/or likability are indicators of whether or not a specific indulgent protagonist is effective. I didn’t find Bloom to be effective but she seems to be popular enough with the younger range of fans and that’s what matters. All I am saying is that Bloom could have easily been better and all it would have taken was for the writers to slightly lower the pedestal they put her on. Otherwise, they should have just stuck with the Magical Bloom title so no one would have delusions that the show would ever focus on anyone else.

I stand by most of my other major criticisms of the series. Though I admit that when I was looking at each episode I would spend an unreasonable amount of time on small things or personal pet peeves.I maintain however that to whom a show is intended for should not be a determinant of quality and there are things worth discussing even if one is not within the age-range of said audience. However, it’s not hard to tell what Winx Club is mostly about; it’s romance-centered. If you are not all that invested on that sort of stuff or you don’t like what the show is offering, then there is little point in sticking around because you are just going to get more and more caught-up on the flaws. The fantasy world elements while ambitious in scope are not well developed and consistency is an issue since the beginning that only gets worse as the series goes on. Unless you can subsist solely on the aesthetics and merch-friendly elements, I wouldn’t bother beyond the first movie.

If Winx Club had been the definitive blue print shaping the future of western magical girls shows, I would probably feel justified in making this much of a fuss. However, pretty much any other show I have seen after the fact has been a deviation and an improvement. I believe that’s because more content creators that grew up with the genre (and understood the many ways it could be improved) are finding opportunities to bring their appreciation for it into the mainstream. It’s pointless for me to still complain about the older stuff. Heck, I can even find good things to say about Angel’s Friends and this is definitely a cartoon that was shaped by the success of the fairy school show.

Winx Club is fine, it has as much right to exist as any other piece of mindless entertainment aimed at any demographic. And that’s that.

TL;DR

I am not reviewing Winx Club stuff anymore. I just had a lot of thoughts that were brought up by an annoying Iginio Straffi quote I saw on the Wiki page while I was working on that last post. Extended rambling is what I apparently do when I am mildly upset. I barfed all this out in the hopes that I won’t think about this show again anytime soon.

If morbid curiosity gets the better of me, I might give future Winx Club content a watch. I just won’t post about it because it seems I am incapable of finding joy in it.

No, I don’t take criticisms of the bad spelling/grammar of my ramblings. Let this mess be. This is also not a place for debate, the only discourse I welcome here is whether or not relatability is a word. Online dictionaries say it’s fine but my word processor says it is not a thing. Discuss! (JK)

Stay safe,

#winx club #ramblings #winx club review #cartoons #i am too old #winx #anyone ever heard of Angel's Friends?#I am either watching that next or Lady LovelyLocks #por que no los dos

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queenofthemindynasty · 5 years ago

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Even If You Say ‘No’ - pt 8

Pairing: Hoseok x Fem!Reader

Summary: {Y/n}, a brilliant, young producer at BigHit Entertainment, tends to be overly self-critical of her work and scarcely gives herself credit when it’s due. Hoseok, A.K.A. J-Hope of BTS, puts so much effort into keeping up the spirits of the other members, he hardly has time to worry about his own well being. What will happen when the two cross paths?

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Idol Universe

Warnings: explicit language, implied self-harm

Word Count: 2143

{Y/n} posted on Twitter about the mixtape’s release when she arrived home. The next morning, she checked her notifications. What she saw was a blast of freezing cold water to the face.

A thousand likes, three hundred retweets, and twenty seven comments.

She checked the other platforms. Since she was a new artist on Spotify and had only recently made an account to release Mirrors on, so she wasn’t sure how to find the number of streams on the album. But on SoundCloud, she could see that it was just short of a thousand likes and only twelve hundred streams. And on BigHit’s YouTube channel, the music video didn’t even have one million views.

It was fine. It had only just dropped eight hours ago, and most people had probably been asleep at the time. It just needed a bit more time. It always took a while to get the notification out to everyone anyway.

But by the next day, not much had changed. She saw that @bts_twt had liked her Tweet, and Hoseok had posted a screenshot of the title track on the Spotify player, which had gotten quite a bit of attention. But what else was to be expected? The comments on his Tweet were mostly just things directed to him and the boys anyway, like, “I love you, Oppa!” and, “When is BTS releasing their next album?” The same went for the posts from BigHit. Hoseok’s post had only caused hers to about double in likes, but still very few people had commented. The stats on YouTube and SoundCloud hadn’t gone up by much either. Maybe people were still working on translating everything. That had to be it.

Now it had been a week since Mirrors’ release. {Y/n} had been counting the days as they passed by along with the numbers. She was beginning to lose hope. For the most part, things had remained stagnant since the second day. It was looking like she’d gone completely off the radar by now.

Today, {Y/n} decided to try and look into the number of Spotify streams, and she eventually managed to figure it out. However once she saw it, she wished she hadn’t.

Six thousand.

Not six million. Six thousand.

A deathly feeling washed over her. This was what the years of anxiety, hardships, failures, improvements, sacrifices, and sleepless nights amounted to. What was she doing? Why was she sitting at this desk in this studio? Why was she here? What had made her think it had been a good idea to follow this path? She wanted to cry, enough so that this little room would fill up with tears and drown her. If this was what chasing after her own naïve fantasies got her, she would have preferred to just die. No one would have missed her anyway.

It had been weeks since the negligent mistake she’d made. Since she had allowed Seokjin to walk in on her and Hoseok in her studio. Since then, the two of them had had barely any chances to spend time together. They’d say ‘Hi’ to each other every once in a while in the hallways, but that was the most face-to-face interaction they’d get outside of work-related matters. Of course, that wasn’t the end of the world. They still had the ability to talk via keyboard. That was what she would have thought. And yet, it rarely ever happened. They no longer shared late-night conversations over text, and he never called her anymore. The most she would get from him these days was the occasional quick check-in like, “Have you eaten today?” or “Don’t stay up all night!” She’d always answer as soon as she got the notification, but receiving a reply to that would usually take at least five minutes given that she did get one. He’d always been busy, but not for every single waking hour. Even during days off. She was sure he was just trying to be cautious. He and the boys rarely had much privacy while they were around each other, which practically was every single waking hour. She appreciated his efforts, but despite that, a dark feeling still clung to her insides. Hoseok’s silence could almost be called excessive. Wouldn’t he at least be able to chat with her at night, with the rest of the world oblivious to any words the two of them might exchange? She wasn’t expecting him to drive over to her apartment in the middle of the night or anything. Maybe just a few words about how his day went or what his schedule had been like lately. Maybe even one or two pictures of himself that he’d taken during the day. Anything as long as it went past three messages between them both. But there was nothing like that.

Her fingers thrashed around, tangled up in the cheap pair of earbuds she carried around. This couldn’t go on for any longer. It was like she was incomplete not having him as a permanent factor of her daily life anymore. She missed seeing his smile, hearing his laugh, feeling his touch. He couldn’t be blamed for not reaching out to her; it probably wasn’t his fault. But they’d seen each other too infrequently as things had been before this whole disaster had started. Now it was even worse, all because of the silly agreement he’d been forced into along with the other six boys. They had to escape this somehow.

“So what do you think?”

She clenched her teeth as she waited for Hoseok’s answer. His hands were clasped together on his lap, and he sat with a relaxed posture across from her. “{Y/n}, I know our relationship is important, but I just don’t see that happening.”

“Why not?” she countered, her words gaining a biting inflection. “There are plenty of other idols who have public relationships.”

“Yes, but most of them are retired. Plus, we’ve already signed the contract, and everyone knows that—”

“Who gives a damn about that stupid contract? We never did.” A voice was telling her—urging her—to stop herself from going down this path, to turn back before it was too late. But she disregarded it. “The company’s rules are outdated and just—just messed up. Why should we have to follow them?”

He shook his head. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?”

“Unreasonable?! Is that what our relationship is to you then?” She glared at him. What was his problem? Why was he acting so superior all of a sudden?

Hoseok’s shoulders rose, and he sat up straighter. “No. I’m just saying I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“So you’d really rather us not see each other at all than try to fix this?”

“What? No!” His brows twisted. “What the hell gave you that idea?!”

“Well, what else can be done about it?!” she shot back in an accusing tone. “We’ll only be free to do what we want if people accept us, or else we just continue on like we have been.”

An irritated sigh left his lips. “Listen, you’re not—”

“Shut up!”

His eyes widened.

“Don’t tell me I’m not worth it. I already know that.”

“Why are you acting like this? Why won’t you listen to a single thing I say?!”

“Because! I already know what you’re about to tell me.” His nose upturned and brows creased, he shook his head, speechless. “You don’t want to go through with this because you’re ashamed to be seen with a worthless piece of shit. Am I wrong?”

He tossed up an arm in disbelief. “That’s—” he half-scoffed, half-laughed, “—not true at all! Why would you—”

“Admit it.” She swallowed hard, spiting her own weakness. “I was never good enough, was I?”

“Babe, please. You’re—”

“Don’t call me that. I don’t want to hear it.” It was impossible to look at his face for a fraction of a second longer. “Just…leave.”

“What the—for fuck’s sake, you can’t even listen to a word I say, can you?!” he accused, standing abruptly, the desk chair reeling backwards at the sudden movement. Hoseok’s figure towered over her. “I can’t do this anymore. Shit, none of this would’ve happened if I’d never met you!”

Whatever she’d been preparing to spit back at him in defence lodged in her throat, taking the form of a rock. She choked back her tears, too angry at him to be sad. “You know what?” she stood up to confront him. “I just wanted us to be able to spend more time together, but with the way you’re acting now, forget it!” She was using every ounce of willpower in her to keep her voice from shaking. “Just go! And don’t ever come back! I don’t ever want to see you again!”

