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veryrealimagination · 6 months

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Comfortember Day 9 - Aftermath

William immediately headed to the room that had been prepared before any of them came in. Terrence Meyers and his father made sure that a safe house was prepped and cleaned before transferring his people, James Pendrick, and Llewellyn from the small hospital.

Julia, thankfully, hadn’t lost her license straight out. The tape with her confession on having to operate on Llewellyn as the only doctor able to at the moment had been sent to the board. They were debating on possible punishments, or even if she deserved them. Now, she had taken up residence in the room shared by the worst of the injured. James, who remembered underneath rubble, had slowly been regaining his modern memories as he dealt with the past ones. His shoulder was once again, dislocated. At least with modern rehab techniques, it wouldn’t end up like it had in the previous life.

There was a doctor and nurse pair sent from the intelligence agency, vetted by Meyers and Harry before being allowed to step in and work on the four. Henry was propped up with a computer and offsite access to the intelligence information, barely waiting until the concussion was gone before diving into the investigation as best as he could. George was recuperating from the broken arm and an infection that he managed to get from the exposed bone marrow. The two were bickering and talking while they waited for the worst to pass through George and he could be up adding to research again.

Llewellyn had only woken up twice since his massive surgery, which worried the maternal part of Julia but not her medical background. Impaled through the lung, massive loss of blood, right arm had multiple breaks and his left has restricted blood flow for hours, one leg broken and the other with a jagged, deep laceration. It wasn’t a surprise that he wasn’t more awake, although that meant he was on an IV drip and had nothing to eat for a few days. He wouldn’t be moving for at least half a year, and she believed he wouldn’t be halfway to his old physical self for over a year.

Once he could stay awake, he would go insane.

Julia had taken over a couch. After the first two days of resting and eating from her intense work, she was just watching over her son while talking with James. She didn’t want to leave him until he was able to keep a cohesive thought and stay awake for more than an hour.

Murdoch had been going out with Meyers and Harry, working the bombing just the same as any case back in Toronto. Evidence was being processed steadily, although it was hard getting to the shrapnel and possible fragments left. The people working there were slowly being interviewed for what they saw, knew about Pendrick, and everything surrounding him. It was long, taking the better part of two hours.

There was also a fair bit to go through. Thankfully, there was already a table when he made his way to the room. He laid down the files and lightly kissed Julia before sitting down himself. “There’s going to be dinner delivered in an hour. Harry’s bringing pizza.”

Julia nodded, settling herself down on his side. “A good change from the canned soups Meyers brought and dropped off. The kitchen isn’t the greatest for cooking anything.”

He knew that well enough. The microwave died out when he started using that, and the stove was barely functional. There was a lighter sitting next to it to ignite gas when they turned the knobs. “Hopefully, it’ll be filling. Doing investigations into a terrorist act with Meyers hanging over my head is a lot more exhausting than it was previously.”

She huffed. “I know they’ve had issues with getting money, but a microwave can’t cost that much.”

“What is it, like, a hundred dollars?” a tired voice mocked. James was awake, and starting to listen in on the couple.

Murdoch nodded, somewhat understanding the reference. “One of the first ones I ever took apart was about that much. Mary screamed when she saw I had taken apart the one they were planning on sending to the trash. She and Caleb had to warn me about the dangers of unplugged microwaves.” Julia smacked him. Of course, he would do something dangerous like that.

“It was the first family one. Dad was so angry at me tearing that apart,” James admitted.

“At least you never,” a tired voice started. Julia snapped her head around when she saw Llewellyn looking over, “Had to deal with that from me.”

“Llewellyn,” she said, standing up and going over to the bed.

His smile was weak. “Just fingerpainted on Grandpa’s canvases.” William joined Julia by her side, gently pressing the back of his hand to an uncovered part of his arm. He hadn’t seen him awake at all since finding him in the rubble.

She threaded through his hair. “Those were pretty pennies to replace. Although he told me that one of those paintings sold well enough that he almost wanted to let you keep doing it.” He smiled, then grimaced at something sending a sharp pain through him. “Where?”

“S-side,” he whispered, closing his eyes when another sharp pain went through.

“Do you want a hit?”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t like fuzzy.” Julia frowned, as she didn’t like watching him be in pain. “I’ll ignore it,” he breathed, “Like I do the ‘artbreak.”

“You didn’t ignore that, you stole two bottles of wine while she was out doing interviews,” William ratted out.

“Hey,” he protested. There was a promise weaseled out of him to never tell Julia about what he did after being dumped by Jack.

