#anyway. it was a nokia brick and i LOVED it; i thought it was the best because it lit up at the sides and i could take tiny photos
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Before Penn Station [permutation 1] Ch. 2
Hi guys! I finally managed to get this done! I hope that you all like this chapter, and I replied to the person on ff.net. I wasn't sure if I should also give the reply to the concerns here too, but I'll answer here in the notes too.
Here's the chapter below the cut!
After shoving his way through an entire crowd, Alex doubles back as fast as he can, ducking around a corner then back over the rear entrance of Bad Weather. Ignoring the irritated and outraged looks he got as he ran past people, he quickly started scaling the nearest building, eyes alert for Desmond's telltale presence.
He managed to catch a glimpse of it as Desmond teleported (because what else do you call it when someone straight up disappears in broad daylight?) somewhere else, a low computer noise the only thing he left behind. Alex felt his lips pull as his mouth widened to a cheek-to-cheek grin.
He'd been just a bit late, but he'd managed to find Desmond as he was escaping, and he was only getting better at it.
Satisfied, Alex climbed back down in the nearby alleyway, dusting off his hands and wiping off the debris in his (what used to be) white hoodie. He didn't have any work to do, since today was a field-testing day, and Dana told him she'd be occupied for the better part of the day before doing some other things she had to take care of. His apartment was already clean and the idea of laying down to sleep was repulsive at this point.
Which meant he only had one other option, since he wasn't nearly desperate enough to call up his insane boss for company. Karen.
Hopefully, she was in a good mood today—he really didn't want to hear her talking about her murder scrapbook. His phone was a basic Nokia brick flip, but it worked and that's all that mattered, and he didn't pay it a second thought as he called Karen.
The phone rung four times, then Karen answered with a terse, "What."
Ah. Not a good mood then. Oh well. "You free right not?"
A loud sigh, "Unfortunately. How soon are you coming over?"
Alex shoved his way back onto the sidewalk, holding his arm up for a passing cab's attention, "I'm catching a cab now."
"I'll see you shortly then."
Alex never saw any reason to make small talk with people he wasn't interested in, so after shooting down the cab drivers' initial attempts at conversation, the trip was a short and awkward one. Pushing the money at the disgruntled cabbie, he wasn't surprised when he heard the screech of tired as the car peeled out of the lot.
Karen's apartment was on the third story, no elevator to speak of, just two sets of rickety stairs with dying bushes and potted plants littered around carelessly. Karen's door was easy to puck out, the almost gothic door knocker that sat in the center of steel ivy vines above a cheery 'Welcome!' mat was a dead giveaway.
Alex slammed the door knocker once, and waited for a few seconds as the door swung open to reveal Karen, sans makeup in a light grey bathrobe, a cup of coffee in her hand. She turned back into her apartment without a greeting once she saw it was him, yawning loudly and moving to eat her breakfast of bland scrambled eggs.
"Hey, Karen." Alex greets dryly, slamming the door after walking inside and grabbing his own mug for coffee, "You look like shit."
"Coming from you, that means nothing." She chugs her first mug then blankly sets it down to grip at her second cup, already hot. "You look like you fought a bear."
Alex scoffs, "Please, none of them were big enough for that."
"So, why'd you call me anyways? Did you need help with disposal again?"
"Nah, I already took care of that." Alex's head absentmindedly touches his right coat pocket, the inner lining pressing against his shirt. "There isn't anything left for anyone to find now."
"Then why are you here?" Karen yawns again, "Seriously, if you came here to talk about that girl you've been trying to date, then you better be prepared to hear me talk about my love life."
"Finally!" Karen shots, slamming her empty cup on the counter top loudly. "Trina dumped me last night and I've been drinking coffee to stay up and reread our chat history! She blocked me." Karen glowers at Alex, "She blocked me! I'm such a catch and she blocked me!" She looks to Alex cheerlessly. "What am I doing to drive these women away, Alex? Why can't I find love?"
'Lots of reasons.' Alex thinks, but has the sense not to say out loud. "Why'd she break up with you? Was it the murder-"
"It was the murder scrapbook." Karen lets out a long drawn out groan. "I set up my bathroom as a dark room to develop my photos, and Trina decided to surprise me with some supplied because she's a photographer too, walked in and saw them! She saw all my latest murder shots!" Karen rubs at her temples, her short blond hair choppy and ragged from it's most recent haircut. "At least she didn't scream and run like Priscilla did, but it was honestly worse. I got her to sit down see we could talk it out and she, in the nicest ans sweetest way possible because that's just how she is, told me that she was utterly repulsed by me and realized I wasn't the person she thought I was."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. I tried to convince her that this was just another part of me, y'know like a puzzle you found pieces to you didn't know existed, but she just. She walked out, Alex. And she didn't even look back, all I saw was her back and the door."
"You should find someone who isn't on the straight and narrow, Karen. I told you, you've gotta find someone who can keep up with you have going on and has their own shit going on."
"But I don't want someone who lacks morals, that's the reason I'm not dating anyone from the company, Alex."
Alex shrugs, not willing to add anything to the topic, as they'd spent many nights bitching about the absolute depravity being fostered and encouraged at Gentek. At this point, any further discussion would be beating a rotten horse.
"I just...wanna come home to a nice girl who isn't going to stab me in the back or poison me for corporate secrets. Who I can share my love of photography with, who I can share my passions with and enjoy her passions, with the benefit of rough sloppy sex! Is that too much to ask?!"
Alex shrugs, "I mean, if you asked me a few years ago, I probably would've said that you met her and the time is past. But now...I dunno, Karen. If I can run into my other half again, after fucking up my shot on three seperate occasions, there's still a chance."
Karen looks at him morosely, "You think so? You think there's still a chance?"
"Maybe. But you have to chase it, when you feel like you've met that person, otherwise you'll regret it."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Yeah." It's not said with shame or sadness. He says it so matter-of-fact that Karen has no choice but to accept it as the truth. Or at the very least, it was Alex's truth.
"Well. Ok." Karen sits up. "Thanks. You give good advice sometimes."
Alex barks a laugh, "I had to take care of Dana growing up, so I've had to give sensible advice every now and then. Just...don't expect me to do this too often."
"What, you might combust?" Karen snorts.
"Absolutely." Alex nods, but she can see the slight quirk of his lips. "I'd be nothing but meat chunks all over."
Karen laughs and a comfortable silence descends over the room. Karen is content to stare at the counter, mulling something over, while Alex gets up to get a mug from her cabinet. He already grabbed one when he came in, but it's a bland boring thing with the Gentek logo engraved on the front. He already has to deal with their bullshit on a near daily basis, swallowing from a mug with their logo almost feels like defeat. She has a couple of mugs in the cabinet that's ended up there after so many years of spending time in her space, migrated over from his apartment, and Alex chooses the familiar one with the words 'resting bitch face' on the front in black, the rest of the mug a faded crimson. Karen's coffee machine is the kind you'd find an office, but at the very least she has cream and other flavors available, for as much as she drank the stuff she wasn't all that good at roasting it.
Cup full of coffee, a spoonful of sugar and a lot of cream later, Alex returns back to the counter.
Karen sighs then taps her fingers on the counter top. "So, c'mon. Why don't you tell me about the good news?"
"What good news?"
"I mean, you sounded pretty upbeat on the phone-well for you at least. Did something go well?"
"Oh." Alex slowly grins, showing all of his teeth as it stretches from the cheek to cheek, his eyes only visible by the excited gleam. "I've been getting batter at tracking him without him being able to tell I'm near. I saw him teleporting today-and that was after he got done glowing."
Karen blows air out from her teeth, "Man, how am I supposed to take you seriously when you say shit like that? People can't glow or teleport, Alex. Do you need to take something for hallucinations or something?"
The smile oozed off his face as Alex looks down his nose at her, "This is why I rarely ever tell you thinks about him. You don't believe me."
"I mean," Karen shrugs, "You let the weirdest shit slip when you talk about him, and it sounds literally impossible. I mean-" she fumbles to gather her words. "-how am I supposed to believe you met him once, and he somehow captivated you so badly that you jumped his bones in Vermont, you somehow didn't have the sense to give him your address or phone number. Then! And this is the part that I really don't believe, but you saw him with his baby-mind you, you've literally told me that this was a guy that you slept with. Also! And this is something you told me by the way, you saw this guy eating glass and metal in a crowd without anyone else noticing. And this was somehow on the one day that you had to get a secondary copy of your dissertation to copyright the strain of virus that McMullen sold to that-who was it again?-that weird as Whister-Water-Wesky-Wesk-something dude from the company that went bankrupt and got bought up by Tricell. Mind you, you managed to see him at the exact time you were coming out, then you had to chase him down and lost him in the crowd. Literally what are the odds? I rarely ever see you lose a mark when you go hunting."
"He talks about 'the Calculations' sometimes when he's super tired or drank too much." Alex shrugs. "No idea what he means, but for some reason he says it like a title of something or an event. Won't explain it though."
"...right. Alex," Karen placles her hand on his arm. "I saw this because I care about you. Are you going crazy or something? The only person I've ever seen you chasing after is a woman, in any of the times I've been your wingwoman she's always been a dancer or a bartender, and? I've never seen her glowing or talking to another person that you've said you've seen. I really think that you might be hallucinating or something."
"He's a woman sometimes, that's all."
"He...crossdresses?"
"No."
"Then...are we even talking about the same person?"
"Who do you think I'm talking about?"
"Uh...? That girl that always wears the huge white hoodie, right?"
Alex puts a hand to his chin, "Is that the main thing that you remember him by? Do you remember anything else about him?"
"...she had really short dark hair? I dunno, Alex, she didn't really have that many distinct features and she's not all that pretty." Karen narrows her eyes, "Maybe it's just because you're biased you think she has some...beauty or whatever."
'No,' Alex thinks. 'She's not the only person that described him like this. Before I gained such a bad reputation at the bar, most patrons and employees only recognized him by the hoodie and hair.'
"Alex?" Karen waves a hand in front of him. "Alex, can you hear me?"
'Karen might've just cracked the case for me. People don't remember him as Desmond or Desiree, since he never introduces himself by either of his real names, they don't even notice the scar on his lips. Does he have some ability to hide? Is that why people only ever seem to see the hair and hoodie? If that's the case, I can use it to my advantage...'
"Alex. Alex!" Karen claps her hands once, twice, thrice. "There he goes again."
'I have a plan now. I've gathered everything to make this work, all I need to do is get Des in a romantic environment, and it'll work!'
"Karen!" Alex straightens up with a yell, smashing his hands onto the counter, startling Karen who'd been skimming a book. "You've done! That's it!"
"What's is?!"
"I figured out what I need to make him mine!"
Karen blinks, then blinks again rapidly. "H-what?"
"I'm going to get ready, Karen." Alex gives her his full toothy, cheek to cheek grin. "I greatly enjoy speaking with you. See ya!"With that he turns and strides out her apartment, making sure to close the door behind him.
Karen rolls her eyes, "Always with the dramatic entrances and exits…"
------->
Author's Notes: Karen was implying that Alex could win in a fist fight with an actual bear, but Alex was talking about the sexy gay kind. Karen has lost multiple girlfriends to her murder scrapbook, she always makes sure to cover her tracks and let her exes know that if they try to turn her in, she will kill them. Karen and Alex were dating before he entered Gentek, and she was actually his link into the company, she's on his team working on is counteragents and immunizations. Alex doesn't have that many members on his team, but the few that does all specialize in things that he doesn't work on, so he doesn't have to worry about anyone taking credit for his work.
No one has ever entered Alex's lab, it was one of the conditions that Alex made when he became a director in the company. Also, yes Karen did imply a few things about other franchises. Shout outs to all the people that recognize it.
#before penn station#fanfiction#protocreed#alex mercer#alex j. mercer#dr. mercer#uhhh#i don't know what else to tag this as#writing
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The Writer, Me
Within the depths of my external hard drive, affectionately named Tara, awaits a folder entitled Scribbles. Should one open this folder, many others will be revealed, each with more folders and documents enveloped inside them. They all contain my creations: my poetry, short stories, and novels. All the relevant research I comb through for projects is tucked away in a Misc folder.
Back in the day (meaning the late 1990s to the early 2000s), I didn’t have a computer or laptop. I wouldn’t even get a Nokia Brick, my first phone, for a few more years. A plethora of notebooks, binders, and a variety of pens cluttered those years. Truly, it was chaos. It’s a wonder my mother never grabbed handfuls of it all to stuff in a barrel and burn.
My late cousin, Tabatha, was the one to ignite the passion for writing within me. She’d made the passing statement that I should write down the story I’d just finished telling her. Thus, I started my writing affair with the epic tales I was prone to telling. Knowingly running headfirst into a cliché, writing came as naturally to me as breathing.