Hoseok’s tone lowered. “Fine then, you won’t.”

Wait, that wasn’t right.

But before {Y/n} had the chance to object, the door had already slammed shut behind him. Hoseok was supposed to refuse to leave until he’d made her realise how much he truly loved and cared about her. Not this. Something in her, having been chipped and fractured over the duration of whatever this had turned out to be, finally shattered and vanished. Maybe it was the tiny sliver of hope that she’d had left: that everything would resolve itself in the end no matter what she did. But that thought had gone out the door along with him. She’d been helpless to stop it. Just like she was now helpless to stop the tears from falling to the floor.

All {Y/n} could do after what had happened was cry. It was all she could think about day and night. Even when she tried distracting herself with work as Map of the Soul: Persona would be coming out in two months, she couldn’t tear her mind away from the constant thoughts of overwhelming regret. Now more than ever, it felt like she was being drowned to death. If only she had wings and could fly to Fukuoka so she could apologise to him, free herself from this emotional prison. But of course, even if she could, would she even have the courage to face him? It was clear enough to anyone that he’d seen her face enough to last the rest of his life. There probably wasn’t much anyone could do to change that at this point. They shouldn’t have even gotten into a relationship to begin with. If only she could just forget everything.

When her phone dinged at 11:54 at night with a notification from V Live, signaling to her that Hoseok was starting his birthday countdown broadcast, she considered ignoring it at first, knowing it would only worsen her mood and keep her awake longer. But it was obvious that she wouldn’t be getting any sleep either way, and she’d be an even more despicable person than she already was if she did ignore it.

As she watched silently, fingers still and removed from the comments section, not much of what he was saying got processed. She could only focus on his precious little chuckle and nervous fumbling and radiant grin and how much she loved and adored every part of him. But these things only served as reminders that he didn’t need her love or adoration. It was without a doubt that he wasn’t wondering if she was watching right now. She could tell just by the joy in his smile that she was the last thing on his mind. Every time he addressed the Army and told them how much he loved and appreciated them for their birthday wishes, he wasn’t including her. The Twitter fandom had posted messages with such unparalleled thoughtfulness in their hashtags, #OurPieceOfPeace and #LightOfHopeDay, for example. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to Tweet anything. She and he hadn’t been together for a year before it all ended, and she’d always assumed that they would be celebrating this birthday as a couple. She’d even bought him something as a gift before everything went to ruin, but it was impossible to give it to him now.

Before her mind could process what was happening, Hoseok was wishing his viewers good night after struggling to figure out how to end the broadcast, and her screen was plunged into darkness with a message saying, “Broadcast has ended. Uploading for replay. Please wait.”

Then to her surprise, the message went blurry.

Tears were once again springing to her eyes. Hobi was gone, lost to her. And he was never coming back. All she could ever do was cry.

After so many months without seeing it, she once again found herself picking up the familiar, stainless-steel blade out of the drawer of her nightstand, a weak smile creeping its way onto her face.

#my writing #bts #fanfic #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jhope x reader #hoseok x reader #angst #fluff #idol universe

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whentommymetalfie · 6 years ago

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Into my arms -re upload

Well this fic fell victim to The Purge, since it was marked as explicit. And I can’t get it unflagged. Which is sad, since it was one of my more popular stories. After spending an unreasonable amount of time and energy on trying to get the flag removed, I just decided: fuck it. So, here’s a re-upload! The mood is: disappointed, but not surprised. But you can always give it a re-read.

All notes and summaries are from the original story

Summary: Alfie and Tommy decide to spend a few weeks apart for some efficiency. It's a terrible idea. Two weeks is an absolute eternity when you're head over heels in love. A very heated reunion follows.

A/N: Filling a request for some smut with needy!Tommy. And yeah, this is a hot mess. First there's domestic family fluff and then all of a sudden there's explicit porn. It's a wild ride! Also threw in a bit of Touch-starved!Tommy in here, because why not!

Warnings: NSFW. Dom/sub undertones

Spending two weeks away from someone is nothing. It usually goes by in the blink of an eye. But when you��re head over heels, insanely and irrevocably in love with someone, two weeks is an absolutely unbearable eternity.

...

They used to do it all the time in the beginning, him and Alfie: spend whole weeks apart and see each other over the weekends. So when a whole shipment of rum is lost due to a fire in one of their warehouses, and this coincides with an upcoming race, they decide to make business more efficient by splitting up until both matters are solved. Two weeks. It’s nothing. Makes sense, really- Alfie’s daunting presence in London helps in the now full scale conflict with the Italian gang. And Tommy’s still obsessive need for control won’t allow him to let John and Arthur deal with the races alone. He’s not… fully ready for that yet. So, splitting up for just those two weeks really makes sense.

It takes about three days back in Birmingham before Tommy figures out this may have been a mistake. He’s not co-dependent on Alfie, he still functions. He tells himself this, at least. But it feels like he’s missing a fucking limb, a fact that is impossible to deny. Deciding to solve the issue the only way he knows how, by working, he gets through the days without thinking too much about it. But the nights are hard.

It’s been so long since he slept alone that he’s forgotten how bad it is.

...

One night, Tommy finds himself waking up bathing in cold sweat, instinctively reaching for Alfie as the remnants of the nightmare causes his heart to pound wildly in his chest. The bed is painfully empty.

He curls up on his side and buries his face in the fabric of his shirtsleeves, breathing the familiar scent into his nose.

It's Alfie's shirt. It still smells like him, even after a week.

Eventually he falls back asleep.

...

No one comments on the dark circles under his eyes the next morning, and Tommy is thankful to be left alone in the kitchen for a while as everyone goes about their day. He’s not in the mood for any concerned questions.

“Morning! Finn exclaims as he comes down into the kitchen with the normal skip in his step. A frown settles on his face when he looks at Tommy. “Why are you sad?” Always far too perceptive for his own good, his younger brother.

“I’m not,” he promises and makes an effort to smile reassuringly. Finn nods, but there’s still a suspicious wrinkle between his eyebrows. He doesn’t bring it up again, eating his breakfast in two minutes flat before rushing off, so Tommy figures he’s let the whole thing go.

Later that day, Tommy is in his room trying to wash the smell of horse off before dinner, when Finn comes to find him.

“When is Alfie coming home?”

Home, to Finn, is still this house, despite Tommy only living there every other week now. Which is why all members of the Shelby family have decided that no one is allowed to move out until he is older, despite the at times rather chaotic repercussions of living under the same roof.

“In a few days,” Tommy says and rubs a particularly stubborn speck of dirt from his hand. Five. Five days. “There’s a lot of work to do in London right now.”

Finn nods thoughtfully, and Tommy patiently waits for him to ask more questions, as conversations like this normally go. After a moment of silence, Finn disappears from the doorway. When he returns, he’s holding Frank under his arm. Frank is a stuffed horse pieced together from an old coat, with a thick knitted sock for a head and beady button eyes. Ada is the creator of this animal, and since Finn got it for his fourth birthday, it’s been his steadfast companion. Now, he extends the raggedy creature to Tommy, who looks at it with confusion.

“You can borrow him,” he says. “Until Alfie comes home. He’s really good at scaring nightmares away.”

Tommy accepts the offering and tries to not feel concerned. Finn has more kindness in his little finger than he’s got in his entire body. He’s afraid that will get him into trouble.

“Thank you, Finn,” he says and tugs affectionately at his hair. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“No, he’ll take good care of you,” Finn states, throwing his arms around Tommy’s waist in a tight hug. Then he runs off again, seemingly very pleased with having solved this matter.

Tommy isn’t entirely sure what to do with Frank. So he puts him under his pillow for safekeeping, mostly to appease Finn.

He forgets about his new bed-mate until he puts his head on the pillow that night and finds it unusually lumpy. Frowning, he reaches in under it and pulls out the raggedy horse. It does coax a smile from him. Finn and his ideas…

Frank gets to sit on the nightstand, his beady eyes turned towards the bed.

…

It’s been ten days.

Tommy is becoming increasingly sick of himself and this pining, which only makes the whole thing worse. Because Alfie is usually there to distract him when he gets like this- utterly fed up with his own company. And now he isn’t. Tommy ploughs through piles of paperwork during his day at the office, staying late in an attempt to keep himself distracted for as long as possible.

Though eventually, he has to go home.

“Alfie is on the phone,” John tells him when he’s just returned from the office one night. “Wants to talk."

“Where’s he by the way?” Arthur mutters from behind his newspaper. “Almost starting to miss his constant fucking rambling.”

“The end is nigh!” Ada exclaims. “Pigs are flying and hell has frozen over!”

Tommy ignores them both and goes to pick up, already feeling his mood lighten. He picks up the earpiece that John has left hanging.

“Alfie?”

“Hi there, love,” Alfie’s familiar voice makes his heart clench painfully. No. It's just the stress. “How is the most beautiful man in England?”

“I don’t know, how are you?” The words just slip out, and Tommy puts a hand over his face. God, Alfie is rubbing off on him. But the way Alfie laughs makes it worth the embarrassment.

“Well things are the way the usually are, right? Eli walked into a pipe yesterday, that was a riot. Head first, straight on. Swear to fucking God these people can’t see to themselves for a single fucking minute-“ Alfie goes on about this and Tommy leans against the wall as he listens to him. It’s not until his cheeks start to cramp that he realises he’s smiling like a fucking idiot the entire time.

“No word from Sabini yet?” Tommy thinks about that meeting they still need to have with the man.

“No, he seems to have fucking disappeared from the face of the earth or something,” Alfie grumbles, clearly unwilling to think about that situation. “Or maybe he’s out of town. I’ve got people looking into it. But enough about that, how are things in Birmingham?”