“Llewellyn,” she hissed. Honestly, she already had a thought that something had happened the two weeks she had to go cross country promoting her new work. Coming home and feeling a change in the status quo between William, Dad, and Llewellyn, she carefully watched them for two weeks. Never quite picked it up, but now knowing there were two bottles that he must have drunk after Jack made her wonder about the time.

“I, replaced them!”

“You, out of all people, should know about underage drinking and how dangerous, and bad, it can be for you,” she said.

“Wasn’t that bad last time,” he murmured, falling asleep.

That frown was more pronounced than the last one. “I think,” James said, “That I will take a walk-”

“Stay down,” she ordered, pointing at him with not even stopping her other hand. “William, we will be having a Talk about what happened.”

William knew how that was going to go. Which, he was grateful for Henry and George managing to get in the door. George had the laptop while Henry leaned on the crutches. “Should we come back later?” he asked, knowing he would get two different answers, at least.

“Yes.” Julia.

“No.” Murdoch.

“Please don’t leave me with them.” James. The last had everyone except the sleeper looking at him. “Mom and Dad are fighting,” he mocked, pointing at the two. George set down the laptop while getting more chairs. William went with him. “Anything on who bombed my lab and almost killed me?”

“A couple of suspects,” Henry said, taking Julia’s chair with permission. She nabbed William’s to look at the computer.

“Good. As long as one of them isn’t Allen Clegg,” he shuddered, remembering the rabies mutation that he made last time.

“Haven’t ran across him yet,” Henry relayed, “Or Sally. She is in the country, however.”

“Ugh,” he moaned, “At least she didn’t frame me this time.”

“William would have seen through it in a minute,” Julia said. “All of them would have.” Two more chairs, and the small group settled to start going through evidence that Henry dug up.

#comfortember2023 #comfortember 2023 #murdoch mysteries #castle reincarnation au #julia ogden #william murdoch #james pendrick #llewellyn watts #george and henry are there for 30 seconds

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strawberry-lemonade-kisses · 2 years

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Talk to Me

Part 1 here

Warnings: Illness, mentions of IV, description of illness and effects, mentioned weight and weight loss, Mention of death

It was 2 days before your fever broke. 2 days of all 4 spouses switching out of the chair at your bedside, taking turns dabbing your forehead, and talking through your fever-induced stupor. Shinobu sent kakushi over after the first night, having to leave on a mission that night. Tengen was beyond himself, slowly losing his grasp on sanity as he watched your pale face toss around in the sheets, soaked in your sweat as you mumbled incoherent sentences in response to his words. Your wives were the rocks, keeping him sane while keeping their own spirits high, leaving no room for doubt to creep in about your recovery.

“Suma?” Your voice was hoarse, scratchy, and uncomfortable as you looked down at the figure asleep on your arm, hunched over the bedside. She jumped at the noise, hair flying up as she met your eyes, less foggy than they had been the past few days.

“Y/N!” she screeched, apologizing as you winced, slowly lifting a hand to pat her head, a weak smile gracing your lips. You looked frail, likely to break at the smallest inconvenience, the fever and lack of fluids or food quickly tore your already weakened body up. Your cheeks had sunk slightly, eyebags heavy as you tried to sit up. “Slow down, let me help” She stood, wrapping an arm around your back and holding your arms as she pulled you up to a sitting position, moving pillows so you were propped up.

“Thanks” you coughed, rubbing at your dry throat, wincing at the pain that one movement caused you.

“I’ll go grab a kakushi, your IV probably needs to be changed and now that you're awake they should know, stay here okay?!” She rushed out of the room, afraid you would suddenly find all the strength you had lost these past 3 days, and run out of the room, frolicking in the back gardens. You stared at the IV bag situated next to your bed, hooked up to a cart that held what you assumed was medications and a water basin, a wet cloth laid next to it, soaking the cart top. The IV was dripping steadily as you watched it, flowing through the tube into your hand where they attached it.

“Mrs. Uzui! I am so relieved to see you awake, how are you feeling?” You shrugged.

“My throa-” you broke into a fit of coughs, the kakushi rushed to your side, letting the rest of your family file in behind them. Patting your back they handed you a glass of water that Suma had brought with her. They held your head as you greedily choked down the water, ignoring the flames that ripped through your throat at each gulp.

“There you are, do you mind bringing a pitcher of water in here? Your throat is going to be very dry from the heavy drugs we’ve been giving you to try and break your fever, pneumonia is a heavy illness, it takes a lot. Do you feel like you may want to eat, some soup? Or maybe just some broth?” you shook your head, not ready for anything other than water.