It was the details that began to bog me down. I needed every last crumb to fall perfectly into place to feel satisfied with my stories. I needed to jot down every minuscule fragment of thought related to my writing lest it vanish into the void first. It was maddening, yet how could I stop?
As my interest in writing grew, I began reading more poetry volumes. The emotion and truth that went into the poems that I consumed were alluring and spoke to a deep need of my own. Having a history filled with trauma, I realized I could utilize poetry as an outlet. It was a way to pour out all the words my brain, heart, and soul needed to scream.
Poetry was my niche until I was almost out of high school. By then, I had begun dabbling in short stories and novellas. While I had successfully written multiple of each, none of them felt alive. None of them burned with that desire to be shared and devoured. None of them had that something that carried me from page to page without regard for the passing of time.
Over the years, many passion projects have come and gone. Some of them are cringy when I pull them from their cobwebbed compartments within the recesses of my mind while others fill me with regret and a longing for a completion that likely will never come. Of course, I keep them anyway. A writer should always keep their works no matter how cringy, dated, or atrocious they may seem. You never know when they can spontaneously become your next inspiration.
There are two main works that have encompassed the majority of my life as a writer. The first is a story for my mother, my beautiful and intelligent Mama Mattie. When I was in late middle to early high school a friend of mine gave me a stack of books that she no longer wanted. Among them was a book called Seven Tears Into the Sea by Terri Farley.
It’s an enchanting book about selkies, seal-folk who can shed their seal skins when they come onto land and become human. My mother loved this book immensely and wanted her own Selkie story. Thus, I began to research and write. Her selkie story, now with the working title of Torrential, has seen many transformations over the last 15 or so years but has never made it past the first chapter. Mama Mattie does her due diligence in reminding me that I still owe her a selkie story for the ages.
My second work is a story born of a dream, as most of my works find me. Another 15+ year project, it has been the most transformative work I’ll likely ever manage. Originally called Ensphere, the now-titled Shadowstrung trilogy is my all-encompassing passion project. It began as a simple story of fate, endurance, and companionship but evolved when I met my partner Galen and we discovered that the story he was working on seemed to fit together with mine rather elegantly.
Since then, we have gone rounds with this project. All the characters have been renamed countless times, their personalities tweaked, their relationships fine-tuned. The novel became a trilogy. Main characters faded into the background while supporting characters moved to the forefront. All these years later, only the bare bones of SST hold a resemblance to the original concepts of Ensphere.
In early 2022, I made an incredibly difficult decision to put both of these projects down. After 15ish years with little legitimate progress, I felt like I needed something fresh. I needed to see what lay beyond the boundaries of these stories in which I had so deeply burrowed. I spent the rest of the year compiling all of my notes for each so that when I return to them, it will all still make sense.
For the month of Dec 2022, I considered what type of stories I would like to write and I came up with 3 to work on over the next few years. My current work-in-progress is named A Hiss of Sparks. It has been unbelievably arduous to step into this new concept, to stay focused on something ultimately foreign to my mind. I also deal with Autism, ADHD, mental illness, and chronic pain, none of which help the creative process.
Here we find ourselves in May 2023, and I am no closer to having an organized concept of what to write for any of my 3 new projects than I did when they were conceived five months ago. Innately a pantser, I’ve even begun dabbling with plotting and structure to help me to organize. While so far it has been to no avail, I have faith that something will click into place. Until then, I will simply have to try and try again.
#writelykeekee#writerksmith#ksmith short stories#ksmith literary nonfiction#keeping up with kee#90s kid#scribbles#reading#storytelling#writer#writing#poetry#short stories#novels#research#chaos#perfectionism#perfectionist#original writing#writeblr
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My Music for March 2023
Dear Tumblr,
They don’t call it March Madness for no reason, believe me this month was complete and utter madness. I went through a whirlwind of emotions. It was really the passing of my grandma that caught my family and me off guard. No one thought she would be taken out from under us, in a brief moment it happened so fast and at that moment her heart gave out. I couldn't believe it and I’m still in shock. My grandma was very dear to me and I’ve been grieving and going through the motions of her loss. The music I have been listening to has been very therapeutic and has brought that healing feeling I’ve been aligning to. I wasn’t joking when I mentioned in a previous blog that the leading ladies were back at it again. With Kali Uchis and Lana Del Rey both dropping their albums in March, the Top Songs for 3.2023 playlist on Spotify is lit and jammed packed with new music that was released this month among other songs I fell in love with while listening to my Spotify Discover Weekly. Shout out to Kali Uchis for putting her whole love and couchie in Red moon In Venus. Shout out to Princess Nokia for “i love you but this is goodbye” the album that brought closure to that situation that you didn’t think you needed. Last but not least, shout out to the Queen and mother to us all Lana Del Rey. The song Grants couldn’t have come at a better time in my life. The lyrics hit close to home. The lyric in particular, “My grandmother’s last smile I’m gonna take that too with me It’s a beautiful life” It’s these music synchronicities that tell me everything is going to be okay. The reason why I take time to share the music is important because you don’t know how impactful a song can be to a person who can relate to the music or feel understood in the poetry of that artist. Anyways here is the link for March music on Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Q3s9yQvOZANGV8r5bRdxg?si=f850cbb0801644af
Without further adieu coming in at …
71. Jon Batiste Interlude by Lana Del Rey
70. Bigger Pictures by Atmosphere
69. Night Vision by Mareux
68. Left Behind by The Plot In You
67. Locked out of Heaven by Gideon
66. Me Matas by Eslabon Armando
65. Plane Vs. Tank Vs. Submarine by Tigers Jaw
64. Stop the Fucking Gar by Circa Survive
63. Spirit Desire by Tigers Jaw
62. 70s Haze by VIKA
61. You’re Gonna Miss Me by 13th Floor Elevators
60. Mr. delivery man by ExistentialBeing, Kota the Friend, OGP!nkboi
59. Missing My Exxx by HYMN.
58. More Than Friends by Indie Anthony
57. Colour of Joy by DILLY DALLY
56. Live Your Fantasy by Israel’s Arcade
55. Where Have All My Friends Gone?
54. Happy by CLIP
53. Lua by Bright Eyes
52. Lions by Tune-Yards
51. Yellow Brick Road by Sudan Archives
50. MONA LISA by Tei Shi
49. BAD FRUIT* by Jean Dawson, Earl Sweatshirt
48. Since I Have A Lover by 6LACK
47. The Mourning After by Mac Miller
46. STILL C U by Jessie Reyez
45. Hola Soledad- Cover by Ragnunath
44. NN12 by Julian Dysart
43. Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes
42. ルージュの伝言 by Yumi Arai
41. Bound by Dana and Alden
40. Soulful Strut by Young-Holt unlimited
39. Glorious Game by El Michels Affair, Black Thought, KIRBY
38. I Am Progress by Prozack Turner, The Grouch, Deuce Eclipse
37. Birds by Daisha McBride
36. The Party by Portraits Of Tracy
35. The God hour by A$AP ANT, A$AP Rocky
34. NASTY by Russ
33. Diana by Armani Caesar, Kodak Black
32. Can I by Kehlani
31. Red Ruby Da Sleeze by Nicki Minaj
30. Hasta Cuando by Kali Uchis
29. Come Te Quiero Yo by Kali Uchis
28. Love Between… by Kali Uchis
27. The Way by Manchester Orchestra
26. Lose You Again by Manchester Orchestra
25. Quietly by Manchester Orchestra
24. Yellow Love by Citizen
23. The Tide by Hit-Boy, Nas
22. But You Alexandra Savior
21. Candy Necklace by Lana Del Rey, Jon Batiste
20. Let The Light In by Lana Del Rey, Father John Misty
19. Fishtail by Lana Del Rey
18. Blue by Kali Uchis
17. Deserve Me by Kali Uchis, Summer Walker
16. Not Too Late (interlude) by Kali Uchis
15. lUcky girl synDrome by Tommi Aura
14. Just A Girl by Florence + the Machine
13. Letting Go Manchester Orchestra
12. Freak In Me by Mild Orange
11. Love Is Only a Feeling by HOMESHAKE
10. Up In The Sky by Emilee Moore
9. As The Sun Sets by Sorry
8. Happy by Princess Nokia
7. Angels & demons by Princess Nokia
6. Worth the wait by Kali Uchis, Omar Apollo
5. The Grants by Lana Del Rey
4. Moral Conscience by Kali Uchis
3. Taco Truck x VB by Lana Del Rey
2. Lo siento by Princess Nokia
1. Peppers by Lana Del Rey, Tommy Genesis
Thank you for tuning in.
Sincerely,
Miss Solitude
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Hii I love your page
Have you ever written about swanqueen's social media? I'm curious 💜
OOOH that's a fun one! i haven't even thought about it yet, so thank you lovely anon <33
(also as always sorry for getting carried away/rambling, it's What I Do unfortunately)
alright so obviously they're all very slow to get on social media, what with time being frozen for 28 years... and weirdly, emma, the only one who viably would have seen social media develop normally, is in the same boat.
28 year old emma swan was a grandpa. she was a grumpy defensive loner living alone in boston and working as a bailbondsperson - the only time she ever used facebook was as a catfish, to track down a perp. aside from that, she thought it was dumb and pointless. she definitely had a nokia brick for practicality
during the curse, regina was consistently baffled by the technology of this world. luckily, she had decades to work everything out! but she's still a bit confused sometimes
so anyway, the deal is they all get on social media pretty late to the party and at first they're all pretty cringe about it
facebook is the first big thing to hit storybrooke - emma just uses it for memes, but snow is 5000% a facebook mom and has a phase of tagging her in stuff and adding her to groups and emma is so done with this she blocks her lmao. (snow is hurt but she Understands)
at this point, regina still doesn't really understand What social media is but has a vague feeling it's ridiculous and ignores it.
then twitter comes along... storybrooke twitter would be INSANE because everyone's just tweeting very specific things that don't look incriminating to anyone in the outside world, but are also basically only understandable to the others.
emma actually makes really funny tweets making fun of her daily life and her family and it gets her a bit of a following!
regina gets twitter out of spite, just to see what everyone's saying. regina has a solid week where she argues with strangers on twitter. non stop. that's it. henry has to come and disable her account because she's losing sleep over it.
and then instagram hits
and everyone in storybrooke enjoys this
emma has fun filming funny videos at the sheriff's station for instagram stories, often with her dad, but mostly she's pretty lowkey and chill on it still - the odd family selfie, wholesome pictures of something she's done or fixed, posing with thumbs up and peace signs and funny captions ya know. (once she and regina get together, her instagram is just flooded with pictures of regina though. some with funny teasing captions, others just various iterations of 'my gf is the most beautiful woman in the world')
regina. LOVES. instagram. ok she gets is ironically and irritably, because henry keeps wanting to tag her/send her stuff and can't, and at first she has no idea how to use it, but then she starts to really enjoy the aesthetic side of it and somehow within days has cultivated a flawless feed - if she wasn't on private (and only accepts people she knows) she'd def be instafamous
snow white sets up a family group chat. it's on whatsapp. it starts as a wholesome way to share and also keep track of each other, but it descends into chaos so so quickly:
if you're offline for even a few hours you'll have missed a bunch of inside jokes. david and henry make so many memes. emma keeps having phases offline and getting confused. zelena keeps getting kicked out and re-added every time she says anything. regina mostly ignores it but every so often will send a comment so savage it will destroy everyone else
(rumple says something out of the blue and everyone is certain they didn't add him... nobody knows how he got in and they know better than to kick him out...)
henry is the only one who gets tiktok when that starts. he exploits his insane family for it big time though - he'll drag emma and regina into challenges and videos without them knowing what it is and the results are brilliant
(also this is irrelevant but snow white is a pinterest mom and she makes all the pinterest crafts for her classroom at school)
#this one was so fun thank you anon!#you were on big brain energy sending me this#swan queen headcanons#swan queen#swan mills family#ouat headcanons#swan mills family headcanons#swan queen hcs
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The Lie
Chapter One
Masterlist
Prologue
Warning: Smut, playful insults
*Three Years Later*
You and Shawn have been together for three years and today just so happened to be your anniversary. It felt like yesterday Shawn asked you to be his girlfriend, he just walked right up to you whilst you were in the library doing a little homework (mostly procrastinating) and he started saying the most random things about you. You can’t lie it did scare you a little but then he sang you one of your favourite songs and you died right there.
You were planning to do something special for your man and that included getting a new set of lingerie. You headed into Victoria’s Secret with your best friend Sofia as she thought you needed some quality ‘best friend’ time. You looked through the plethoras of underwear and undergarments until you found the one you knew would blow Shawn’s mind.
Sofia insisted that she inspects what you pick for your big night. She was VERY picky might you add so it took awhile for her to be satisfied although she wasn’t the only one who was going to be satisfied today *wink* *wink*. Once you’d picked out your new set for tonight you paid for it and then headed out of the store. Victoria’s Secret would finally be out tonight.