Tommy lets it go.

“Not much to tell, business as usual,” he says. “Things have calmed down a bit.”

Alfie hums.

“You eating like you should? Sleeping alright?” he fusses. “See if I get there and you look like a walking corpse, I’ll be highly fucking disappointed. Right? And I’ll know, see, because I’m incredibly perceptive-”

Alfie voices quite a few concerns about Tommy’s supposed inability to take care of himself. Tommy doesn’t even mind.

And despite very little having actually happened, the conversation keeps going, because Tommy finds himself wanting to hear every single little detail of Alfie’s day. Alfie is happy to indulge him. For a while, he can almost pretend they’re sitting in front of the fireplace, Alfie is stroking his hair as he’s talking. And soon they’ll go upstairs to the bedroom, and- “You’ve been talking for over an hour now.” Arthur teases in passing as he heads upstairs. “Plan on being on the phone the entire fucking night?”

Tommy just gives him a blank look. But he becomes painfully aware that he’s in Birmingham. And Alfie’s in London.

“I should…” hang up. Go to bed. Stop acting like a lovesick idiot.

“Yeah. Give the family my best. Except Arthur. He can have… about the third best or something. Don’t want him to get ideas.”

“I miss you,” Tommy admits before he gets a chance to think it through. The line goes silent for a moment.

“I miss you too, love.” Alfie’s voice is soft. “I’ll come to Birmingham as soon as the new shipment gets sent. Should just be a couple of days.”

After a rather drawn out goodbye, they hang up, and Tommy stares dumbly at the phone, feeling a sudden urge to tear it from the wall and throw it out a window.

Frank gets upgraded from the nightstand to the mattress, and Tommy lies awake looking at the beady eyes.

And when he wakes up in the middle of the night with a gasp, soaked in cold sweat, he sees the ragged thing and immediately thinks of Finn. It quickly makes the lingering terror from the nightmare fade away.

Finn and his ideas…

...

Tommy is working such long hours that he’s actually beginning to run out of things to do. And he can’t keep hanging around the stables, mucking out the stalls, because it’s becoming suspicious. So for a while one afternoon, he finds himself sitting on his bed, staring at the wall like a fucking idiot. He should go to the Garrison, sit there and stare instead. But everyone around him is being increasingly annoying each passing day, and he honestly doesn’t feel like seeing much of anyone right now. Just Alfie.

Fuck, he needs to get his shit together, this is absolutely pathetic.

A car horn starts to blare on the street outside, a noise he ignores to begin with. It’s not exactly unusual in Small Heath, where everything from gunshots to a window being crashed is everyday occurrences. But the sound doesn’t stop, and that makes him take note of it.

“What kind of fucking idiot-“ he can hear Arthur bellow a long string of curses all the way up to his room. The ear piercing noise continues, and soon, Polly makes her voice heard.

“Think that’s your idiot, Tommy!”

Frowning, Tommy leaves his room and makes his way to the window at the end of the corridor, looking down at the street below. It is indeed, his idiot.

Alfie is standing by his car, hand firmly pressed against the horn.

Tommy opens the window.

“Alfie, for fucks sake,” he calls out to him. “People will think the bloody war is here again:”

The noise stops abruptly and Alfie grins up at him.

“You know I love a good entrance,” he calls back, absolutely beaming. “Now get downstairs and give me a proper welcome.”

Tommy isn’t the kind of person who runs towards someone and throws themselves into their arms. Or, he isn’t until the second he sees Alfie standing there in the hallway, scruffy beard, wrinkled shirt and all.

Alfie opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and Tommy isn’t quite sure how it happens, but a moment later, he’s suddenly down the stairs and has flung himself into those arms, legs wrapping themselves around Alfie’s waist as he hoists him up into the air. He kisses Alfie, hands tangling into his hair and causing the hat to fall off and down onto the floor. A soft laugh vibrates against his lips as Alfie returns the kiss with equal enthusiasm.

“Thought you weren’t coming here until Saturday,” Tommy mutters when he finally has to breathe.

“A man can change his mind, can’t he?” Alfie nudges Tommy’s nose with his own and the smile on his face is so bright it’s like looking at the fucking sun. “Realised I needed to get my fucking priorities straight, didn’t I? Things are left in Ollie’s quite incompetent hands.”

“So the bakery will probably be burnt to the ground when we get back?”

“If that’s the prize for this, it’s well worth it.”

They kiss again. Just a little while longer, Tommy promises himself, then he’ll tell Alfie to put him back on his feet and regain what’s left of his dignity.

“Right, so there’s food. If either of you are interested in that,” Arthur is standing in the doorway. It could be a figment of his imagination, but Tommy thinks there’s a hint of a smile under the moustache. “But it looks like you’re busy trying to eat my little brother’s tongue, Solomons.”

Tommy’s got half a mind to tell him they’ve got much more important things than food to think about and then drag Alfie upstairs to his bedroom. But then he thinks of the thin walls. And his twelve- year-old brother who is still very much awake. And…

Yeah. It’ll have to wait.

“Nah, Arthur, see, human tongue is definitely not kosher,” Alfie grins and sets Tommy down on the floor. “And I’m actually rather fond of the things he can do with it so-“

“One fucking second of peace is all I ask for!” Arthur throws his hands up in defeat, before stomping off.

“And everything is the way it’s supposed to be,” Alfie nods to himself, looking entirely too pleased. Unable to really argue with this statement, Tommy just takes the lead into the kitchen.

Family dinners in the Shelby household are always a more or less chaotic event, and this one is no exception. Finn adamantly wants to keep his new favourite stick on the table, and gets into an argument with Polly about the whole thing. Esme and John are very enthusiastically discussing… something, while Arthur and Ada are talking twice as loud as everyone else, just to hear each other over the racket.

Tommy is barely aware of any of it, because he’s busy listening to Alfie’s longwinded story about his trip. Alfie’s hand is on his leg, the thumb rubbing small circles on his inner thigh. After a little while, Tommy lets one of his own hands slip down and take it. Alfie's fingers squeeze his lightly.

“Tommy?”

Alfie’s beard is a little longer at the sides. Maybe he’s forgotten to have it trimmed? Should Tommy remind him?

“Oi, Tommy!”

No, he rather likes it this way.

“For fucks sake, someone bash him over the head with something-“ A hand lands on the back of his head and Tommy snaps out of his thoughts, glaring at the owner. Esme shrugs nonchalantly and indicates towards John, who is staring at him.

“What?”

“The fucking salt, Tommy give it here!” he says, not without amusement. “It’s like you’ve gone deaf or something.

“You two should get a bloody room,” Arthur notes and gives him and Alfie a pointed look. “Didn’t think it was possible for an entire table to be a third wheel. But here we are.”

“Oh, sod off,” Ada stretches across the table and grabs the salt before Tommy fully understands what either of them are talking about. “Let him gaze longingly in peace.”

“We are in a room, Arthur,” Finn points out, looking puzzled. “Why do they need to get one?”

“Yeah, Arthur, explain that,” Alfie chuckles, giving Arthur a smug grin. “Ain’t this a perfectly decent room?”

“I’m not gazing longingly,” Tommy mutters and lets go of Alfie’s hand, shuffling a potato around on his plate with great disinterest. Alfie just pats his knee and smiles.

“I want to know about the room now!” Finn insists, making Arthur very much regret that comment, as he now has to spend the rest of the dinner trying to explain this in an appropriate way to a twelve-year-old. Much to everyone else’s amusement.

Eventually, they do get a room, when the house is finally quiet, and enveloped in that rare sort of peace only a home full of sleeping people can be.

“Is it alright?” Alfie indicates towards the key in the lock, and Tommy nods, unbuttoning his shirt, hands almost shaking with anticipation. Alfie still asks, every time he needs to lock a room.

Alfie leaves the key in the lock and comes to help him, fingers eagerly working the buttons on his trousers open

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says and kisses him. “Rubbish idea, this whole thing. Barely got any work done anyway.”

Tommy only hums in agreement, trying to get all of Alfie’s shirt buttons undone at once somehow.

They can’t get the clothes out of the way soon enough. And Tommy constantly finds himself distracted, reaching out to roam his hands over Alfie’s chest, over his back, feel that he’s actually there. Alfie seems to have a similar problem, forgoing unfastening buttons and removing garments to bury his hands in Tommy’s hair, cradle the back of his head so that he can pull him in for another kiss. As if they can’t let go of each other long enough to actually get on with anything.

But then finally, the last piece of clothing falls to the floor, landing in the pile with the others, and Tommy revels in the feeling of Alfie’s warm skin under his fingers.

Alfie lays him down on the bed, his lips never leaving Tommy’s and his fingers skim down his ribs, making him twitch involuntarily. He can feel Alfie smirk against his lips, but he thankfully has other things on his minds than tickling him right now, and the hands continue downwards. Tommy winds his legs around Alfie’s hips, pulling him close and letting out a pleased sigh when he feels the press of his hard cock against his stomach. That, if anything, seems like a promise.

Alfie takes his time, kissing him sweetly. And after all those nights apart... all those nights without these arms around him, or Alfie’s secure weight on top of him, it’s enough to make Tommy absolutely dizzy with need.

“Alfie,” he sighs into his mouth, hands gripping Alfie’s hair. Alfie hums inquisitively and his lips move down Tommy’s jaw and neck. Tommy tries to say something else, demand that he get on with the whole thing, but for once, he can’t form a coherent sentence.

“How about I show you, hmm, love? Just how much I’ve missed you.” Alfie props his elbows on either side of Tommy’s head and smiles at him, before going down for another quick kiss.