“M tired” you mumbled, dragging the blankets back up to your chin.

“Of course, I’ll change your water bag here and leave you alone, your spouses have been very worried about you” all four of them hovered near the door of your bedroom, anxiously watching you talk with the kakushi, Tengen translating everything you were saying to the girls, he was the only one who could hear your quiet voice. You watched as they removed the iv bag, replacing it with a fresh and full one before dismissing themselves with one final check of you, rechecking your temperature to make sure it was semi-normal before leaving you with your spouses.

“C’mere” you whispered, wearily raising a hand to beacon them closer. Tengen practically ran to your side, pushing everyone forward so he could squeeze through and drop to his knees next to the bed. He grasped your hand in both of his, bringing your cold fingertips to his lips, leaving kisses all over your hand, You let out a weak chuckle in response.

“Hi beautiful, I’m glad to see you awake and actually paying attention, how do you feel. Hinatsuru sat on the bed near your feet, tucking the blankets back under you so you were cocooned in.

“Tired, You should go, you’ll get sick” Suma adamantly shook her head, stepping forward to sit on the chair behind Tengen, Makio stood next to her, smoothing down your hair.

“We’ll be fine, we’ve been carefully watching our health, taking extra vitamins that Shinobu left for us, and keeping track of our temperature. Don’t worry about us, you still have to recover. We aren’t going anywhere until you are recovered” you hummed, relaxing back into the pillows.

“Y/N, look at me” Tengen, still held your hands, eyebrows pinched together as he glared at you. “Don’t do this again, if you are sick you have to tell one of us, you can’t hide something like this again. You could have died, what have I told you about this?” you shrunk under his words, feeling like a child being scolded.

“Tengen… She just woke up, can’t this wait?

“No, it’s okay” you removed your hand from his hold, resting it on top of them, running your thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. “M sorry. I didn’t think it was serious, just allergies until I coughed too much and then it was too late” He nodded, accepting your answer.

“Gods, you scared me. I know you're strong, I know you can handle yourself, but please rely on us if you need it, even if you have a sniffle. I can’t lose you, any of you, got that? I need all 4 of my flashy and daringly sexy spouses” He placed another kiss on the back of your hand. You gave him a weak smile, feeling your eyelids growing heavier.

“Let her sleep, she needs rest to recover. Tengen, we’ll let you stay, and then Hina?” Everyone nodded in agreement, Tengen taking up the seat next to your bed as Suma vacated the spot, leaving the room with the other 3 wives.

“Do you want to lay back down?” you yawned in response, accepting the help as Tengen lifted your torso, moving around the cushions so you were on your back once more. “Get some rest, we’ll be here when you wake up” you drifted off to the image of your husband's maroon eyes pinching in happiness.

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cetaceans-pls · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Momentary Vampirism, Discussion of Blood bags, Family Bonding

The one where Bruce gets turned into a vampire, and Alfred has to call in the cavalry to deal with him.

Or, Dick comes through on a Friday night to help wrangle a reluctant bloodsucker.

Bro I just kind of went off on the concept of short-term vampirism and silverware, so here’s some Alfred-Dick-Bruce bonding over Bloody Marys and the different sorts of magic. Please enjoy this pick-me-up I wrote in one weird, frizzy sitting!

On tumblr below the cut:

“I came as soon as I could!” Dick says, rounding a corner so quickly he skids on the marble floor. The text had come through almost an hour ago, but he had been on the tail end of a Zoom interview (quitting policing this pandemic has been both terrifically easy and terribly hard) so between putting on pants and getting through Friday-night traffic, this is how things lie. “How is he?”

“‘He’ is fine, Dick, thank you for concern,” Bruce says tetchily from where he’s sat in the centre of the Yellow Room, surrounded six foot deep by Wayne Manor silverware haloing out around him. The UV lights they use at crime scenes are blaring harsh violet lines around the perimeter, and further out by the edges of the room, 6 of their portable sun lamps are turned off but trained right on him.

“This is all pointless,” Bruce carries on, sweeping his arm ‘round wide in a grand gesture, hissing when a brush against a silver-plated serving trolley has his hand sizzling. “Alfred really shouldn’t have called you.”

Dick ignores him completely to turn to Alfred, who has 3 sets of rosary beads hanging around his neck and irritation hanging from his eyes. “Uhm. I didn’t read further down the text than ‘B was attacked, please come over when you can’. I’m guessing I missed something?”