Shawn was at work well, that was what he said so you and Sofia had more time to yourselves. You decided on a few tv shows and frozen pizza you might as well eat up before the exercise later. Shadowhunters was currently on and you and Sofia were lowkey hitting on Alec Lightwood.
“He’s so handsome, it’s too bad he’s gay we would’ve made a cute couple.” You spoke dreamily
Sofia threw a pillow at you
“Ow WHAT THE HELL!” You screamed a little dramatically.
“YOU HAVE A FUCKING BOYFRIEND STOP HITTING ON ALEC AND LEAVE SOME ROOM FOR THE SINGLETONS!”
“SORRY” You replied sarcastically. “ I didn’t realise that I wasn’t allowed to like fictional characters.”
The discussion went on for hours from Stiles Stilinski in Teen Wolf to Jeff Atkins from 13 Reasons Why and how he was an adorable soul who deserved better.
“Let’s prank call Shawn” Sofia blurted out in sudden excitement.
“OMG YESSS GO AND GET THE BRICK PHONE THAT NOBODY USES!”
Sofia ran to the corner and picked up the Nokia 216. You took the phone off her and dialed Shawn’s number. It picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” A voice spoke from the other side.
You put on your best feminine voice higher than your usual one and spoke.
“Local sperm bank you jack it we pack it. Is this Shawn?”
“Erm….I think you might have the wrong number?”
“No, this is Mr Shawn Mendes right?”
Sofia was giggling in the background and you muttered a quick “shh”
You spoke again “Am I right?”
“Okay ma’am I think you might be confu-“ Shawn replied but you cut him off.
“You are the sperm donor right?”
“Erm…….” Then the line cut off. You and Sofia burst out laughing.
“What happened?”
“He hung up” you spoke as tears were in your eyes. “He was so confused.”
“Haaaaaaaa” Sofia’s mouth was wide open as she too was dying from this prank.
After a while you calmed down and had a sudden idea to get drunk for no reason after all it was still your anniversary.
Suddenly you heard the door open and a voice scream “I’m home.” It was a voice you knew oh so well.
“Sorry Sofie but bae is back!” You said rising from your current position. “Your presence is no longer required.”
“Hey! We were gonna get druuuuuunk!”
“Not today sis.”
“Before you go lemme just tell you, the craziest thing happened today.”
You and Sofia looked at each other.
“What happened?” You asked
“Some lady called me on an unknown number asking if I was a sperm donor for the local sperm bank. I don’t recall being a sperm donor.”
You and Sofia burst out laughing again.
“OH LORD!”
“IT’S NOT FUNNY BABE I WAS TRAUMATISED!”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You walked up to him and kissed him.
“Mmmhhhhmmm it’s okay I’m feeling a little better anyway.”
“Oh yeah? The only sperm you’re going to be donating is in here.” You guided his hands to your private area.
“Erm….I think I’ll take this as my que to leave.” Sofia said awkwardly
“Wait, nooooo don’t go.”
“I’M LEAVING NOOOOW. BYEEEE ENJOY YOUR STEAMY MAKEOUT SESSION WITH MORE TO COME LITERALLY MORE TO CO-!”
“OKAY YOU CAN GO NOW!”
Both of your eyes followed her as she headed into her car and drove off.
“Wow she is a handful.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Heeeeey what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You and her are like twins. Seriously, you’re like a Jack-in-the-box popping out at random times and giving people the craziest shock of their lives.”
You gasped and folded you arms with a slight pout on your face. “That was mean!”
“I’m sorry baby hey I got you something.” Shawn pulled out a rectangular box. You looked over at it and still pouted in the corner.
Shawn sighed “Please forgive me babe.”
“NO!”
“Okay but you’re still gonna see what I got you, it just might change your mind.” Shawn opened the box and your eyes narrowed to take a little glance at it, you were trying to be as discreet as possible. He opened the box and it revealed a necklace with Shawn’s initials on it.
“You’re full of yourself aren’t you?”
Shawn chuckled “No babe it’s a reminder and a sign that I’m yours. You have one with my initials and I have one of yours.” He pulled out a necklace which laid on his chest that was hidden in his shirt and on it were your initials nicely engraved. You couldn’t hold your grudge any longer so your walls broke right there.
“Awwwww Shawn that’s so sweet. I LOVE IT!”
“Oh I nearly forgot your surprise is upstairs. I’m just gonna go upstairs and get it. Close your eyes NO PEEKING!”
“Okay babe.” Shawn said as he smiled at his beautiful girlfriend and soon to be wife who just so happened to be you.
You headed upstairs and got undressed to put on the lingerie that Sofia helped you pick out. Then you headed a call from downstairs.
“Princess, are you nearly ready. I’ve been waiting for ages!”
You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see you do it. “Oh shut up! Your eyes have only been closed for three minutes!”
You heard him groan and sigh but you ignored him and carried on. Once you were done you looked at yourself in the full length mirror and adjusted a few things. You walked out of the room and stayed at the top of the stairs.
“Okay, you can look now.”
Shawn opens his eyes and his mouth was wide open.
“Babe……”
You didn’t know what was up but you began to feel a little self conscious. So you hid yourself a little.
“Do you not like it?”
“What! No babe I love it. You look so sexy right now.” Shawn groaned.
“Reeaalllyy?”
“Yes, ugh. I can’t even.”
You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but all of a sudden your pride came back and you walked back into your bedroom knowing Shawn would look like a lost puppy and follow you.
“Hey! Babe, wait up.”
You giggled and sat on the bed cross legged and three seconds later Shawn burst in the room panting a bit. All the man did was run up the bloody stairs. It was only fifteen goddamn steps!
“So….this is my anniversary present right?”
You rolled your eyes so hard you thought it might’ve stayed there.
“What do you think?!”
“Sorry, sorry!” Shawn apologised.
You and Shawn has a playful relationship you’d just insult each other for no particular reason and pretend to be upset. But it all ended in kisses and cuddles later on.
You and Shawn just stared at each other like two pups in love until Shawn leaned forward and before you knew it your lips were moulded into each other. You leaned back into the bed leaving Shawn on top of you. Shawn broke the kiss taking his shirt off, your eyes seeing nothing else but his abs. Shawn continued to kiss you and leave a trail of kisses on your collarbone and down to your stomach.
“Babe, it’s not fair that I’m the only one taking something off.” Shawn said as he was about to tear your new bra off.
“Hey! Don’t tear it this is brand new okay. Be gentle.”
“Calm your tits! I’ll buy you another one.” And just like that he tore your bra open and you groaned in pleasure and annoyance. He muttered a quick “sorry” and continued his assault on your breasts.
You guided his hands down to your panties and bucked your hips into his hands.
“Shawwwnnnn!” You cried as he started taking your panties off in a more civilised way than he did to your bra.
You ran your fingers through his chocolate curls as he started pumping into you with his fingers.
“Gosh baby, you’re so wet.”
“What do you expect with you doing me like this?” You chuckled.
Shawn started laughing “Hush child.”
“CHILD?! I’m only two months younger than you!”
“Shhh” He said placing a finger on your lips. With his other hand he continued to pump into you and you moaned. He added another finger and began going a little faster, you were sure to break right there. Then he stopped.
“Heyyyyy!” You exclaimed and you hit his chest. He just kissed your cheek.
“Yup you’re ready for me now.”
“Ready for what? That tiny twig there? What’s its name again I think it was Frank or something.”
Shawn looked hurt but he knew you were playing around so he gasped in a fake manner. “Take that back!”
“Why should I take back the truth?”
“Because we know you want us and if you don’t take it back we won’t satisfy you.” He said getting up off the bed and walking out of the room.
“Wait you can’t leave me like this! Okay, okay I’m sorry! Come back! I need you!”
Shawn came back a few seconds later as he was hiding behind the hinges of the door. He didn’t really leave he was just waiting for an apology and if he didn’t get one he was planning on getting himself off.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Ugh I’m sorry, now please help me out. I know you need this as much as I do.”
You showed him your puppy dog eyes knowing that he couldn’t say no to you and just like that you had him wrapped around your little finger again.
He got back on the bed and finished what he was doing before and you sure as hell came.
He then started taking off his Calvin Klein boxers that he recently bought and modelled for you a few times. Now his ‘little’ friend was fully out.
“Are you okay? Is this ‘tiny twig’ too much for you to handle?” Shawn asked cockily (pun intended).
You scoffed “Pshh no of course not now hurry please.”
Shawn slowly slid himself into you and you moaned. He went a little slow at first, giving you enough time to adjust to him and he wrapped his mouth around your right nipple and started tweaking the other. Shortly, he switched and moved onto the other one causing you to let out a short groan which seemed to be contagious as Shawn groaned too. He began rolling his hips faster hitting a certain spot inside you making you scream and he shut his eyes harder which was a sign that he was about to come.
“I’m so close Shawn.”
“Me too baby.” He groaned. A few more thrusts later you both hit your highs and came together.
Shawn rolled off you and the two of you started panting like there was no tomorrow.
“So much for a tiny twig huh?” Shawn said sarcastically as he was holding you like a fragile being.
“Shut up!”
“Ha, I’m kidding. I love you so much babe happy anniversary.” Shawn kissed your cheek, nose then lips.
“I know right I’m amazing.” Shawn pinches your sides.
“Okay, okay I love you too honey happy anniversary I hope you enjoyed my little present.”
“I loved it!” And the both of you snuggled the whole night until you drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Two
A/N: This is my first time writing smut It’s pretty bad I know but I’ll get better at it. I’m not gonna lie but this is totally me if I was to ever be with Shawn. Feedback is always appreciated, I don’t bite. ❤️
#shawn mendes imagines#shawn mendes#shawn mendes smut#Shawn Mendes Imagine#shawn mendes fanfiction#shawn mendes au#shawn mendes fanfic#the lie
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Under this cut are 1,4k worth of tumblr!fic based on @beatrice-otter‘s If Peter Grew Up In The Folly AU that started with a single addition about how Peter being a nerdy teen around the Folly would have influenced/modernized it earlier. Only very slightly edited (because I’m drunk and it’s late).
Peter bullies Nightingale into buying a home computer ‘for work’ when he’s still a teen (‘Why can’t you use the ones at the library like everyone else?’ - Peter, taking a deep breath before launching into his prepared 10 point argumentation in favor of modernizing and digitizing the Folly - ‘No, of course I won’t put it on the web, I’ll put it on these disc. Yes there’s a diff- look. Once I’m done transcribing these, you can just put in one of these discs and key-word search whatever you need.)
Thus, ironically, and thanks to one overly nerdy teen living in the station, the Folly becomes the most technologically advanced department of the Met for a short time
(Postmartin doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be delighted or horrified, but Peter seems to know what he’s doing there, security wise, and he wouldn’t want to dampen the youth’s enthusiasm about archivism)
Turns out, Data Input doesn’t bother Peter after all, as long as it’s something he cares about, like architecture, or magic. Even if he keeps getting into forum fights with that one other guy working on the ‘Victorian Architecture’ entry. Historical brick making details aren’t extraneous!
Thomas’s not at all sure about this whole World Wide Web-Thing, especially after he had to comfort Peter over that ‘crowd sourced’ (whatever that means) encyclopedia … thing the boy likes to work on because Peter didn’t want to tell his mum someone put up an internet page full of what basically amounts to lies about her and his dad
‘It just makes me so angry, you know, because I could change it - I should change it, really, because it’s all wrong what it’s saying, but i can’t -’
He really should have seen all of this coming, then
‘How did you break a Nokia?’, Peter asks him, the first time it happens, as if brands and manufacture tell Thomas anything about how possible or impossible a feat that is. ‘Give it here, I might be able to fix it - but you did charge it this time? - How the hell did you get sand in there?’
There’s a certain relief in having Rose back him up on the ‘No Magic (At All) Before You’re Old Enough To Drink’-Rule, because Thomas knows from experience Peter doesn’t listen to him. Ever.
So Peter ropes him into his magical experiments involving proper protocols and the old lab equipment and an army of tiny calculators.
Peter’s A-levels are better in this AU, but maybe he still can’t draw, or he’s good, but not quite good enough (Uni waiting lists were invented by the devil) so he spends a year of so actually employed by the Folly as an ‘Independent Data Management Contractor’ or something ridiculous like that.
Also he might be seriously reconsidering that whole Architecture-thing. He might have prepared his application for Hendon already, actually.
‘You wanted to be an architect since you were six, Peter. Six.’ - ‘I also told you I want to be a wizard. Let me be your apprentice. Please.’
Thomas doesn’t know how to explain that what Peter was thinking of when he was six isn’t what being a wizard is, and that whatever he’s thinking of now isn’t it either. Never will be.
He tries to explain that it isn’t up to him, but to the commissioner, and that he’s doing just fine on his own.