Then he sits back, and Tommy finds himself reaching for him –wanting more, needing to have him right close. Close enough to feel his heartbeat vibrate into his own chest. With firm hands, Alfie rolls him over and places one of the pillows under his hips. Then he’s got the familiar weight back on top of him as Alfie straddles his thighs and trails kisses down the nape of his neck, continuing down his spine.

Tommy shivers as his lips reach the small of his back, moving further down yet. And when Alfie’s tongue reaches his entrance, he arches his back and lets out a keening moan. His mind goes completely blank, filling with just the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. A heavy arm settles on his back, keeping him in place as Alfie uses the other hand to spread him open. Achingly hard now, Tommy bucks his hips as he tries to gain some sort of friction. But Alfie keeps him firmly pinned.

“Tell me how it feels, love,” Alfie orders him gently, before going back to the task at hand.

Tommy writhes under his tongue, hands gripping the sheets in a weak attempt to find something to ground him.

“Good,” he finally manages to utter into the pillow where he has buried his face. “More.”

Alfie’s tongue laps him in slow, sure strokes, until Tommy feels like someone’s picked apart his sanity completely. Fuck, it’s so good. Feels like he could come from this alone. He lets Alfie know by moaning encouragingly, the thinness of the walls far from his mind right then. It’s hot and wet and- God, no other man has ever been this good with their mouth.

And suddenly it stops, and Alfie sits up. Tommy finds himself reaching blindly behind his back, desperately wanting more. A soft chuckle is heard and two strong hands grasp his wrists, pinning them above his head.

“Eager today, are we?” He hears the drawer on the bedside table open, and soon, a slick finger replaces the tongue. Tommy doesn’t even realise his hands are reaching again until Alfie firmly presses them against the mattress with his free hand.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Alfie’s hand caresses down the side of his arm before settling between his shoulder blades. “Don’t I always take care of you in bed? Be good for me and keep still.” The finger inside of him curls just the right way, sending a spike of pleasure up his spine. “Just tell me what you need.” Tommy buries his fingers in the sheets again, letting out an unintelligible noise.

“Use your words, love,” Alfie teases and inserts a second finger. Biting his lip, Tommy does his best to keep the plea from slipping from his mouth. Alfie will have to do a bit more work before he’s ready to beg. It’s some tiny shred of his usual pride telling him this. Apparently picking up on the challenge, Alfie rubs firmly against that spot inside of him, all while keeping a steady hand on his back and making it impossible to move. Every little touch sends a jolt through the pit of his stomach and Tommy moans. The pressure increases just a bit and he feels like a coiled spring about to snap.

It’s not enough. Not enough and Tommy clenches his hands into fists, holding the sheets hard enough to make his knuckles whiten. He needs more, needs Alfie to fill him up completely, hold him close, pound him into the mattress until-

“Please,” he barely realises it’s him uttering the word, every sound except his own heartbeat drowned out.

“What’s that, Tommy?”

The fingers disappear completely, leaving him painfully empty.

“Please, Alfie,” Tommy breathes out. He’s filled again, the fingers sliding further into him this time. Stretching him slowly. He can’t… Fuck.

“Open your eyes for me.”

Tommy does, not even having realised he’s closed them. Can’t see much from this position, cheek pressed against the pillow. He mostly just feels- Feels everything far too much, and still not enough somehow-

Alfie leans down, kisses the corner of his mouth lightly

“You want me to fuck you, hmm, love?” Alfie’s voice has that deep rasp to it, and he’s working him open with a new sense of urgency.

“Yes,” Tommy gasps. “Please.”

He’s empty again, and Alfie grabs his hips roughly, pulling him up onto his hands and knees. Inhaling sharply at the sensation of being utterly manhandled like this, Tommy hangs his head between his shaking arms.

“I want you to say it,” Alfie tells him hoarsely, the blunt head of his cock pressing against him. “Let me hear how much you want it.” Fighting the hands holding him in place, Tommy’s hips move on their own accord.

“Fuck me, Alfie,” he begs, too far gone to think about anything other than the overwhelming need surging through his entire body. “Please.”

“Good boy,” Alfie praises and in one hard thrust, buries himself completely inside of him, making Tommy let out an involuntary cry. A hand twists into his hair, pulling his head up, while the other controls the pace.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Alfie groans, pulling out just a bit before slamming back into him. The air is knocked from Tommy’s lungs and he has to fight just to stay somewhat upright, his knees feeling dangerously weak. Alfie falls into a steady rhythm, both hands holding his hips now and Tommy meets the thrusts as well as he can. Needing more, needing it harder-

“Fuck, Alfie- harder, fuck me harder.” The words are just pouring out of him now. He lets it happen. He doesn’t need to keep up appearances. Not here. Not with Alfie.

Spurred on by the desperate pleas, Alfie pounds into him, setting a nearly brutal pace and Tommy feels the muscles of his abdomen clench as it brings him closer to the edge. Alfie’s hips slam against him hard enough to almost make him collapse under him, but the hands around him keeps him up. He’ll have bruises tomorrow.

Somehow it’s still not enough.

“Alfie-“ his voice sounds strange to his own ears, coming out as broken whimpers. He’s not sure what’s missing, can’t ask for it…

“Shh, I know love, I’ve got you,” Alfie pulls out and with much gentler hands eases him down onto the mattress as his weakened limbs give up. He rolls him over onto his back and spreads his knees. Tommy reaches out for him, and is finally allowed to pull him into a close embrace, wrapping both arms around his back. Alfie hooks his legs up around his waist and pushes into him again, his mouth stifling the moan Tommy lets out. His chest is heaving against Tommy’s, breaths coming gasps, and Tommy finds himself smiling through the blissful fog he’s caught in as he looks up at him.

When Alfie begins to move again, Tommy tightens his grip around his shoulders and buries his face in the crook of his neck. He breathes in the familiar scent, losing himself in the sensation. Alfie’s guttural moans blend together with something akin to sobs, and Tommy vaguely realises it’s him making those sounds.

“Look at me,” Alfie’s fingers winds into his hair, and Tommy obeys, watching him through the veil of his lashes. Alfie’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide as he looks down at him. He smiles. Tommy loves it when Alfie smiles as he fucks him. Makes him feel like Alfie is happy to be there with him. With Tommy, and no one else.

“You’re so beautiful.” Alfie leans in and whispers, breath hot against his ear. “So fucking beautiful… and all mine.”

“All yours,” Tommy agrees breathlessly, bucking his hips as the familiar heat pools in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck, Alfie- I’m going to-”

“Yeah, just let go,” Alfie encourages him softly. “Come for me, Tommy. I’ve got you.”

A hand reaches into the tight space between their bodies, wrapping itself around his cock and that’s all it takes. One, two more thrusts from Alfie’s hips and Tommy feels the orgasm wash over him, making stars explode behind his eyelids. He thinks that he might be crying out Alfie’s name, that his nails dig into his back- he’s trembling. Alfie holds him close. He hears his own name spill from Alfie’s lips, feels the arms around him tighten their grip as he finishes inside of him with a shudder.

Then everything becomes perfectly still.

His ears are filled with the sound of deep, frantic breaths, and his body is heavy on the mattress. He could sink into it completely, just let himself be swallowed by the stuffing.

“Tommy, you with me?”

Alfie’s voice is far away. His jaw feels numb somehow. He can’t answer.

“Planning to sleep like this, hmm? With me still inside of you?” The question makes Tommy realise that he’s still clinging desperately to Alfie. But he’s not planning on letting go. This is perfect, having the secure weight of Alfie’s body on top of him.

Tommy keeps his eyes closed. He’s tired now.

“You’ll be so fucking sore tomorrow if you don’t let me up, love,” Alfie coaxes softly. “Probably will be anyway. Such an insatiable little thing, you are.” He gently pries his arms away. “And I need to sleep on my back, shitty mattress or not.”

Tommy isn’t fully understanding what he’s saying, his head is filled with cotton and Alfie uses too many words at once. He’s vaguely aware of Alfie pulling out and slumping down next to him on the bed. Immediately stretching an arm out, Tommy searches with his palm for the warm body.

“Come here, love, we’ll get you settled, up you go-“ Alfie helps Tommy manoeuvre his weak limbs and lay down on top of him, head resting on his chest and one of his legs nestled between Alfie's. He is enveloped by warmth as Alfie brings up the blanket around them, before wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“There we go,” Alfie whispers into his hair, rubbing his back. “I’m here, yeah? Right here. I’ve got you.”

Tommy presses his ear against Alfie’s chest and his heartbeat seeps into him like a soothing hum. Slowly, he comes back to himself, his mind emerging from the thick fog it’s been engulfed in.

“You alright, love?”

“Mhm, brilliant,” Tommy mutters and smiles blissfully.

One of Alfie’s arms disappear, reaching for something behind his head.

“Oh look at this, do we have a guest in our bed?”

Tommy opens his eyes halfway and glances up at Alfie through his lashes. Alfie has pulled out Frank from under the pillow and is giving him a very befuddled look. Perhaps he should be embarrassed, but he’s honestly to satiated to give a fuck.

“Mhm, Finn let me borrow him, his name is Frank,” he yawns. “He’s been keeping guard.”

Alfie laughs and settles Frank on the bedside table.

“I’m glad you’ve had someone looking after you.” he says, and strokes his hair. Tommy isn’t sure if he’s talking about Finn or the stuffed horse. “That kid is bloody amazing,” he then states. “Kids in general, really. Always thought so.”

Somehow, Tommy feels like there’s an implication within this statement. And for a moment, it sends a pang of sadness through his chest.

It’s impossible, what Alfie wants. They could never- he could never…

He doesn’t say any of those things. Instead, he just reaches for Alfie’s hand, twines their fingers together.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and leaves it at that for now.

A light rain has begun to fall outside, drumming on the windowpane.

Alfie is silent. Tommy opens his eyes a bit to see if he’s fallen asleep all of a sudden. But he finds that Alfie is just looking at him. As if he’s the most precious thing in the entire world.

“What?” he asks quietly, gaining one of Alfie’s softest smiles.

“I’m so ridiculously fucking in love with you, Thomas Shelby.”

He will never tire of hearing those words. Before Alfie, no one ever- but that’s all in the past. And now he gets to hear them

“You’re in luck. Because I’m ridiculously fucking in love with you too, Alfie Solomons.”

#alfie x tommy #Alfie/Tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #wtma au #peaky blinders fanfiction

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dustingrayves · 8 years ago

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Pairing: (eventual) addcest [LPDE] & elsain [LKATh] WC this chapter: 2400 Rating: T+ TWs: (past) abuse AU: modern/single parent Lusa (with his tiny son Arc) + runaway Esper Notes: lyrics to a song a have on repeat but has nothing to do with this

ao3

He should probably feel a little more guilty at the fact that Lusa has to take days off (‘It’s fine,’ he’d said, ‘I got someone to stand in for me.’), but in reality Esper’s just grateful.

The polyclinic smells just like the last time they’d been there, sterile and almost burning his sinuses, but Esper isn’t that rigid this time. Nor in nearly as much pain.

He even manages a small ‘hello’ to the receptionist. She seems surprised, but no less bright. Lusa leads them upstairs, the elevator’s dings loud in the relative silence of the building. Thankfully there’s no one waiting at Arme’s office and Knight opens the door pretty much at the second knock. He seems tired after a day’s work, but he still welcomes them with a smile.

“Hey, come in,” he says, ushering them in and closing the door as they do. Arme seems just as tired, slumping in his chair with a pen about to fall from his lax fingers. He perks up when he notices Lusa and Esper, though.

“Oh, I see Arc did his magical healing drawings,” Knight comments, looking over the colorful doodles covering the cast.

Esper smiles, rubbing his other calf against the cast almost nostalgically. “It helped.”

“Ready to get rid of this thing?” Arme asks as if the answer wasn’t obvious. Still, Esper nods eagerly.

He can’t wait to get it off.

He can’t wait to be useful again. It was probably only because he had it and because Lusa had felt guilty that he’d been nice to Esper. He already has an idea for the dinner and a speech of apology prepared in his head. Not that he’ll be able to get it out the way he wants, he knows himself too well to even hope for such a thing.

Arme gets a pair of scissors that seem almost unreasonable in their shape and begins cutting at the cast with only a curt warning to stay put for his own safety. Slowly, the cast is cut in two and carefully removed, even though it sticks to his leg.

“Everything seems to be alright,” he comments offhandedly, looking the ankle over. “You could’ve taken the cast off yourselves, but it’s better this way so I could’ve checked it. But it looks to be healed properly, so you don’t need anything on it anymore. Just make sure to only wash the leg gently, with not too hot water, alright?”

Esper nods numbly, testing his leg by swinging it back forth, twisting his ankle this way and that way to see if it still hurts. Thankfully, it doesn’t.

“Any pain?” Knight asks, pulling up the papers. He’s by the other table, starting to file out them out with Lusa’s help.

“No,” Esper answers when he realizes Knight isn’t looking at him and can’t see him shaking his head.

“Good,” Arme pipes up instead, “You’re to come here if anything acts up, got it? No matter how small. Anything small can turn into something big sooner than you can imagine.”

Esper nods along, storing the order away in his head. Arme seems happy enough with that and moves back to his desk, checking the papers as Knight hands them over. He writes down a few details and stamps the whole paper, closing the folder.

“Guess that’s all for now,” the doctor mutters, putting the folder away into a cabinet, under the G label.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?” Knight says cheerily, patting his scrubs down. He’d chosen a soft shade of red today; they suit him.

“Yeah, Arc’s been looking forward to it again,” Lusa grins, ushering Esper up and checking if he’s not limping. He turns to repay Esper’s confused gaze with a softer smile now. “Arme and Knight are bringing Shea and Anpa over to our place. It’s a tradition to do this every few weeks.”

Lusa’s brows furrow.

“But if you’d rather not, we don’t have to.”

Esper looks back at Knight, catching his gaze. “Yeah, we can reschedule it, if you’d like. Or take it to our place instead— you don’t have to come if you don’t feel like it.”

Esper is sure he would have a breakdown if he could breathe right now. He finds his lips tugging up into a soft smile. “I think it sounds like a nice idea, if Shea and Anpa are as great as Arc.”

Lusa’s eyes shimmer with something Esper can’t place and he doubles over, bursting into a laugh. “Oh, you don’t even know.”

For some weird, but very welcome, way, Lusa knows exactly what to do to get him a new ID. He even pays the fee and smiles encouragingly while Esper gets his photo taken.

Esper can't help smiling back, and when he gets the tiny plastic card, he sees the photo of himself, smiling more genuinely than he'd ever seen himself smile. Warmth floods his chest and he grips the card tightly, and doesn't let the tiny evidence of his freedom and happiness go the whole car ride. If Lusa notices, he doesn't say anything.

Esper also can't stop looking at the new address written on the plastic card. Lusa had said it's just temporary, of course (how does he keep doing that?; making Esper feel like he isn't a prisoner even while doing things that would've otherwise ticked off at least ten red flags), but Esper has to admit -- not out loud, though -- that he kind of likes it. It's a solid evidence that he has nothing to do with his old home -- he shakes his head.

Lusa said home is a feeling. That had only been a house.

He runs his fingers over the smooth plastic, over and over. He must look silly, but there are no comments from Lusa, even though he'd caught the other looking at him instead of the calm streets ahead.

"How about we stop at McDonald's?" Lusa asks.

They stop at a red light and Lusa turns his head to him in inquiry.

Another weird thing of his. He'll announce what he wants to do and phases it like a question, and then only proceeds if Esper nods at him. Esper is still not used to it. Doesn't understand why Lusa does it.

He gives a nod and Lusa replies with a smile. For some reason he's always pleased whenever Esper goes along with his choice of fast food instead of offering to cook. Not that Esper minds the fast food, don't get mistaken. In fact, he loves it. He'd never had the luxury of fatty burgers and oversalted fries and stretchy, gooey pizza. It's almost like living in a completely different world.

He likes it.

A lot.

Lusa pulls up in the drive-thru, giving Esper's leg a sidelong glance. The cast had come off earlier, and it doesn't even hurt anymore, and yet Lusa keeps treating him like something fragile. It doesn't feel like he thinks Esper would break — because he wouldn't. He doubts anything could break him at this point. It feels more like Lusa just wants to keep him away from any kind of pain, like he's something to be protected or cherished. The mere thought is enough to make Esper chuckle while Lusa orders menus for them.

And only when they're back on the road, with paper bags full of food sitting in Esper's lap, does it hit Esper. It feels like a full-on collision with another car, and Esper doubles over with a gasp, whitened fingers gripping at the paper.

He stares ahead, eyes wide and almost unseeing. Tears roll down his cheeks in rivulets, fat and salty.

Immediately, Lusa is pulling over to the side, looking at him with a startled, concerned gaze.

"Esper?" he calls out, hand hovering in midair as if he's hesitating to touch him. Seeing that only makes Esper cry harder, wail after wail tearing from his throat. It almost doesn't sound like his own voice, at least to his own ears. "Esper, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

Esper shakes his head side to side, bangs flying left and right. The tears don't stop coming even as he clutches the bags of food to his chest. They'll probably end up cold because of him.

He cries louder, choking on it halfway. It sounds pathetic and no doubt irritating, but Lusa shows no sign of anger. If anything, he just looks more scared.

"Sorry- Sorry, I-" Esper chokes out, voice giving out as he goes back to noiseless sobs and tears.

“Take your time,” Lusa tells him softly. Esper’s chest aches, like it’s devoid of every organ, at the gentle tone, the lack of yelling, tugging or punches.

Still, Esper can’t help the broken apologies tumbling from his bitten lips.

A dream. That’s what all of this feels like.

With great effort, Esper manages to open his eyes (which he doesn’t even remember closing) and look at Lusa through the sheen of tears. His brows are furrowed and he still looks like he wants to touch Esper, but refrains.

Esper wants to explain himself — it’s the least Lusa deserves — but he can’t find the right words. So instead he just opens his mouth to scream again. “It—” he hiccups when the scream dies out, his throat like sandpaper with each inhale. “It doesn’t… feel right. Ri—Real— I’m— this is…”

Lusa lets him blabber until he can’t anymore and then he falls slack, shoulders slumping heavily. Lusa holds up a hand again.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. Esper stares at him in silence, torn between the need to be alone, to run as far as possible and hide in a ditch and forget he’d ever been this vulnerable, and the surprisingly overwhelming urge to let Lusa do as he pleases.

There’s two outcomes to his; either he’ll get hurt, or he won’t. He doesn’t know one he wants.

Finally, he nods. It must’ve take a while, but still Lusa doesn’t say anything. Instead he softly places the hand onto Esper’s, not squeezing in any way. Just a comforting weight.

“Real?” he asks, prompting Esper to actually think.

The touch is nice. He nods.

Lusa smiles at him, his eyes narrowed softly with the gesture. “Take your time.”

“Too good…” Esper gasps, going rigid as Lusa moves his hand to his back and rubs small circles there.

The other man fixes him with a — somehow — knowing look. “It’s fine,” he says, leveling his voice to a quiet stability even though Esper’s is hiccuping up and down. “It’s not really… well, too good. It’s the right amount of good.”

Esper stares at him through the tears in his eyes, incredulous. He’s biting down at his bottom lip, clearly mulling it over in his mind.