‘Well, accidents happen?’, Peter says ‘What does the Met do when you’re not there for once?’, and Thomas can’t tell him how much he worries about that too. ‘And you’ve been working more! You said I shouldn’t try to learn because it’s all going away anyways, and now you’re working so much more then you used too.’
Thomas wants to argue that’s not true, but Peter made a graph. And what is he supposed to say when faced with that thick red ‘Number of Major Falcon Incidents per year’ line curving upwards sharply, it’s prognosis well on it’s way to a number last reached before the war.
‘It’s still not up to me.’, he says, somewhat helplessly, and with a sigh, ‘Are you sure?’
Thomas, remembering all those evenings spent reading out loud (because, damn him, he still thinks that’s a family bonding activity for all ages) of watchmen and selfish witches and truth, justice, freedom, reasonably priced love and a hard boiled egg, thinks that he really, really should have seen this coming.
So Peter spends a frustrating week or two desperately trying to create a werelight - Thomas will be damned if he lets him join up without ever proving that he’s not the rare case of absolute incompetency. But he succeeds (impressivly fast, even thought Thomas would never tell him that).
Also, turns out Peter hadn’t told Rose about his decision before already making Thomas say yes. There will be words, about that.
For now, he has two years to convince the Commissioner and the Homeoffice. He takes Peter’s charts with him.
There’s accusations of nepotism, never officially, of course, but Peter makes a game out of how many pints it takes until someone asks him if he’s really the weirdo DCI’s bastard or some such. He’d think it would pass around that he’s not, but alas, no such luck. He figures it’s the least annoying thing people can pester him about, in the end.
Peter’s not yet 22 when Thomas has to take him to the Commissioner for his pledge, and for a second there when Peter stumbles about the cloth-part (they practiced, of course, but he still always does) Thomas can’t help but think how painfully young Peter still looks to him.
Peter isn’t his boy, of course, never will be, and Thomas knows Rose made sure he knew about his dad, knew what really happened, but still he can’t shake the feeling -
He’d been scared Peter wouldn’t be up to this, but now he’s more worried he won’t be.
But Peter takes well to magic, and surprisingly even better to policing - maybe not in the way he or Neblett would like, but certainly in the way he’d scribbled a thin blue line for ‘Reported Minor Intracommunity Conflicts - DemiMonde’ into his charts and graphs from the beginning. He gets along with the Rivers, most of them, and with the Other generally in a way Thomas never could
(never, he has to admit to himself with some shame, cared too. He’d like to say Peter is just young enough, new enough to fly under their radars, but he has to admit, that’s not it. And he certainly didn’t expect this, with Peter’s history. He finds he’s glad it didn’t turn out differently.)
And when they are standing for the first time together on a deadly quiet doorstep there’s little apprehension in Peter, past the obvious tension appropriate to the occasion. And whatever there is in his eyes when Thomas hands him the phosphorous grenade, it’s not anything Thomas has to be worried about.
He’s more relieved, that evening then he’d like to admit.
Then there’s that shout, the big one. They’d had ‘big ones’ before, Major Incidents, but in retrospect, Thomas has to admit (shamefully, again, always shamefully) that he should have seen that this one was different. And the number it did on Peter. He definitely should have seen that.
But in the beginning, it’s just Abdul with a body for Peter to look over (’Yappy Dog’, he tells Thomas on the phone while heading from the morgue to the plaza. ‘One hell of a supernatural yappy dog’) and a maybe magical portico beheading and an interview with a talkative, surprisingly autonomous ghost, that pegs who exactly Peter is halfway through the conversation and starts to clamp up.
Just as well, seeing as there’s a scrappy PC yelling ‘Oi, what do you think you’re doing? This is a crime scene!’ at him while marching full speed across the plaza.
PC Lesley May is the kind of gal he’d probably be best friends with had they come up together. ‘I asked Neblett about her, says she’s a great copper. Incredibly perky.’ - ‘Oh, I’m sure she is’, says Thomas when Peter tells him about her later that week over kebab, making him sputter. ‘No that’s not - not like that! I mean everyone’s saying she’s going places, you know.’ - ‘You think so, too?’ - ‘I guess? Doesn’t matter, really, she wouldn’t recognize magic if it smacked her in the face, and Seawoll already called dips on her, apparently. Had her assigned to his murder team, and so I thought we might make her our liaison.’
‘And the case?’ - ‘Yeah.’, Peter says. ‘Definitely one of ours.’
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they got it right. (the butterfly effect remix)
remix of itsallavengers' the butterfly effect. there's an ao3 link somewhere. and a masterpost somewhere, if you want to check them out.
“Bucky’s alive, and he killed Tony’s parents.”
Loki’s words from earlier spin around Steve’s mind, over and over, he’s hardly paying attention to what Fury’s saying, something about ‘being a team’, making the Avengers official. Steve’s fine with that, he’s pretty much only good for war anyway, but all that’s going through his head are those damn words.
Loki had been disguised as Steve, he’d claimed that he wasn’t Loki, but he’d called Stark ‘Tony’. Steve’s almost certain that they’ll never end up on first-name basis.
None of it made any sense, he saw Bucky die, he saw him fall, he heard his scream, still, most nights, Howard died in the 90s, half a century after Bucky did. But then again, he’s alive, 70 years after he thought he was done, after he should be done.
“The Good Captain, daydreaming, are you?” Stark’s voice cuts through his thoughts, from across the conference table.
Steve doesn’t hate him, not after the battle, after the nuke, after how seamlessly they managed to fight, but he’s not sure that he likes him. Tony Stark is an asshole. By all definitions. But he can’t deny that he’s a hero, Steve was wrong before, he’ll freely admit it, Tony Stark is an ass, but he’s also a hero. Steve respects that.
He also can’t deny that the guy has some sort of inexplainable pull, like he’s the world’s brightest light and Steve’s the world’s most confused moth.
“If that’s what they call thinking now,” Steve says, instead any of the moth-bullshit.
It’s fun to play up to the ‘confused old guy’ shtick. He has to. Find joy in it or let it get to him. He has the chance for a new life, he’s not going to spend it miserable. He might even get a chance to live it with Bucky. If Loki was telling the truth.
Stark rolls his eyes and drums his fingers on the tabletop, “We gotta get you more caught up. Anyway-”
The focus shifts back to something else, and before he knows it, everyone’s standing up and shaking hands and leaving.
“Stark, a word?” Steve asks, just as he’s about to leave, the last person, save for Steve himself, who’s still sitting down.
Stark looks confused for a moment but then sits back down, “Sure, Cap, what can I do for you?”
Tony’s pretty sure that he’s gonna try and apologise again, as much as he was a dick back in the helicarrier, Rogers is exactly the way Aunt Peggy described him, but nothing like the way his dad did. Except that he is.
Tony’s not sure what to think of him, he’d never admit it, but Rogers confuses the hell out of him. He’s just as good as the history books, Aunt Peggy and his dad say, Tony’s never been the best at reading people, but even in the way he talks and holds himself, there’s this unmistakable good that he radiates, pure and simple, but at the same time, there’s a melancholy air about him, like a rain cloud above his head. He’d seen him smile once, we won, and it was bright, sunny, like the rainclouds had gone.
And then he’d never seen it again, even though, in the past few weeks, they’ve seen each other quite a bit, but he’s never seen him smile, he’s seen the horribly fake one he puts on for the press and for people who thank him for his duty, and for some reason that tugs at the heartstrings Tony pretends not to have, more than when he watches Rogers drop completely, when he thinks no-one’s looking. It’s not obvious, but his shoulders go from perpendicular to his neck to obtuse.
It tears Tony apart a little, when he sees him, back ramrod straight, every single muscle tensed, when they’re just talking.
He carries the world on his shoulders, Tony realises, because he thinks that it’s his duty. Even though he doesn’t even really know him, not really, hours worth of bedtime stories didn’t count, it feels like a universal wrong for someone that good to be so, so sad but he’s never met a problem he couldn’t solve.
So even though Steve Rogers is a bit of an asshole, he’s also sad, nothing like the guy Aunt Peggy talks about, and yeah, he doesn’t know him, but, if anything, he deserves to be happy.
Stark gives Steve his undivided attention, and a little part of him is pleased, smug, that he’s managed to capture it, Stark is a genius, Howard and a half, maybe, definitely, more, and it’d been almost impossible to get Howard to focus solely on one thing.
Steve's throat closes up, it’s stupid. But he has to make sure, just check. If Loki was right, Stark deserves to know, if he wasn’t, then it didn’t matter.
“Come on Cap, neither of us are getting any younger,” Tony prompts, Rogers is scared, apprehensive of something, it’s plain on his face. It’s making Tony scared, because, despite everything in the last few weeks, Captain America was his childhood hero, he was invincible, to see him scared…
Steve takes a shaky breath, he can’t break down in front of Stark, he respects him, he’s not too sure the respect is mutual, and he’d lose it if there were any if he broke down now, “Loki told me something, Bucky, my friend from before the war, he’s alive. And, and he killed your parents.”
Stark looks at him for a moment, then stands up and leaves.
Tony leaves, he had to, he, God, he’s not going to have a panic attack in the middle of a SHIELD hallway. He makes it a couple steps down and finds an empty office, full of boxes, he stumbles in, locks the door and slides down to the floor.
He takes a few deep breaths, tries to slow down his heart, presses a hand to his arc reactor, waits for the dark spots to fade.
One of them had to be lying. Rogers or Loki. Loki. Probably, hopefully. God, he hopes.
If it is true, first thing, he has to run checks to see if Rogers’ friend is alive, somehow, and then, find footage of the crash.
He’d tried, before, he’d looked at everything he could, every single tape he could find, through legal and more creative means, he’d tried and tried and tried, countless sleepless nights, running on coffee, Adderall, scotch and other, more creative things, right until Aunt Peggy had come in and held him as he cried, and told him to put them to rest.
Logically, it couldn’t be true, Rogers’ friend would’ve been well into his 70s, not to mention that he’d fallen off a train in the Alps in the 40s. But, by all means, Tony shouldn’t be alive, neither should Rogers.
Tony’s never been the guy to stick to petty things like ‘logic’ anyway.
So he gets himself together and goes back to the conference room, where Rogers still is, facing out towards the city below them, standing at parade rest.
Stark didn’t believe him, Steve didn’t blame him, he had to move on, both of them. It’s unfair to him for Steve to bring back his parents’ death, from over 20 years ago, just because he still has his hangups.
He gets up, and then looks over the city, it’d changed so much, cleaner, taller, bluer, but the people were the same, New Yorkers are just as rude and uncaring as they were. As much as he doesn’t like rude people, he finds it oddly comforting. After losing everything, everyone, his home is still somewhat the same.
Not really. His home isn’t his anymore.
He’s crying before he knows it, tears silently sliding over his cheeks and dripping on the star in the center of his chest. He fucking hates it.
Everyone and everything he’s ever known is gone, all he has is Captain America, the next fight.
He wipes the tears away, the leather of his gloves scratch roughly on his face, probably leaving marks that’ll fade in seconds. He reminds himself that there’s no point in crying, he’s here, he has to deal, that or die, and people are counting on him, so that’s not an option.
Deal or die. The ice has already proved that he can’t die, so he has to deal.
He hears the door open after five busses have gone down the same road, probably whoever needs the room next, he turns to apologise and get out, but he sees Stark, a little rumpled, a little breathless, and he gets deja vu, Stark looks like the soldiers after shellshock. He doesn’t ask, it’s rude, and Stark is stable.
“Let’s find your friend,” he says, with a hint of a smile.
“Stark, are you sure, I don’t want to, I don’t want to bring up anything you’ve put to rest, or waste your time, Loki could be lying,” Rogers says, so sincerely, earnestly, fuck he’s such a good guy, through and through.
“Rogers. It’s nothing, I can make an algorithm, have it run, update you on the results,” Tony assures him. He has most of the algorithm already, he just needs to adjust some code blocks and functions, maybe set up auto updates, does Rogers have a phone?
“They gave me something called a Nokia. Agent Barton called it a brick,” Rogers says, out of the blue.
“What?”
Rogers turns bashful, the tips of his ears glow red, and he looks uncharacteristically unsure of himself, “You asked if I have a phone.”
“I was talking out loud, of course,” Tony mutters, “wait, a Nokia? Sorry Rogers, no can do, come to Stark tower tomorrow, 1500 hours, we’ll get you a real phone.”
Whatever SHIELD were doing to introduce him into the century, they weren’t doing a good job.
“Stark--”
“Tony.”
This time, it’s Steve’s turn to be confused, “What?”
“My name. It’s Tony. Use it.”
And with that, he spins around and leaves the room again.
SHIELD’s way of introducing him to the century is by giving him a laptop, explaining the laptop. It’s a computer and a typewriter, under an inch thick and has all the world’s information. It blows Steve’s mind.