Lusa doesn’t pressure him into replying. “Maybe one day you’ll expect the right amount of good instead of waiting for too little,” he mutters, still rubbing his back while the floodgates of Esper’s tears open yet again. “Take it at your own pace. There’s no bad way in this.”

Lusa waits patiently while Esper finally calms down enough to keep going. He has to force more tears down the whole way, however.

It just feels unreal to have someone this nice, even though he can reach out and touch Lusa at any time to make sure.

And he does.

Lusa just gives him an encouraging smile when his fingertips brush Lusa’s shoulder, softly, like he’s afraid Lusa would disintegrate into smoke.

He doesn’t.

“It’s cold!” Arc complains as he bites into one of the chicken nuggets, hands already fully coated in the barbecue sauce, somehow.

Lusa stretches a hand to ruffle his hair. “Sorry, champ, we had to stop somewhere on the way. It was important.”

“Esper’s papers, right?” Arc asks, mouth twisting as he chew the meat.

Lusa nods, casting Esper a look. The man looks ready to fling himself out of the window, but at least he’s not crying anymore, so Lusa chalks it up as ‘getting better’. “Yeah, he got ‘em. If you ask him nice, he might show you— He got a really nice photo taken. Aaaand if you ask me nicely, I’ll reheat the nuggets for you.”

Arc’s eyes light up and he holds the paper box out. “Please, pretty, pretty please?”

Lusa laughs, taking the box out of Arc’s greasy fingers and kissing his forehead. He hands the boy a napkin from one of the paper bags. “Comin’ right up!”

While he disappears into the kitchen to grab a plate for the food as well, Arc clambers onto Esper’s lap, staring up at him through his disheveled fringe. Those doe eyes could probably make icebergs melt if Arc wanted them to.

“Show me,” the boy begs, “show me, show me, pleease!”

Esper places a hand onto Arc’s back so the boy doesn’t fall as he leans over and grabs the plastic card from the table. Arc snatches it out of his hand and scrutinizes the holographic elements with great interest.

“You look pretty here!” he exclaims finally, seemingly pleased with the small picture. “But you’re even prettier here!” The boy jabs a finger at Esper’s chest, smearing the leftover sauce on his shirt.

A smile stretches on Esper’s lips and he’s powerless to stop it. “Thank you,” he says, surprised that his voice doesn’t break midway. He’d never been called pretty. And Arc’s genuinity is all that much endearing.

Lusa reappears with the food, now arranged on a real plate, and that is also snatched as Arc makes himself comfortable on the couch, ID already forgotten as he flicks through the channels, looking for a particular cartoon, probably.

Lusa’s and Esper’s eyes meet; for once, the smile adorning Esper’s face doesn’t drop. Lusa gives a similar one back.

Esper seats himself by Arc and Lusa takes the boy’s other side, and by then, Arc had already found the correct channel. He shoves a nugget completely covered in sauce into his mouth.

Exaggerated laughs and high-pitched voices fill the air, all of them finally getting to their food. The fries are a little gummy as Esper chews them, but then he’s once again reminded that it’s his fault. And really, if it’s a choice between warm fries and a burger or the entirely encompassing feeling of safety and belonging, well…

It’s not a choice at all.

#elsword #addcest #lpde #elsain #eso's fics #clean slate fic #this is like the most realistic breakdown ive ever written #mine

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dongsooks · 8 years ago

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Last Time- Ko Shinwon Angst

19:00 You had just gotten ready. Ready to finally reunion with him. How long has it been since you last saw each other? Since you last have been embraced by the broad shoulders and warm arms? How much time has passed since you last kissed each other? You slipped your red coat over your shoulder, which you left bare since he loved leaving kisses all over them and your collarbones. You checked your hair a last time. It fell down your back in soft waves, the way he liked it best because he could alwas play with your hair when you were asleep on his chest. Your lipstick was of pure, velvet red. He often pointed out to you, that he loved the contrast it had to your skin. You looked through your shoes, choosing a black pair of heels which he had gotten you for your first anniversary. One last check, all around look to make sure everything fitted, to make sure it was perfect.

19:30 There were multiple reasons to hate car rides. Today it was the Taxi drivers bad music and your thoughts. You tended to overthink. You knew that, he knew that. Your heart was racing at the thought of finally being reunited with the man you shared so much with. Your thoughts and dreams, doubts and insecurities. You couldn't be patient to finally get more of him than glances at award shows and short phone calls while you both were exhausted. It was effort. It was hard. But you made it work. He promised you, that you two would make it work. You leaned back and closed your eyes, trying to recall his glances at you, the way his fingers felt, gliding across your skin, the thought alone making you shiver. You were sure you’d burst from the tingling excitement roaming through your body as you got closer to the restraunt he wanted to take you to.

19:43 The Taxi stopped and you stepped out. A wave of anxiety swepping over your body as you worried he might not be as excited as you are. He might not like your collarbones anymore or he might have forgotten the heels. You took a deep breath and pushed away any doubt. He had a table booked on his name. The name he swore he'd make you have too, someday. As you walked in the door, a waitress seemed to be already anticipating your arrival. You smiled, guessing your beautiful boyfriend has already arrived. The young lady led you to a table, in the very back. Isolated from most other tables and costumers. But as you came closer, you realised there was no one. Yet. You sat down, pretending to look at the menu, whilst actually being in thoughts. You thought about your choices. Was the lipstick too much? Were the heels to high? Again, you were lost in your thoughts as you anticipated his arrival. You glanced up ever so often almost desperatly hoping for every patch of hair to belong to your boyfriend. But nothing happened.

20:22 Your impatience grew too big and you decided to text him asking where he was instead of only glaring at the time on your phone. After all being over twenty minutes late for your first date in forever was much unlike him. Worry spread in you body as you didn't receive a reply. You waited several minutes, waiting for him to explain he was just in bad traffic, that the taxi driver messed up the location. For anything. But as the minutes passed you started losing hope. The waiters passed several times, looking more pitying each time you smiled at them and told them he'll probaby arrive soon. You gave it another go as he still didn't reply after ten minutes. Did he have an accident? Did he stood you up? Were you overthinking? You could feel yourself getting hotter as you had scenarios playing in your head that became potentially worse.

20:40 There was only a limited amount of what you can take. Forty minutes waiting, were about it. You got redressed and left after having to pay a unreasonably high price for sitting at a table and getting pitied be the workers. Outside of the restraunt you enjoyed the cooling temperature before you realized that there were dripplets of water starting to fall from the sky. You hid under the ledge of the restraunt's entrance. After multiple failed tries to contact your boyfriend, you called his best friend. It didn't take him long to answer. „Y/N, what is up?“, his powerful voice greeted you. You would've smiled, if it wasn't for the situation. „I was just wondering if you saw Shinwon.“ „Yeah sure, he is asleep. Should I wake him up for you?“. You felt punched. Like one solid punch hit your entire body. Numb. „Are you okay? Do you still hear me?“ „Yes, thank you Hyunggu“, your voice was no more than a whisper, after all you also were sure speaking louder would've made your voice crack. You heard another tone from the other side, before your battery died. And with it all of your hopes. You started walking. Suddenly not caring for the rain, wetting your hair, that he liked wavy, washing off your make up and the red lipstick, which he loved in contrast to your skin. Not caring that you started getting soak to your shoulders and collarbones, that he loved to kiss and not even noticing the cold almost paining your soft skin, which he loved to let his hands roam all over. He forgot you. That was a pain you did take note of. The pain three words caused you. He was asleep, while you anxiously awaited him. He was asleep, while you put your last energy, motivation and effort into looking good for him. Not only the cold rain but also your hot tears streamed down your face leaving trails of mascara on your cheeks. Trails of your effort. You must have looked horrible. But you couldn't care. Not right now. You left your pride at the restraunt, at the phone call. Under the ledge of the restaurant he wanted to take you to. Sadness and anger were fighting for dominance inside of you. How could he forget you? You were tired too. You were working the same job, getting the same amount of pressure put onto you and sleeping the same little amount of hours. But you managed to do it. You, when after all he promised you two would make it work. When he was the one to arrange this evening. You threw our head towards the sky, wanting to scream out in Frustration but the only sound echoing through the empty streets was your sobs.