As soon as he figures out how to use it, he loves it, SHIELD make him take classes on it, what’s acceptable now, what changed, the wars, the politics, who’s who. They’re doing it a decade a week.
Someone, maybe Agent Romanoff, told him that they were going to give him a tutor and books, but giving him a laptop seemed faster, two birds, one stone she’d said. He’s glad they went about it this way, he could put in all the mandatory hours and then explore, all in his own time.
The next day, he took out his motorbike, making sure that his phone and wallet - they’d given him a ‘debit card’ because he has way more money than he knows what to do with, because someone had managed to convince someone else that, technically, wasn’t KIA, only MIA and he has 70 years worth of backpay - were in his pocket and went off to Stark Tower.
Tony’s at the front, sunglasses perched on his nose, doing something on his phone, leaning against the door. He looks up when Steve stops in front of him.
“Afternoon, Capsicle,” he greets, pocketing his phone.
“Capsicle?”
Tony grins, “Yep, Captain and icicle, Capsicle.”
“Yeah okay,” Steve concedes, a smile forming on his face, he misses the camaraderie and friendship of the Commandos, Tony reminds him of them, a little.
“Right, bring the bike ‘round back, there’s an elevator to my workshop,” Tony says straightening up and walking next to Steve as he slowly drives the bike around the tower.
They put the bike on one of the lower floors and then go up to Tony’s workshop.
The elevator ride is awkward, both of them staring at the numbers blinking higher, silent, elevator music hadn’t disappeared, he’s sure of it.
“Tony,” he says, suddenly, “why doesn’t your elevator play music?”
Tony snaps out of his thoughts and turns to face Steve, he laughs a little, “Everyone complained,” he says, shrugging, “JARVIS can play some for you, if you want.”
“JARVIS?” Is there another person in with them? He couldn’t see anyone but himself and Tony, an invisible person?
“Oh, right, yeah, JARVIS say hi,” Tony says, not to Steve.
“Good afternoon, Captain Rogers,” the… ceiling? says, in a smooth British accent. Tony’s elevator is weirder than he thought.
“Tony,” he says slowly, trying very hard not to break down, “why is there an invisible British man in your elevator?” who knows my name!?
“JARVIS,” Tony says, waving his hand about, in lieu of an explanation.
“Captain Rogers, I am an AI created by Tony Stark, I monitor this building, but I can be accessed through most devices, provided certain circumstances, my primary purpose is to ensure the wellbeing of my creator, you can interact with me by speaking aloud.” The ceiling man - JARVIS, says.
“JARVIS, do you know everything?” Steve asks looking up.
“I know as much as I am accessible to.”
“What are you accessible to?”
“Anything online.”
“What’s my middle name?”
“Grant.”
“Wh--”
“You know you don’t have to look at the ceiling every time you ask him something,” Tony cuts in, a fond smile on his face. He can’t help it. Cap, he’s so curious, and so clearly blown away, and in wonder of JARVIS, he feels a sense of pride, somewhere deep within him, because who knew that Captain America is a huge dork?
He gives Tony a look, “His voice comes from the ceiling, so I’ll talk to the ceiling,” he says, determined.
Before Tony can retort, the doors slide open and he’s greeted with his workshop lighting up.
“Holy shit, Tony,” he hears from his side, in a hushed whisper.
Steve’s eyes are wide as he takes in everything, it’s like he stepped into the future again, it’s- incredible.
Tony feels that tiny spike of pride again, because Captain America swore, that he tries to tamp down, because, yeah, he knows he's great, he’s a classified genius, he doesn’t need some nonagenarian to tell him.
Tony takes Steve and sits him down and begins explaining the algorithm, Steve’s attentive, focussed, he asks questions when he doesn't get something, after, maybe an hour, Tony gets JARVIS to run everything, it’ll take a while, but they have time.
Their conversation ebbs and flows, at a quiet moment, Steve suddenly sits up, “Tony, if he is alive, and he did, cause your parent’s death, what- what happens, I can’t- I--”
“Hey, hey, we’ll deal with it, okay,” Tony reassures, he’s the last guy anyone should go to for comfort, but Steve, he needs the support right now.
Tony gives Steve a Starkphone, a model they’ll release in a couple months, it’s ready, all of it, but something about PR and release times mean that they can’t release it just yet. He shows him how to use it and sets up JARVIS, he’s so full of wonder and gratitude, Tony’s heart aches after him.
They talk about the team, the Avengers, Tony tells Steve his plans, Steve tells his of a road trip, they go out to get dinner together, it’s awkward and stilted, but they might be getting somewhere.
Steve thinks that they’re on the way to becoming friends. He can’t fuck it up. He won’t.
Over the next few months, Tony stays in New York more than he has to, and they become no closer to finding Bucky, but closer as friends. Then Tony dies.
But he doesn’t.
“Can’t kill me,” he’d said, banged up, but with a grin. Because his house got blown up, he had to stay in New York, in the Tower, and then everyone stayed in the Tower, Avengers Tower.
Steve meets Dum-E. This time, it’s Tony who’s absolutely blown away, because Steve smiles so, so bright when he’s in his workshop, playing with Dum-E, it’s ridiculous, and Tony feels a spike of affection, and, love, and fear. Because what if he fucks it up.
When Tony lets Steve meet Dum-E, Steve’s in awe once again, because Tony’s opened up a tiny part of his heart to him, and Steve’s determined to make sure that he doesn’t, won’t regret it.
New York, Brooklyn, it still isn’t really home to him, not anymore, but the Tower, Tony’s workshop, being around Tony, he feels at home.
They become closer, best friends then, something more. They don’t fuck it up.
The first time Tony has a panic attack in front of Steve, it’s from a nightmare, about a month into their relationship.
Steve wakes him up by shaking his shoulder, and Tony lashes out in his sleep, punching Steve right on his cheekbone, the bruise is barely there when Tony comes to, but he still notices it.
“Steve, was that--” Tony asks, voice rough, small. He wouldn’t blame Steve for leaving, for breaking up with him, but God, he hopes that they could still be friends.
“You, yeah, but, hey, hey, Tony, it doesn’t hurt, I’d take a thousand punches to make sure you’re ok,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to his temple, lingering there for a second.
“Okay, thanks,” Tony mumbles, quiet, because, in that moment, he realises that what he has with Steve, it’s a sure thing.
“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart, it’s what I’m here for,” Steve says, pulling away to look at Tony, promising him a million different things with one look.
He’s beautiful, in the faint moonlight JARVIS let in, Tony doesn’t deserve him, not in a million lifetimes could he do enough good to ever deserve Steve Rogers, but Steve had chosen him, and he didn’t want to give him any reasons to regret it.
Tony just wraps his arms back around him, holding him tighter, leaning his head just above his heart, listening to it beat, strong and steady, letting it lull him back to a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, Steve kisses his forehead to wake him up, with a cup of coffee, and then asks about what he should do, if Tony has a panic attack again. Tony tells him, what’s dangerous, what he doesn’t want, and Steve listens, pays attention.
Tony tells him what they’re about. The army from space. Steve promises him that they’re ok, that, if he wanted to, he could protect the earth.
It reminds him, strikingly of when Steve’d asked if he has shell-shock, voice curious, not judgmental, a few months into their friendship, when they could easily call each other friends. Tony had given him a crash course in the progress of mental health and attitudes towards it.
They call it PTSD, now. And there’s doctors, head-doctors. To help.
Steve had then, tentatively, asked if he could get him in touch with a head doctor. Which had meant that SHIELD hadn’t bothered.
Yeah, sure.
The first thing Tony had done, after making sure Steve gets the best of the best, was go over to SHIELD and tell them what he thought of bringing a guy 70 years into the future and not even checking him for any trouble upstairs.
Tony loves him. It doesn’t hit him, it’s not like a truck to the face, it’s not violent, loud, it’s relief, finallysomething, somewhere, says.
Good thing he loved him back.
Then SHIELD falls. Oversight, protection, it’s needed, but not like that.
Steve wakes up in DC General, Tony’s by his bedside, with Sam, music’s playing, but he only has one thing on his mind.
Tony hugs him, kisses him, desperately, Sam leaves them with a knowing smile.
“You’re not allowed to die, Steve- I--” Tony chokes out, he can’t lose him.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby, I’m right here,” he says, hoarsely, kissing him, over and over.
He’s not allowed to be discharged just yet, so he convinces Tony to sleep in the hospital bed with him, he has to hold him, and he has to tell him.
His heart is beating a million miles an hour, Tony can probably hear it, feel it, he doesn’t want to fuck this up, he can’t.
“Tony, he was right, Tony, Loki was right, Bucky, he, the Winter Soldier killed them,” Steve rushes out, all in one breath.
Tony sits up, suddenly, jolting the bed. Steve grunts a little. “Sorry,” he murmurs, kissing Steve on the forehead.
Tony looks down at Steve and his heart just breaks, Steve looks nothing short of terrified, something he hadn’t seen on him in, years now, he’s looking him in the eye, his eyes are so, so, blue, bright and unrepenting, guarded, his hair’s a mess on his forehead, flopping over his eyes.
It hits Tony, just how much he’s changed since he met him, Steve was, confused, mostly, lost, scared, he used to pretend that he wasn’t, for fear of seeming weak, Tony remembers Steve telling him, when he thought that he was asleep, quietly.
He was so, so guarded, and tense, all the time, now, he’s vulnerable to him, he’s changed and grown so, so much, Tony’s so goddamn proud of him.
He takes a deep breath, “Okay, thank you for telling me.”
“Tony, he was, he’s brainwashed, it wasn’t--” Steve rushes to say, almost pleading, what for, he doesn’t know. For Tony to not leave him, maybe.
“It wasn’t him, I know,” Tony says, softly.
He’s made his peace with it, he’s had two years to entertain the possibilities, but he knows what it means: his boyfriend's previously-dead, now-brainwashed assassin, killed his parents.
It doesn’t look pretty, but he can’t change the past, and even if he could, he had to let them rest. But he could help Barnes, find him, see how they could help him.
“Tony, I get it if you want to break up,” Steve says, small and scared. His voice breaks halfway through the sentence, and Tony’s hand immediately comes out to cup his face, thumb stroking gently over the bruise on his cheekbone.
“I don’t, Steve, you told me, I’m happy that you did, but I don’t, I don’t want to break up.”
The reaction is immediate, Steve relaxes under his hand and leans more into his touch, “We’re good,” he whispers, mostly to himself over and over, until Tony wraps an arm around him, mindful of his injuries.
“Yeah, baby, we’re good.”
#steve rogers x tony stark#stony fic#stevetony fic#steve x tony#why deosnt tumblr ahve tag wrnagelers#im annoyed#my writing#my fic#this took me all day#wavin by by to all nines llmao
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Mythical, swan lake, and starlight
mythical; Dream destination?if i don’t see hobbiton before i die, i’ll haunt everyone
swan lake; Do you like poems? If so, what’s one of your favorites?oh yes my whole adolescence was poetry!! i still love elizabeth barrett browning’s fuckin classic “how do i love thee” sonnet. in high school, my honors english teacher made us all memorize and perform a poem (he outlawed frost’s “fire and ice” bc 90% of the class ahead of me chose it lmao) and the whole thing deeply stressed me out, but then i read that sonnet for the first time and i remember just feeling… Calm.
starlight; Share a secret.i mulled over this forever bc suddenly i don’t know anything about myself but i’ll go with the story of the first time i remember tricking a man just because i could. this is less a secret and more a long-winded story, but long-winded stories are kind of My Thing and plus… my family didn’t know it even happened until a few years ago, so:
when i was 12 i went to disney for the first time with my family [eleven (11) of us went. E L E V E N. i was the oldest of the six children there. our parents are… Morons].
let me set the stage. this was the time before cell phones were really A Thing. like, yeah, they had been on the market for a bit, but (in my area, at least) only Wealthy Adults had cell phones.
picture it: february 2004. the motorola RAZR wouldn’t be released for another 6-8 months. commercial use of 3G had just reached north america. the iphone was literally not even a thought in steve jobs’ turtleneck. it was the time of brick-like nokias and clam-shell samsungs. the time of 1-square-inch screens and T9 keyboards. the time of $.10-.20 per text and “i like my beeper just fine!” the time of playing snake during long bus rides on your friend’s dad’s flip phone that was meant only for work emergencies and using internet explorer because it was the only browser your elementary school’s ragged desktop computer had.
a simpler time.
so at that point, i don’t think either of my parents had cell phones, and nor did the other adults on the trip. because of that we needed some way to ensure that, should we split the party (because someone always inevitably suggests to split the god damn party), we have a way to keep in contact, so we did what any middle-class, early 2000s family would do: we brought three or four long-range walkie-talkies with us.
i consistently commandeered one of those walkie-talkies because i was 12 and walkie-talkies made me feel like a secret agent (and also my mom was wrangling my then 3 y/o brother while my dad and his best friend walked us in circles and no one really ended up using the walkies anyway). one of our last days, we went to epcot. at 12, i just didn’t give a shit about epcot (other than spaceship earth bc that shit was tight), so i was bored and hungry and restless, so i started fooling around with my walkie. my family had all agreed that we’d stay on channel 7 to contact each other, but this walkie had 14 channels, which meant 14 opportunities for me to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations or to make contact with an unknown entity.
so there i am, standing in the middle of future world on a rainy day, switching channels and calling out “are you there?” while my family argued about where to have lunch or some such, when i get a response.
“is that you?” the voice said.
it was a man’s voice, and he sounded angry. i repeated myself.
“are you there?”
the same voice answered almost immediately and when i looked up to see if my parents were paying attention to my communication with a stranger, i saw a man walking through the courtyard who’s mouth’s movements were matching up with the words coming out of the walkie talkie in my hand.
“denise, where are you? we were supposed to meet up at noon!”
based only on the tone of his voice and the mean furrow of his brow, i decided i didn’t like this man and that he needed to watch his tone with denise.
i said, “no, we said 1. 1 o’clock in front of the big umbrella.”
“what?”
“1 o’clock!” i repeated. “i’ll meet you by the umbrella at 1.”
then i got anxious because i was talking to a stranger and my family had apparently settled the lunch debate because i was shepherded toward the electric umbrella, the very place i, as denise, told the man we’d meet. i shoved the walkie-talkie deeper into my sweatshirt pocket, though, and quickly forgot about the interaction, because french fries.
however, over an hour later, my family and i were still in the outside seating area of the electric umbrella watching the water show and giving the adults a chance to catch their weak-ass breath when i heard someone shouting by the entrance. i look over and it’s the same man i’d seen/talked to in the courtyard earlier and he’s yelling into his walkie talkie and pacing back and forth, arms flailing. boy looked foolish as hell.
so my family gathers our things and filters back into future world’s courtyard. we pass the guy and, if memory serves, he was whining – whining – on and on about “you said we were going to meet back up” and “i’m here all alone” and “this isn’t fun” and blah blah blah blah like a big giant man baby throwing a tantrum. i couldn’t make out denise’s responses, but it was clear to me that she was just as over this guy as i was. i (obviously) had no idea what this woman looked like, but her unperturbed, droll tone, solidified denise in my head as a bombshell with curly red hair who was the kind of woman that chewed bubble gum and blew bubbles while men spoke, letting them pop loudly to communicate just how much she Did Not Care about what they had to say.
with that in mind, i smiled to myself, feeling some weird kinda powerful, and at that very moment, an older boy wearing heelys rolled into my path, so i tripped him.
tl;dr if we could harness the power of adolescent girls and direct it toward common good, the world would be a better place
also i hope denise is ok
fin.
#i didn't realize how vivid this memory was until i sat down to type this answer#and then wrote you a novel#answered#memesupremo#sorry this is 24 hours late lmao#the usual#long post
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The call
https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740647/chapters/34115418
“Hello?... Johnny? Johnny Lawrence?”
Johnny would usually just flip open that age-old second-hand Nokia and blurt out an answer even when he was half asleep (or half drunk), without ever looking at the screen to see who it was. As a matter of fact he never got used to that, greeting people before they even talked. And why would he anyway, to play the prophet? It didn’t make sense. But that particular morning his swollen tongue felt like sandpaper and his throat was dry as if his last night’s whiskey had turned to salt water. He just flipped the phone open, stalling, unable to form a sentence until the woman’s voice called his name.
“Who is this?” he slurred, face buried into the mattress.
“Oh hi, it’s me, Amanda,” the woman chirped.
“Amanda…?” Johnny’s numb mind browsed through the short list of women he had fucked the past ten years and the name didn’t ring a bell. Or maybe it did. He did remember a blonde girl half his age with an Eastern Bloc accent, her name was supposedly Amanda Lace or something but he kept calling her Natasha or Natalya or Nikita because, as he told her, no commie broad should have an American name, it was such a big fat lie. He paid good money for the dance, and a lot more for a quickie later in the private room; she must have been good but honestly, he didn’t remember.
“Amanda LaRusso?” the woman insisted. “We had your car fixed, I made you breakfast, remember?”
“Oh.” The realization hit him like a brick. “Oh yes. Yes, Amanda, right.” What do you want, would normally be the next question but he fought the urge to tell her to fuck off; the woman – well, the lady had been nice to him.
“Listen, Johnny, we’re having a barbeque this Sunday, you know that, right? And you know what, I decided to invite you myself, I’m done with his nagging. Don’t tell Danny I told you but-”
“Yes. Yes I know. Your husband told me about it.”
He recalled the ride with Daniel and the little talk they had in the parking lot two days ago. For some reason LaRusso seemed pretty eager to invite him to his place with the prissy classical music blaring out from the speakers and the pool and the hot tub and the luxurious garden where all the rich brats would be swarming. Johnny had only chicks treating him that way ever since he was sixteen, sometimes even women in their forties. Most times he would do the first move but now and then he could just smell the thirst and let them do the heavy lifting of asking him out, buying him dinner, then sneaking into a hotel room before their husband got home. Of course he had his romantic moments with some of the girls he went out with, his first love, his high school sweethearts - and maybe Shannon was the love of his life, maybe, seeing that he married her and had a kid with her and everything. But most of the times women would hook up with him for his money or his car or just the good sex. He could smell the thirst, it aroused him, and he certainly took advantage of it, but the following morning he would always have that bitter aftertaste in his mouth; the realization that to them he was nothing more than a piece of meat. Expendable.
Danny boy didn’t make him feel that way though, asking him out with his big brown eyes and that pitiful demonstration of privilege.
“Maybe you wanna come over this Sunday? We’ll have a barbecue and you’ll get to taste Amanda’s delicious potato salad.”
As he got older Johnny had grown intolerant to the thought of being used, or pitied. He didn’t want anyone’s pity and he had no use for other people’s money. But maybe he wasn’t done with the LaRussos yet, and that cheerful persistent voice on the phone was the proof.
“Listen… Amanda, right? I already told your husband I can’t come. Hanging out with you guys… I don’t know, doesn’t seem right.”
“Why not, are you busy on Sunday? Come on over, it’s gonna be fun.”
She just wouldn’t let it go, would she?
“Maybe you think I’m poor or something,” Johnny snapped, “or that my fridge is full of cans of beer and nothing more but I could really do without the whole ‘Let’s take a homeless guy in’ thing. I’m not homeless, and I’m not starving. Okay?”
An awkward pause followed Johnny’s little rant. He might have hurt her feelings or her pride (with those people you could never tell the difference) but that moment he honestly didn’t give a fuck. He just wanted this to be over.
“Well you didn’t let me finish,” Amanda continued, her voice sharper, colder than before. “Don’t tell Danny I told you but he was calling your name in his sleep for two consecutive nights.”
Johnny held his breath, the words coming out of that Nokia relic waking him up completely. “What did you just say?”
“He was calling your name in his sleep and when I asked him what that was all about he said he was still sad and pissed that Louis broke your car, and that he wanted to make it up to you. I’m serious, do not tell him that you know about this. He may be all smiles and sunshine most of the time but he can have endless pity parties and guilt trips over something that happened a thousand years ago, and when that happens he’s just not himself, he’s unbearable to be with. Trust me, you don’t want to see his darker side.”
“Oh I already have...”
“Daniel is a sunny person but sometimes he just… carries the whole world on his shoulders, you know? He may not look it but he does.”
“He certainly didn’t look it when he got my rent doubled and tried to get me banned from the All Valley,” Johnny growled.
“Johnny,” Amanda sighed. “We’ve been through this.”
“I’m just saying, don’t try to make up excuses for him.”
“I’m not. I’m just asking you to do me a favour and show up on Sunday. Will you do that for me? Please, Johnny.”
“Alright…” he said scratching his head vigorously. “What time?”
“Twelve sounds good?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Johnny, you’re a sweetheart.”
“Yeah yeah yeah…” Johnny said impatiently and closed the flip phone without saying goodbye. He dropped it on the mattress next to him, wiped a hand across his face and wished he had never answered that call.
#lawrusso#cobra kai#karate kid#the call#new car#ao3#william zabka#cobra kai fanfiction#lawrusso fanfiction#johnny lawrence
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Bryan Paul, Semi-Pro BMXer
The summer after I graduated high school, I got the opportunity to spend some time in Europe with a few of my classmates and my favorite art teacher. We spent weeks looking at art, taking in the culture (read: legally drinking), and saying a farewell to each other before we all went off to college. I wasn’t focused on meeting anyone that summer, I was happy enjoying my last few glory days before college started, and I had to make a whole new set of friends.
I was accepted to George Mason University, which is a great fine arts program. But, my parents lived 25 minutes away, so I commuted to school. My freshman year, I didn’t really get the college experience. I would hang out in friends dorms, but I didn’t really get a chance to make many friends, as I was taking a full load of classes and was dating someone who didn’t go to our school. That guy is irrelevant to this story.
I found myself slipping into old social habits, including hanging out at the mall a lot with friends. Part of that experience was walking laps around Vans Skate Park, at the end of the mall. My girlfriends and I would go in and look at shoes, and pretend to be interested in the skateboards. But we were mostly interested in the skaters. We would stand on the chain-link fence and watch them do tricks, sometimes they’d come over and talk to us. Any girl who grew up in Woodbridge in the late nineties, spent her share of hours watching and flirting with these incredibly talented, hot guys. It was pretty much the highlight of every week.
Wednesday was bike night, when the BMX riders would come in and hit the pipes and bowls on their bikes. I loved going and watching them, because the skill level was significantly higher than most of the skateboarders, and it was pretty much like watching your own X-games at your local mall.
One fateful Wednesday I caught the eye of a tall, black-haired, blue-eyed guy. I didn’t know who he was, but from the way the staff treated him, he must have been important. He was really talented and had a great smile. I kept hanging around where he was and eventually he talked to me. His name was Bryan. And he was hot as fuck. I don’t even remember what we talked about but ended up hanging out that night, having dinner and talking for hours. And then the next day, he called me. He wanted to know what I was doing that night, and if I wanted to go on an adventure. This is still probably the most romantic thing any man has ever asked me, to this day.
So we met up, and he took me to the neighborhood where he grew up. It wasn’t far from where I grew up, and I spent some time playing in this neighborhood as a kid too, so it bonded us. He showed me this tiny pet cemetery in the woods and we shared a mutual creepy shiver when we discovered it. We laughed and made out, and had an incredible time together.
Needless to say, I was completely smitten. I knew he was older than me, but I couldn’t really tell how old. I was only 18 and I had no concept of discerning men’s age yet. I was sure he knew I was younger, but he never asked how much younger. So we kept dating, blissfully ignorant of each other’s ages, but just happy to spend time together.
He lived pretty far south of me, closer to Richmond. He was always willing to come up and see me, but one day suggested that I come down his way. We met and he took me to Richmond. I had never been there before, but a lot of the kids I went to high school with ended up moving there and loved it. He showed me around all the cool neighborhoods and I fell in love with Carytown. I thought it was so cool that he would take me there, and I fell head over heels for this guy.
We dated through the end of my first semester in college, when he announced to me that he had to move to South Carolina. He was getting laid off from his job, and he was going to go work for his dad in Charleston. My heart took a huge leap and I told him I was going to go with him. He encouraged me to stay and finish school, but I needed to be with him. I told my parents that I was going to take a semester off and follow my heart, and they were understandably livid. I wasn’t working at the time, and I had no money. So I was completely financially reliant on them. They paid my car bill, my insurance, and gave me an allowance for gas and food to get to school. I told them that I didn’t want any of that and I just wanted Bryan.
My parents told me if I dropped out of school, they would take my car away. They also threatened that if I left school, they would no longer be responsible for paying on my student loans. I didn’t believe them, I knew they were all just empty threats… Or so I thought. But I also had a car and no money and I needed to get out of town before they could take it away from me.
So I stole the car, I drove out to Warrenton where my grandma lived and I asked her for money. I don’t remember how much she gave me, but I do remember her crying when she wrote me the check. She begged me not to go, but I told her it was something I needed to do. So I got in my Saturn and drove it to Charleston.
Bryan had given me an address, and I called to tell him I was coming. At the time I had a pretty basic Nokia brick phone. There was no text messaging, just calls, so I really had to rely on him answering. He didn’t answer my call until I was crossing the North Carolina/South Carolina border. I remember looking up at the exit for South of the Border, and when I looked down and saw that he was calling me back. I gleefully told him where I was, and it stung when he sounded stunned that I was actually coming. I asked “do you want me there?” And he said “of course. You’ll be here late, but just call me when you get here and I’ll come down and let you in.”