21:38 You were completly exhausted by the time you finally arrived at your apartment. You were out of energy as you sat in your shower, leaning against it's wall. Your eyes were puffy from all the crying. As at some point you finally felt warm enough to get out, you dragged yourself into your room, finding comfort in a big sweater. But not the comfort you looked for today. Not the comfort you were looking for anymore. Not exactly sure of what to do, you sat still next to the heater. Asking yourself what to do. Maybe you should look at your phone, he probably called you thousands of times. Let him. After this action, he should. He should come crawling and begging for forgiveness. And tell you how to make it work. Because you weren't sure right now, if you could. Because when was the last time you saw each other and had to smile from the love you felt? Since you have been embraced by his broad shoulders and warm arms and felt protected by him? How much time has passed since you last kissed each other and you could feel the friction between each others lips? Right now he would tell you, you are overthinking, when in fact right now you were contemplating over your relationship. It's meaning to him and you. And you were considering, that eventually you weren't the ones to make it through the odds. „Y/N?“, the loud voice made you jolt up. „Y/N, are you home?“. He must've used the secondary key you gave him for your anniversary. You stood still, not sure about what to do. His steps came closer to your room, before he entered. For some seconds you just silently looked at each other. He had been crying too, he had been overthinking too, he had been contemplating too. „Y/N“, his voice sounded raspy, you could tell he was still tired. Breaking the eye contact you looked at the ground. „Please say something“,he pleaded, you could not recall him ever sounding that desperatly. „What exactly should I say right now? Justify myself for showing up to our date Shinwon? For getting ready for you? For having to walk home in the rain while you slumbered over how to make this work?“, though you wanted to scream at him, your voice stayed calm almost weak. Suprising even yourself. „I am sorry.“, he began before stepping closer to you, „Y/N, I am so sorry. I'll make it up I promise“, he stood right in front of you by now. „You forgot me. How do you want to make this up?“, your voice cracked and you felt your heart suddenly weighting down your entire body. „You are my everything. I don't know how I could fall asleep, I don't know how I could forget. Believe me, we can make this work we always did, didn’t we?“. You didn't reply, you just gazed at him. „I love you Y/N and you love me. We can work this out. You and me, together. Please. Please don't give us up“ „Maybe we should focus on ourselves. Maybe we should-“, he interrupted you midsentence by pulling you into his arms. „No, I don't how to live without you anymore. And I don't want to learn it. You said you listened to the songs I wrote, they were about you, you said you admired my dancing, I worked extra hard just for you. You said you loved me, so I put everything, into making it work, for us. I love you, I would do everything for you. If it will make you forgive me I will walk to the restraunt and back, to get twice as soaked as you, I will go to the restraunt sitting there for two hours, gaining more attention than you. But don't leave me. Don't leave us behind, because of what an idiot I am“, his face was now almost as wetted as yours. You looked deep into his eyes, a gesture he returned. You just nodded as you were not able to form words and you knew he would understand well enough. You embraced each other, clinging onto each other while crying both your hearts out. 22:13 For a small eternity you looked at each other silently while tears still kept falling down your faces. You placed your hand against his cheek. He leaned into it, putting his on top and kissing your hand, before pulling you in for it. Pulling you in for a kiss in which the two of you shared all the pain, exhaust, angst and doubts. All your hopes, all your love and all your wishes until the both of you just embraced each other. So when was the last time you saw each other and had to smile of love? How long has it been since you last felt save in his arms? And since you felt the sparks whilst kissing him? Seconds.

22:39 „I love you“ „I love you too“

#Shinwon #Ko Shinwon #go shinwon #Pentagon Shinwon #Shinwon Angst #shinwon scenarios #shinwon imagine #Pentagon scenarios #pentagon imagines #Pentagon angst

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cryptobully-blog · 7 years ago

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The stock market crash of 1929: what you need to know

https://cryptobully.com/the-stock-market-crash-of-1929-what-you-need-to-know/

The stock market crash of 1929: what you need to know

Hulton Archive /Getty Images

The stock market crashed in 1929, plummeting into a correction.

Margin buying, lack of legal protections, overpriced stocks and Fed policy contributed to the crash.

There are ways to protect investors can protect a portfolio from downturns.

On October 16, 1929, Yale economist Irving Fisher wrote in the New York Times that “Stock prices have reached what looks like a permanently high plateau.” Eight days later, on October 24, 1929, the stock market began a four-day crash on what became known as Black Thursday. This crash cost investors more than World War I and was one of the catalysts for the Great Depression. Irving Fisher’s declaration went down as the worst stock market prediction of all time.

Before the 1929 stock market crash: Risks and warning signs

Hindsight is always 20/20 but in the Roaring Twenties, optimism and affluence had risen like never before. The economy grew by 42% (real GDP went from $688 billion in 1920 to $977 billion in 1929), average income rose by about $1,500 and unemployment stayed below 4%. In the wake of World War I, the U.S. was producing nearly half of global output and mass production made consumer goods like refrigerators, washing machines, radios and vacuums accessible to the average household. Investing in stocks became like baseball – a national pastime. As newspaper headlines trumpeted stories about teachers, chauffeurs and maids making millions in the stock market, concerns about risk evaporated.

Everyone wanted to get in on the action and credit was readily available. In particular, businesses and individuals borrowed money to buy stocks “on margin.” Buying on margin meant that an investor could put down 10-20% of their own money and borrow the rest from their stock broker. This type of leverage was extremely risky because if the stock price fell below the loan amount, the stock broker could issue a “margin call,” requiring immediate repayment of the loan. Despite this risk, even banks were buying stocks on margin, and, since no law prevented it, some used their customers’ deposits to do so. The chart below shows the Dow Jones Industrial Average (a measure of stock market performance) from 1920 to September 1929 and how, for close to a decade, the stock market had consistently gone up.

Value Walk

On March 25, 1929, the stock market corrected, falling 10% from its 52-week high. Margin calls were made and investors panicked initially but reassurance from a group of bankers that their banks would continue to lend assuaged concerns and the market recovered. Bankers would try to reassure markets the same way after Black Thursday but to no avail.

Other warning signs began to appear but were largely ignored. Steel production, car sales and homebuilding all slowed. Several banks failed. Nevertheless, most economists shared Irving Fisher’s optimism about the market outlook, although a few outliers did warn of a downturn. Yet as stocks hit new highs in the summer months, investors ignored pessimistic predictions entirely and appeared justified in doing so when the Dow Jones Industrial Average hit a record high of 381.17 on September 3, 1929, up 27% from the previous year. After the crash, the Dow Jones would not return to its peak until 1954.

Black Thursday and Black Tuesday

Over the next few weeks, stock prices began to slide downward. By October 23, 1929, the Dow Jones was down nearly 20% from its high and in the last hour of trading that day, stock prices took a sudden plunge. The market closed amidst confusion and concern. The next day would go down in history as Black Thursday. At the opening bell on October 24, 150,000 shares of oil company Cities Service were traded for $8.4 million. It was the largest block trade ever made. By mid-morning, blue-chip stocks were falling as much as $10 with every trade and by noon, big-name stocks RCA Corporation and Montgomery Ward had plummeted 35% and 40%, respectively. To stem the rising panic, Richard Whitney, president of the New York Stock Exchange and lead broker for J.P. Morgan bid $10 higher than the previous per-share bid for 25,000 shares of U.S. Steel. The strategy worked and the market rebounded. Montgomery-Ward for example had opened at $83/share, hit a low of $50/share and closed at $74/share. At the closing bell, the Dow Jones had fallen 11% and nearly 13 million shares had exchanged hands, triple the normal trading volume. Transactions were printed on ticker tape, which could only produce 285 words per minute. The ticker tape didn’t stop running until four hours after the market closed.

On Friday, markets appeared calmer and trade volume receded to six million shares. Investors spent a tense weekend assessing their portfolios, and when markets reopened on Monday, prices plunged and trade volume spiked again. Unlike on Black Thursday, there was no eleventh-hour recovery.

On Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929, investors were in a full-blown panic. Three million shares were traded in the first thirty minutes alone. As investors tried desperately to communicate with their stock brokers, phone lines jammed and Western Union telegrams tripled. False rumors that investors were jumping out of skyscrapers fueled the panic. Fistfights broke out on the trading floor. Stock brokers called in margins and sold the stocks of investors who couldn’t immediately repay the 80-90% they had borrowed, wiping out life savings in a matter of seconds. When the market finally closed, the Dow Jones had fallen 12%. It took 15,000 miles of ticker tape to record the 16.4 million shares that had been traded. To put that in context, the distance from Manhattan to Sydney, Australia is a mere 9,931 miles. The market had officially crashed.

Value Walk

What caused the stock market to crash in 1929?

The stock market crash of 1929 did not have one single catalyst. Multiple factors contributed, including:

Margin buying

Before the crash, nearly 40 cents of every dollar loaned in America was used to buy stocks, typically through margin buying. When the market started to take nosedives, brokers began to make their margin calls and borrowers were often unable to pay up. When that happened, brokers simply sold those stocks, wiping out savings and increasing panic.

Lack of legal protections

The legal protections we have today on bank deposits and securities transactions didn’t exist in 1929. After the crash, banks were only able to honor 10 cents on the dollar because they had used customers’ deposits to purchase stocks without their knowledge. Additionally, investors had no recourse to recover funds if their brokerage firm went out of business. The Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) and the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) were founded in 1933 and 1934, respectively, as part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s efforts to restore confidence in the markets under the New Deal.

Overpriced stocks

Overpriced stocks are often cited as a key reason for the crash of 1929. However, there is not a lot of evidence to support this. Stocks increased by 120% between 1925 and the third quarter of 1929, an average annual increase of about 22%. This is a big increase but in the context of a period of tremendous economic growth, it is not unreasonable. Price-to-earnings (P/E) ratios also do not indicate overvaluations. In 1929, the average P/E ratio of stocks was around 15. In January 2018, the S&P 500’s P/E ratio was just under 23. It may be more accurate to say that it was the perception of overpricing that contributed to the crash as public figures and news headlines expressed this view.

News headlines

In early October 1929, newspapers stoked concerns with sensational headlines. Most notably, on October 3, 1929 Britain’s finance minister, Phillip Snowden, called the U.S. stock market a “perfect orgy of speculation” and the next day, The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times ran stories agreeing with him. The New York Times’ page one headline blared “Year’s Worst Break Hits Stock Market.” On October 17, The Washington Post ran a headline “Crushing Blow Dealt to Stock Market” following a market dip the previous day. Associated Press stories – which were picked up by other outlets and therefore widely read – focused on the poor performance of public utilities, which generated significant worry among investors. Public utilities stocks were more than triple their book value in 1929 so these headlines did generate valid concerns. In the run up to Black Thursday, major newspaper headlines continued to focus on market dips, the lack of alarm among Washington officials about these dips, and the rising panic of investors. Newspapers cannot be faulted for reporting the news but the headlines certainly heightened people’s fears. The effect of these news headlines was roughly the equivalent of yelling “fire” in a crowded movie theatre.