When I drove up to the house in Charleston, I was so nervous that i forgot to call him. Walking up, I could tell it was his parents house, so I expected to see them. I hoped that he told them that I was coming, and I wouldn’t be an unwelcome guest. But I didn’t expect to see two small pink bikes with streamers thrown down on the sidewalk in front of the house. There were children living here.
I sucked in my breath as I knocked on the door and Bryan’s mom answered. She gave me half a smile and welcomed me into her home. She apologized for not having the guestroom ready, and explained that Bryan forgot to tell them that I was coming. I was mortified, I immediately felt like I was making a terrible decision, but I just needed to spend the time with him to know that things could be right.
Then he came down and hugged me, and quickly ushered me up to his room. I stood there awkwardly and asked “should I not sleep in your room with you?” He said, “No it’s fine.” And we crawled into bed and I told him all about my trip down. At some point during our conversation I mentioned something about dropping out of college during my first semester. He stopped me and asked, “wait how old are you?”
Here we go. I remember looking back at him with big eyes, for the first time realizing that we had never had that conversation. I said “I’m 18,” then reassured him, “I’ll be 19 in May.” And his face turned green. He said angrily, “do you have any idea how old I am?” I didnt... so I guessed 25. I didn’t know anyone older than 25 that I didn’t consider a ‘real adult’. He laughed and closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and then he all at once wide-eyed looked at me and said “Fuck, Katie. I’m 32.”
I didn’t know how to react to that and I think I didn’t say anything. But he was clearly fretting over it. He laid back on the pillow and closed his eyes, and sighed “Let’s just go to bed.” We didn’t have sex that night, and I couldn’t sleep anyway. I just laid there awkwardly cuddling with him, worried about the bikes and the parents and what the fuck was I doing.
I think I dozed off around four and woke up with the sun. He was already up and out of bed. I cursed him for leaving me in that room by myself, but was grateful to discover there was an adjoining bathroom with a shower. So I pulled some clean clothes out of my bag and went into the bathroom and ugly cried in the shower trying to decide what I was going to do. Would I just hide in the room until he came and got me? Should I walk downstairs and see if everyone’s waiting for me at the breakfast table? I was so confused and a ball of anxiety.
As I finished my shower and I got a towel, I heard two tiny voices in the bedroom. They’re were little girls in there. My heart sank as the reality sunk in: Bryan had children. I kept hoping that maybe they were his nieces or just some neighborhood kids, and I searched back through my memories to try to recall whether he had ever told me he had children. But all I could remember was never telling each other any intimate details about our lives. I mean, Jesus Christ, neither of us knew how old the other one was.
Yes I realize how stupid this is, I gave up my entire life to move to another state with someone who wasn’t even expecting me, who I knew nothing about. I see that now. And I felt it then, but I was too young and naïve to understand the gravity of the situation.
I got dressed and walked out into the bedroom to find Bryan in there with two beautiful little girls playing video games they both looked up confused that I was there. He clearly hadn’t even primed them for the woman that would be walking out of the bathroom. I use the phrase woman lightly, because I was not. I was all of 18, and I barely had any relationship experience, and here I was faced with a man, much older than me… With two little girls.
I’ve always been pretty good with kids, so I stood on that confidence, and sat down on the floor with them. They flooded me with questions “What’s your name? When did you get here? How do you know daddy? I like your hair. What’s that? (pointing to a tattoo) Oh, did that hurt? Do you want to go outside and play?”
I felt relieved by that last question and happily agreed to go outside and play with the girls. I looked to Bryan for some acknowledgment, he just smiled and said he would come outside a little later. We were outside for what felt like hours, until his mom called us in for lunch. Bryan never came outside to play with us and never gave me an opportunity to talk to him about what we were doing here. But when I walked inside, I saw my bag packed at the top of the stairs. He was leaving me a not-so-subtle clue that he wanted me to leave.
So I politely finished lunch with his family and walked upstairs to grab my bag. I made an excuse about having to visit some friends in town, thanked his parents for their hospitality, and said my goodbyes. He followed me out to my car and tried to apologize, but I was heartbroken and the damage had been done.
I loaded Incubus “Morning View” into my CD player, and watched him in the rear view as i pulled away and made the long trek back to Northern Virginia. I didn’t go home that night, I drove onto campus and stayed with a friend who knew where I was going that weekend. I called her on the way back and she could just hear me quietly weeping on the other end and she said “hey, just come to my dorm”. At this point I had already disenrolled from school, and it was too late for me to sign up for the next semester of classes. So I waited a few days hiding out in Jessie’s dorm until my sister called, asking if I was ok. She said everyone was worried about me, and I confessed that things didn’t work out. Then, I finally went home to my parents house. To my moms credit, she never gave me shit, she just welcomed me back in with open arms and to this day we’ve never really spoken about it.
It’s been 17 years now, but I still think about him all the time. I’ve even looked for him on social media, but he was never really much of a Facebook kinda guy. I never knew the whole story about his kids mother, or his past. But sometimes, I’ll see someone who vaguely looks like him, and my heart misses him as much as it did that day I left.
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@theglitterbombsystem @janisilverstorm <3
Okay now I realise that the catalyst for me giving this AU more thought was probably this fic, which I read a couple days ago when I was feeling too shit to even sit up (and if you like V:LD and feel up for a long fic, I highly recommend you read it. It's amazing). I've been wanting a more magical AU where magic is a more everyday concept for ages and I guess this fic gave me the final push for it (esp knowing I got hopelessly stuck with "Normality"/the Mundane Magic AU and I’ll forever mourn it).
Also, if you notice any egos missing from this (which you will), it's bc I have no idea yet how to put them into this. Suggestions on that and just in general are absolutely welcome
Tbh the basic idea was just that what if Marvin had a magic shop but not the kind where he sells like loaded dice and weird card decks and other fake magic props but one that's like. actual magic. like he sells spells and charms and actual magic ingredients and supplies and breaks minor curses and stuff.
The whole shop is just a lot of clutter but in a very endearing fashion. There's countless shelves full of containers labelled with indecipharable handwriting and all sorts of books, from recent paperbacks with white lines all over their covers and spines from being opened so much, to heavy leather-bound ones written in all sorts of languages. There are plant pots sitting on every horizontal surface and hanging from the ceiling, housing all sorts of herbs and some entirely decorative plants, the labels stuck to each pot already too faded to read, and Marvin doesn't bother to redo them because he knows what all of them are anyway. There's charms and strings of beads and ornaments made of glass and wood and clay hanging from the ceiling, from the corners of shelves and from the armada of lopsided hooks in what little free space remains on the walls. Most of the lighting is via floating balls of light, easily spells maintained constantly by Marvin's magic. A lot of them are placed on the shelves here and there in jars, because they have a habit of wandering off, getting stuck behind stuff or bothering the costumers by getting tangled in their hair or clothes or somehow making their way into their bags. There's a counter in the back where Marvin spends most of his time, made of now scratched and scorched mahogany wood with golden ornamentation, more fit to be a hotel's reception desk than the counter in a small, cluttered magic shop in a thin old town street. The windows have colourful patterns and pictures painted over them and when the sun shines in through them, the same colours are cast onto the floor. Inside the shop everything seems to have a golden tint to it despite the windows otherwise just being regular glass, and it smells of the potted herbs and a bit of cinnamon.
Varjú the hooded crow is Marvin's familiar and assistant. He knows the name of p much all ingredients and trinkets and can fetch them for Marvin, but then again, Marvin can just levitate them to himself too. Varjú's more important purpose is watching the shop if Marvin is not there, helping deal with costumers, keeping Marvin company and helping his magic remain stable and focused during harder tasks. He can also deliver things to frequent costumers if needed, or go shopping for tiny things at vendors that already know Marvin (Varjú has a lil pouch for carrying money and whatever goods he can't just pick up with his talons).
Magic in this world is an ordinary and accepted thing, tho not everyone has it. One's chances of being born with enough magic to actually do something with are probably about the same as being left-handed, maybe somewhat higher. So maybe half of Marvin's costumers are actual magic users, the other half are regural people looking for magical solutions to their problems, which is just as much of a normal thing to do as shopping online is.
I don't know Everyone's place in this, but there are the ones I do:
Signe is a witch, not incredibly powerful but with a lot of love and contentment towards her craft. She mainly deals with nature magic, and Marvin buys from her about as much as she buys from Marvin. A lot of times there isn't even an actual exchange of money between them, they just trade. They help keep each other's herb supply balanced and usable at all times, and sometimes she tempts Marvin into trading with her by offering art supplies and not magical items, which Marvin accepts very enthusiastically. A lot of the ornaments and charms hanging in the shop were made by Signe, and most of them are for sale. Signe doesn't have a shop of her own, so she brings her creations she doesn't plan on keeping to Marvin, who enchants them (bc magic items made my multiple ppl are stronger) and usually ends up selling them p quickly, and they split the profit fairly.
I have no clue whether Seán has magic or not but I do know that he keeps adopting the light ball things that end up the most hopelessly tangled into him, and Marvin lets him bc he can always just create new ones. Seán already has like three or four of them floating aimlessly around his office and he has names for each of them.
Jackie doesn't seem to have any magic in him at first glance and I honeslty don't know if he does have any magic at all. He just showed up at Marvin's shop one day seeming like an ordinary one-time client, looking like a giant nerd and acting kinda shy. He asked for a protection charm (like an actual physical charm not a magic spell), and Marvin assumed it was out of a history of bad luck or anxiety, which he could definitely understand. And because the unique items like charms don't have price tags, he gave it to Jackie cheaper than usual without mentioning it. (He tends to bring down his prices a lil if a first time costumer is exceptionally attractive or nice, or if they look like they could put the bit of spare money to good use.) But a week later Jackie came back to buy another one, and then later another. When finally Marvin asked him why he needed so many, he eventually gave in to his conscience and said that they keep running out (breaking, burning up, falling apart, etc, which protection charms only do when protecting their wearer from really great danger and thus their magic runs out) and thus he always comes back to get a new one. Marvin is baffled by how such a meek looking guy could get into mortal danger so frequently, but he doesn't pry.
Anti is, well, interesting. My original plans for him were just a kinda mysterious human with insanely strong magic and then I kicked that whole paragraph out the window. Anti was the reason Marvin met Seán and Signe. He rarely leaves shop to do his work, but he was asked so nicely (and promised a great bonus for his troubles) to come take a look at some guy's computer that they have the suspicions either got cursed or posessed by something, because it's acting seriously freaky. Usually exorcising minor demons ends with the demon either being weakened so much it has no other choice than to flee, or the demon being destroyed completely. But this demon was more than just a half-sentient inconvenience and...it didn't seem hostile either? It was defensive when Marvin tried to mess with it, sure, but otherwise it seemed more collected and maybe a bit scared, or curious even once Marvin ceased his own hostility. He decided to give talking to the demon a chance, and found that it possessed a human level of sentience and intelligence (and even a name, Anti), and that it - he just wanted an entertaining place to live (which a computer with lots of games and activity definitely classifies as) and has frankly grown kinda fond of the computer's owner too. Marvin managed to coax him out and into some other item on his person (since at the time Anti wasn't yet able to take up a corporeal form), but when it became obvious to Anti that Marvin wanted to take him away, even if he did promise not to kill him, Anti absolutely freaked out. This was his home, he wanted to stay here and befriend these people living here if they were okay with it, he didn't want to leave, he didn't want to be taken away. Marvin had to present Seán with the situation - "Look, it is a demon, but he's also pretty chill and likes your taste in video games. He doesn't mean any harm and would like to be your friend, if you'd be okay with that? I don't need to get rid of him if you don't want me to." Seán and Signe gave it some serious thought and then accepted and let Anti stay and gave him an old phone (like an iphone or something they didn't use anymore not a nokia brick) to talk and see through until Marvin taught him how to take up a corporeal form. He's now completely capable of disguising himself as human, he technically lives with Seán and Signe but he also spends a lot of time in Marvin's shop (and later with other ppl like Dark and Chase as they come into the story).
Schneep is a healer (of the magical kind), who mainly has his own herb supply to sustain his patients, but when that's not the case he comes to Marvin for a short chat and to buy some. Aside from that, he periodically buys stuff to help him sleep or concentrate (mostly lil packets of assorted herbs he himself doesn't have, and a dangly charm he hung above his desk that also just looks great). After a while he started taking two packets instead of one, saying it was for a friend who also has trouble sleeping.