Trouble in London

On September 20, 1929, the London Stock Exchange suspended shares of the Hatry group after its founder, Clarence Hatry, was found to have purchased United Steel Companies with fraudulent collateral. The Hatry group collapsed, costing investors billions and sending the London Stock Exchange into a tailspin. This news put US investors on edge.

Federal Reserve policy

Economists and historians have long argued that Federal Reserve policy contributed to the crash. In 1928 and 1929, the Fed raised interest rates in an effort to limit securities speculation. Higher rates caused economic activity to slowdown in the US. The Fed’s actions also had unintended global consequences. Because of the international gold standard, foreign central banks were forced to raise their interest rates as well, and this monetary tightening triggered recessions in several countries and caused global commerce to contract. In 2002, Ben Bernanke (then a member of the Federal Reserve Board of Governors) publicly acknowledged the Fed’s role in the crash, saying that the Fed’s mistakes contributed to the “worst economic disaster in American history.”

What happened to investors’ portfolios in 1929?

From 1927 to just before the crash, market returns grew exponentially. In 1928, stocks returned a whopping 43.8%. Here’s a look at the Dow Jones Industrial Average from 1927 to 1932:

As much as markets fell in the crash, they still had a long way to go before finally bottoming out in 1932.

Value Walk

During the period from August 1929 through March 1933, the total return of a portfolio that was 60% stocks and 40% bonds was -50.2%. During that same period, the S&P 500’s total return was -74.6% and the 10-year Treasury’s total return was +15.3%. The 60/40 balanced portfolio remain a popular option for investors today.

60/40 Historical Returns 1926-2016

Value Walk

Could investors have avoided catastrophe?

John Maynard Keynes didn’t see the crash coming and was nearly cleaned out in 1929. In fact, he was so shaken by the crash and ensuing depression that he changed his strategy, deciding that the “animal spirits” of the market could not always be trusted and that irrational behavior on the part of investors played a role in determining stock prices regardless of fundamental valuations.

If Keynes was unable to avoid the crash, it seems entirely unreasonable that the average investor could be expected to do so. The market was incredibly difficult to time in 1929, particularly because stock prices rallied before larger crashes on multiple occasions. This made it virtually impossible to tell when the crash was over. Some investors correctly read warning signs and sold their stocks ahead of Black Thursday only to buy back in at bargain prices the next day and suffer even bigger losses on Black Tuesday.

Is it possible to avoid losses in a stock market crash?

The bad news is that stock market crashes are a reality of investing. Black swan events can and will happen. The good news is that while it is virtually impossible to reliably time the market, investors can still protect their savings from a crash.

One way to minimize the risks from a potential market crash is to capture a moderate amount of upside market growth while ensuring that savings are fully protected over the long term.

Markets

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teenagewastelandnerd-blog · 7 years ago

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prediksikb99-blog · 7 years ago

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338a casino sbobet

Facilitating been in the betting club assembling and masterminding business for quite a while I have gotten notice from customers some to a great degree hopeless stories of what 338a casino sbobet occurred at their clubhouse fundraiser and I might need to go to you the 7 phases you ought to take after to promise you have a successful clubhouse fundraiser and get the BEST clubhouse party association for your event.

Step 1. The organizing board. This is the most indispensable walk in your masterminding and you ought to designate a man to each of the specific errands that must be refined for your event, which fuse the Law and getting the reasonable licenses, finding the territory and giving sustenance to the event, rousing supporters to help with the costs, getting endowments gave, finding the correct clubhouse association, and will's character dealing with the money. It is vast for one individual to manage most of the above things. The fundamental productive course is to have one individual accountable for everything, enable them to sit unbothered to play out the endeavor, yet having them report their progress now and again to the individual selected in charge for the event. You will require a great deal of time to accomplish each one of the errands I a better than average time assignment to start is 4-6 months before the event date.

Step 2. The Law and getting your fundraiser allow and township approval. Always remember that wagering is unlawful, and having clubhouse diversions at your fundraiser is wagering. This is basic in light of the fact that a club fundraiser is not the same as holding an auto wash to raise saves. Since wagering is illegal there are state specialists responsible for stopping unlawful wagering which suggests your clubhouse fundraiser will fall under a unique case to the wagering laws. We ought to take New Jersey for example. The state office ABC (Alcoholic Beverage Control)is able to find and deflect unlawful wagering, deplorably their own handbook does not state illegal wagering, or exceptional cases to the wagering laws, it just says wagering, and there has been an occasion where one of their specialists attempted to stop a clubhouse fundraiser promising it was wagering. The situation was settled before the event date because of the second direct I require you toward review. Regardless of the way that your clubhouse fundraiser is wagering and wagering is illegal, you fall under an exclusion to the wagering laws by state statute. In New Jersey the state overseeing body made a statute to allow clubhouse wagering and made the Casino Control Commission to coordinate the activity, they in like manner made a statute to allow betting club fundraisers and made the approved Games of Chance Control Commission to direct clubhouse fundraisers. The point I require you take from this is make your club fundraiser honest to goodness, you ought to fathom the law and get the most ideal licenses and township assent for the event. Since you are a 501(c)3 non advantage affiliation and used to having an auto wash to raise stores doesn't mean you can have a club fundraiser just in light of the fact that it sounds like a keen idea. So now you should fathom it is a savvy thought to call your states Office of the Attorney General to find the laws in your state to have a club fundraiser.

Step 3. The Best betting club association. The allowing necessities required for you state may in like manner require the club association to be approved. There have been occasions in New Jersey where a non advantage affiliation called a club party association and neither of the social affairs knew the laws realizing the event being stopped and fines. Each state is particular and in New Jersey the clubhouse association and each one of the traders must have a betting club fundraiser allow. So the basic show here is first take in the essential isolated by calling the state specialists, by then you start calling the betting club associations and ask them what is required to have a clubhouse fundraiser. A respectable betting club party association will ask with reference to whether you have your allow and have the ability to email you the structures anticipated that would get the allow. They should control you through all points of view to obtaining your allow and getting the township assent. If they don't help you or elucidate the fundamentals then they may not understand them and that could be a failure holding up to happen.

Step 4. Who is genuinely doing your event? Appreciate there are betting club party associations who announce locally and some who do it comprehensively. I would state the adjacent associations are the best for you in light of the fact that the national associations may not know the laws for you state. Shockingly more unpleasant is the national associations won't be doing your event. What they do is call the close-by associations, get a quote from them and add a few dollars to the bill just to answer your phone call, and the area association is will's personality doing your event and they will have given you a quote that is not as much as the national association. As you look at every association you will see some that have Sbobet casino 338a photographs of film stars and people having an extraordinary time in a clubhouse on the front page of their site. Slight all that material proposed to attract you since it is not essential. When you get esteem refers to from the clubhouse party associations you may get 3 or 4 that are in a comparable general range and 1 or 2 that are considerably higher than the others. We should give a case and say you got refers to for $1000, $1100, $1200 and $2000. It doesn't look good that 3 quotes were in a comparative range and one quote was impressively higher and that is by virtue of the high quote is from a national association who won't do your event since they will call the close-by association who gave you the lower refer to regardless, by then add the extra money to the bill.

Step 5. The clubhouse tables. There is a general control to take after which is you require around 70 percent of you guests to have the ability to play. You can adjust this regulate, in any case I would not go underneath 50 percent prepared to play. The club association should urge you on this. They should moreover stay in steady contact with you in the week preparing to the event to refresh the tables if vital. We ought to acknowledge your event was 300 guests, yet in the latest week you see only 200 will show up. A genuine club association will suggest you reduce the amount of tables. A poor betting club association will require you to stay with the principal proposal since they will benefit. Essentially communicated, the BEST club party association would rather you have the correct number of tables and not extremely various or unnecessarily few, and they should not put their advantage over your raising cash needs. By and by we should discuss the betting club tables that will be used for your event. This is my decision as an approved trader, however the best club associations have new rigging which does not have breaking down metal legs or conceivably use dodging under the table to cover the metal legs. Approach yourself for what legitimate reason a honest to goodness betting club doesn't use metal caving in legs on their tables. A craps or roulette table is overpowering with up to 14 people all slanting and moving their weight on the table. Maybe that is the reason you shouldn't have metal giving way legs on the table since you would incline toward not to go out on a limb the table breakdown. I will never deal craps or roulette on a table that has metal breaking down legs. The point I require you remember here is that you should have the betting club get-together association unequivocally expressed that they will be the association doing your event and won't subcontract to another association. You should similarly require the betting club association to give photographs of the honest to goodness tables they will use at the event. It is fine if they can exhibit to you the tables on their site, yet I would approach myself for what reason a betting club association does not have photographs of the tables on the site. Make an effort not to recognize the association having a photo showing the most elevated purpose of the tables with people having an extraordinary time since that does not exhibit the legs of the table which I consider the most basic part.

Step 6. Cost from the Casino association and proposition. The betting club party association should be making proposals on the most ideal clubhouse tables and the amount of each table to have for your event. They will take after the general oversee of 70 percent of your guests having the ability to play, be that as it may they should in like manner be in relentless contact with you making ready to the event and diminish or incorporate tables if fundamental. Remember the clubhouse association is there to help you furthermore need to benefit. An unbelievable clubhouse association will provoke you if important to diminish the amount of tables at first proposed in light of the amount of guests, empowering them to be an amazing help to you and still make an advantage. The Poor betting club associations will require you to stay with the main course of action since they will benefit. The point here is that if you have unreasonably few tables then your guests can't play meaning they can't offer money to the event, and if you have an unnecessary number of tables they won't be used and you are spending more money than you should, and you could hazard losing money for the generosity therefore of it. The last guide I require you toward review is some betting club party associations that do raising bolster require a rate of your advantages. Never get an association that needs a rate of the

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