Said friend is yet to show up, but instead of him (and instead of Schneep getting stuff for him) his boyfriend, a tiny man with a bowler hat and a snazzy mustache by the name of Jameson, has become another frequent visitor of the shop. When he first came in, he started talking to Marvin by writing stuff down on a notepad in his hand, and he was very relieved when Marvin told him that he knows sign language, so if Jameson does too, it should be easier. He never buys anything for himself (he has more than enough magic to sustain himself), instead he comes in for stuff to help his boyfriend Shawn with his sleep problems and hallucinations, mostly herb packets, potions and charms that get used up alarmingly fast. After a handful of times of coming to the shop, Jameson brought a crow figurine for Marvin, as a gift from Shawn. Now besides Signe, Shawn is Marvin's most important charm supplier, because while Signe's charms mostly appeal to teens and adults, Shawn's creations are toys. And I mean, what's better than a teddy bear that's a child's favourite toy being enchanted to keep the child safe or grant them good luck?
I don't know much about Angus aside from that he shows up every once in a blue moon and trades Marvin rare supplies and ingredients he found on his journeys in exchange for potions and spells.
The only Iplier I know stuff about for now is Dark, who doesn't have a fuckin ounce of magic in him, and it probably frustrates him a lot bc he slowly becomes quite the frequent visitor of Marvin's shop. He's always very polite and reserved and gets straight to the point, simply asking for this or that potion or spell, scratching Varjú's head while he waits, paying and leaving. Marvin finds him strange but doesn't mind him. The first time he comes in while Anti is hanging out in the shop, Marvin almost bursts out laughing at the blatant look of interest on Anti's face. Anti flirts up a storm, Dark is very perplexed, and once he's gone Marvin threatens to kill Anti if he just scared off one of his best costumers. But Dark isn't that easy to scare off, he comes back after the same amount of time he always does, and he even offhandedly asks why Marvin's outstandingly extroverted friend isn't present. (I have no idea how that line of the story continues tbh but it does. somehow.)
Robbie I'm still a little unsure about, but here's the idea for now. Anti spends plenty of time digitally snooping around in places he shouldn't, but he usually leaves his friends out of it. One time tho he shows up at Marvin's place in the evening, asking if he wants to do something very dangerous, probably very stupid, but probably also kinda heroic, and of course Marvin is in. Turns out, Anti had managed to track down some ppl dealing with zombies, which is a multiple times illegal thing bc 1. they rob graves, 2. they commit illegal magic and 3. they sell the thus created, mostly docile zombies as "low maintenance workforce" (in other words, slaves). When Marvin and Anti get there it turns out that these particular ppl aren't exactly experienced, only have one zombie on their hands currently, and thus they kick their asses very quickly. The singular zombie is heavily sedated, really loopy and the most interested in Marvin's shiny jewellery. They fuck off, rescue zombie included, before the police get there, bc they don't trust the police to handle a confescated zombie properly either. Back at Marvin's shop they try to get the zombie back to what seems to be his full capacity and find out that he has the intelligence of a twenty-something but the mentality of a child. When asked his name, he can only say "Rroooo....RoooOOOOOoooo...." and doesn't seem to remember the rest of it, until Anti guesses "Robbie" and the zombie devolves into happy squealing and flapping. They don't exactly know what to do with him, and after weeks of fruitless search for his family, they give up on handing him over to someone else. Robbie (who in the meantime became trained in some simpler forms of magic, tried to eat one of Marvin's magic light ball things and found himself a place in the hearts of everyone he's met) ends up living with Schneep, who has a house too big for only one person anyway and is v happy to take him in. He still spends a lot of time in Marvin's shop, tho usually in the back room/office practicing magic or crafting stuff bc he's scared of the costumers and the costumers are scared of him.
Pff, I think that's all I have for now.
#warning it's long as Fuck under the read more#marvin the magnificent#jackieboy man#antisepticeye#dr schneeplestein#jameson jackson#shawn flynn#jacksepticeye#wiishu#darkiplier#angus the survival hunter#robbie the zombie#kata's chatter#magic shop au#that's gonna be the tag. bc i do kinda wanna add more to this#on a sidenote i'm not into vld and never watched past the first season but if a good fic is gonna stare me in the eye#with characters i at least know then fuck yes i'm gonna read it#thoughts and ideas are more than welcome
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Robinhood vs. Wall Street
Yesterday, social media and the news was full of thoughts about the stock market. It all had to do with shares of GameStop and what happened with it over the last couple weeks.
GameStop is pretty clearly in a shitty situation as a going concern. It’s has billions in sales, but hasn’t had a profit in a couple years. Unless it changes it’s brick and mortar business model will cease to exist. It’s main business is game sales after all: just a piece of software that can be digitally transmitted. As a result, the shares have been heavily shorted by tons of hedge funds, making it one of the most shorted stocks on the Street.
Many retail, or mom and pop investors, didn’t see the picture that way. Some even thought that bringing on a new member to its Board, a guy originally from an online pet supplies company called Chewy, would revamp the model back toward profitability. They started making bullish bets, both buying the stock and placing call options. Nothing unique here. Then they went and sold their idea like a salesman on a popular Reddit forum for traders call wallstreetbets. Again, nothing unique here. However, something was different this time about this particular idea. It actually caught on. It then lead to a short squeeze for the hedge funds. What’s that? A short squeeze is where a short position loses (the price of the stock went up), and the seller of the short position has to buy out stock at a higher price than they expected because the options contract ended and they have to deliver shares to the person they borrowed the shares from. Just like that, the little guy outplayed the big guy. It may have had something to do with the fundamentals.
But this is where things went awry. That wallstreetbets forum at some point figured out that if they collectively work together and place tons of call options and buy shares of the stock, it would continue for force another short squeeze come the next Friday expiration (options always expire on Fridays for whatever time period they last, whether weeks or months). Because the stock was so heavily shorted, unlike most other stocks out there on the market, it wouldn’t take much pushing up of the price in order to create a snowball effect. More sinisterly, the faceless, nameless people using Reddit openly talked about how they wanted to manipulate the stock in order to force another short squeeze. Then another. Then another. Unlike normal market manipulation, where a single or small number of people with large leverage push their weight in order to drive a stock’s price one way or another, this was being done by a huge number of little guys. And they weren’t being quiet or tacit about it. They blatantly said what they were doing.
The price of GameStop’s stock went from $17/share on the first day of trading in January to $347/share by January 27th. Nothing at all changed about the fundamentals or information pertaining to the company’s future performance in this time. Sure, maybe some investors became aware of the information about the stock that they didn’t know before. Hey, who’s looking at GameStop on a normal day anyways? But we’re not blind, and the Reddit forum wasn’t quiet about it either. This was pure and unabashed market manipulation. Not even speculation! Just flat out pump and dump. Seeing how high the wave can ride and get out before it crashes.
In the last two days, broker trading platforms, like mine at TD Ameritrade, put a stop to trading in GameStop and various other “meme stock” securities, the group of heavily shorted positions favored by people on the wallstreetbets forum. Volatility was too high to deal with, and I suspect they are worried regulators will soon be down their backs for allowing it to happen, given the high risk that mom and pop investors lose it all, and possibly then some, when the bubble eventually bursts. The brokerages took a beating yesterday for it. The target of all the outrage was Robin Hood, a relatively new brokerage app that is popular with Millennials and retail investors. It’s reputation is for hosting mostly unsophisticated investors attracted by the ease of the platform’s design, making it easy to buy and sell stocks, and importantly options, with zero commission fees. People on the Street refer to stocks popular on the platform as “Robin Hood stocks”, a snub at the stupidity of the cheap investment that only gains in price because of retail investors buying name brands that they know, completely detached from the fundamentals of the company’s future earnings prospects (Hertz, airlines, Nokia... GameStop). I understand that I now sound like a Wall Street snob without the income to back it, but after 20 years of researching stocks and understanding how they work, the analogy to ignorant investors during the Dot Com bubble of the late 90′s and early 2000′s shows why Robin Hood stocks are named with such disdain.
Anyways, retail investors, and populist political pundits were pissed that Robin Hood halted trading. (Robin Hood specifically halted buy or call orders, but not sell orders, which is a fair criticism, but that’s not the main focus of the outrage). The reason: this was the little guy getting even with the big guy, and the so called democratizing force in trading, Robin Hood, caved to the evil hedge funds. While I certainly love a David win over Goliath, this is not the same, at least there isn’t publicly known proof or evidence yet to confirm the suspicions. First off, people who can afford to trade in options tend to be well capitalized given all the margin requirements necessary. Sure, they are still a retail investor, but they aren’t struggling for cash to begin with. So David is usually doing fine financially to begin with, even though he isn’t even close to as big as Goliath.
Outside the comfortable lifestyle most of the traders likely already have, it’s not clear why the particular Goliaths they went after were targeted. Citadel, Citron, Melvin Capital, and the other hedge funds that lost billion from this appear to be grouped together as bad simply because they are hedge funds. What did they specifically do? Well, they are accused of a host of things, but none seem to be specific to them, just to hedge funds generally. It’s an attack on their status. Now I’ve hear a few accusations about these hedge funds, Citadel in particular, front-running orders; that is, having a buy or sell order sent to them to broker a deal for, but then doing the exact order request for themselves and then doing it for the order that was placed with them in order to take an extra cut of money on top of the bid/ask spread they get for commission from their market making activities. Confused? Look it up. Anyways, they are accused of front-running, which is illegal. They were even fined for it in the past by regulators ($700,000 for what I expect was a lot more in profits). Citadel is certainly not playing fairly. They are an evil goliath. The others, I don’t really know, and have not researched too far into.
What I mostly see though, is public justification for one bad act because of the past bad acts of another (Citadel), or another group (hedge funds generally). The little guy got it’s chance to attack the big guy for all the years of its parasitic behavior. And while I don’t have too much sympathy for the goliath hedge funds in this story, I don’t likewise think the traders here are members of the Boston Tea Party. Why is it bad when a goliath manipulates the market, but not when a group of small investors do it? Is it just because of the concentration of wealth? I assume it has to do with the redistributing effects of wealth from the goliaths to the victorious Davids, but the story hasn’t quite ended. The manipulation will eventually stop it’s momentum, and once it does, the people who will be hurt most are the late comer mom and pop retail investors who can’t get rid of their losing shares quick enough. Then the wealth transfer ends up benefiting only the early arrivers, but screws over all the late players to the game. Hell, there’s a good chance that hedge fund will be able to spot the top better and place put orders magnifying their gains on the crazy volatility in the shares. So in the end, it may just be ignorant Robin Hood investors who get screwed because the smarter small players fixed the game to their advantage.
How’s that for democratizing trading? On that point, the whole idea that Robin Hood was wrong for stoping trading because of it’s goal to “democratize trading” is stupid. Robin Hood is new to the game in the brokerage industry. Fidelity, Charles Schwab, TD Ameritrade, etc. have all been around for decades. Just because a new player entered the market with a slogan to democratize trading doesn’t mean they did anything revolutionary. In fact, the only thing they did of note was be the first to introduce free trades. Otherwise, everything they do has existed for years. Marketing to millennials better than the existing firms doesn’t mean you’ve democratized Wall Street, it just means you’ve gotten more people to join the club than previously existed. And the club was open to anybody to begin with! So the cries about how they halted trading is anti-democratizing wall street is dumb. To me, it’s a fair attempt to pull the punch bowl as the party gets going to prevent the sloppiness and ensuing hangover the fun lovers have blinded themselves to in the heat of the party.
But we will see how things go in the coming days. I could be wrong.
I’m most interested to see what the SEC and DOJ do with this. Market manipulation is illegal. But is it really market manipulation if a large group acts? Sure, there is always a tidbit of truth to the original decision to buy or sell an eventually price manipulated stock, but we know this wasn’t fundamentals driven trading. But how do you go after a group of nameless, faceless user names in a chat room who’s identities are potentially difficult to come by? There’s a strong chance that silent observers of the Reddit forum got in on the action, so how do you know if they tacitly agreed to the collect action or not? Importantly, how do we stop this from happening again? It may make it scarier for short sellers to pile so heavily into stocks in the future knowing that a group of mischievous investors working together can force a massive snowballing short squeeze on small stocks with relatively low trading volume.
I wouldn’t care so much about this event (so what, a bunch of hedge funds lost billions; I’m not particularly upset). But the strong favorable reaction towards blatant market manipulators upsets me. One bad act is not remedied by another bad act. Two wrongs don’t make a right. That whole thing. I think people have conveniently blinded themselves to what happened because of how good the story of the little guy beating the big guys sounds. But in this case, the little guy is also doing a wrong thing. So they shouldn’t be celebrated, encouraged, and heralded for it. After all, they were simply acting in a way that made them rich, for all the convenient societal righteousness they may claim. But alas, maybe they see themselves as modern day Robin Hoods (even though the “poor” they’re giving to happen to be themselves).
I’m sure there will be cool interesting articles that come out of this event in the future. Maybe even a sweet documentary or episode in a mini series. I’m eagerly awaiting to see what they have to say, especially from an author who actually understands how stocks work and can explain what’s happening from anything but a politicized view.
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