“You would be guessing right, Master Richard.” Alfred whips off a rosary and hangs it around Dick’s neck, and plops three teaspoons into a blazer pocket. “We aren’t sure quite who is to blame for this latest conundrum, but Batman was struck down by something while making rounds by the Cathedral. Master Bruce appears to have become a, a…” Alfred makes a disgusted noise, “a vampire of some sort, and had insisted I lock him up in a cell till a magic-user from the League could come by and take a look.”

Dick’s ashamed to admit that on hearing the word ‘vampire’ his fist had curled tightly around a teaspoon. After all, the bluntest edge can still manifest as a shiv, if you shove it in hard enough. He’s further shamed that Bruce clearly catches his micro-movement, and he just downright hates the pleased look B has at knowing that Dick is open to bodily violence against him.

Part of the commute time to get back to the Manor almost always involves him psyching himself up to deal with Bruce, and today it looks like it’s going to pay off.

“Okay, got it.” Dick deeply doesn’t, but bluffing can be as important as actually understanding, so. “Why’s he being kept here instead?”

“No master of the Manor,” Alfred says the way a lesser man would say ‘No son of mine’,”will be tossed into some cell while in full possession of himself, thank you very much.”

“I was going to start an automated protocol to have myself manacled and emergency-signal Superman to come by and potentially put me down,” Bruce interrupts from the near distance, “but I was lured here and now I’m trapped.”

Dick catches himself halfway through a laugh; he can’t help it. If Bruce really, really wanted to, escaping this room with its myriad hazards and shining lights would be possible, especially if the situation was so urgent that he was willing to risk serious injury for it.

If Bruce really, really thought he was a danger, thought deep in his messy little heart that he really, really could hurt or injure Alfred while it was just the two of them here waiting for reinforcements, Dick knows he would have grabbed the silver steak knife closest by and, ah, taken matters into his own hands.

It’s as ingrained a response as Dick instinctively putting himself between Bruce and Alfred even while his brain was still catching up to sudden vampirism, shiv-spoon (shvoon?) at the ready.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, untenses muscles that had been ready for something awful since the text had come through. “You’re finally more bat than man, B, so don’t bother pretending to be upset.” Dick spies a tray laden with soup and bread on a little coffee table and heads over, giving up guarding Alfred because their much scarier guard dog has just sprouted fangs. “Oh, man, tomato soup and garlic bread? Alfred, you think of everything.”

“I do try,” Alfred primly says, clearly satisfied that Dick is on his side. “And if you could see your way clear to getting Master Bruce to also partake?”

“I said no, Alfred!” Bruce’s voice cracks like sudden thunder across the room, and it would have been mighty terrifying with its slight unearthly timber if the UV lights bouncing off forks didn’t make the room look a lot like a rave. Even with his eyes starting to turn red, even with the harsh edges of his shape blurring into mist, Bruce can’t quite manage to intimidate.

Everyone in the room knows that it’s just for show, now, so even paranormal powers manifesting doesn’t slow down Dick’s enjoyment of soup. “C’mon, Bruce. It’s just like a blood transfusion, except you take it through the mouth. We all routinely take worse things through the mouth.” Just last week Dick had crunched on something while eating a bowl of soggy cereal he’d accidentally left out overnight, and the certainty that it was some sort of super-armoured cockroach haunts him till this day. “Is it a supply and demand thing? You can have some of my blood bags, Alfred can take some out of me while I’m here.”

“What an excellent suggestion, Master Richard. My blood has unfortunately been turned down because Master Bruce has some spectacularly backwards thoughts regarding older folk, but surely there’ll be no complaint for yours.”

“There are plenty of complaints!” Bruce roars, now up on his feet and pacing in the little circle at the centre of all the silver. “I will not eat anyone’s blood, I will stay in this space and meditate until Zatanna shows up and cures me. There is a magic user zapping vampirism into people in Gotham, and none of this will be solved by you sticking an arm under my teeth!”

His fangs are all the way out now, down almost to his chin, drawing scratches on stubbly skin. Under the native environment of the Bat, out in the night perched somewhere high, he’d be a terror.

Under the warm loving light of the Yellow Room, under the warm loving gaze of people who know him best, he’s more ‘angry hissing kitten’ than anything else.

Dick slurps the rest of the soup, and mops up the rest with the crusty bit of his garlic toast. “So, if it was me that got turned into a vampire, you’re telling me you… wouldn’t IV pump me full of blood fresh out your veins? If you lie to me I will throw a teaspoon at your head.”

There’s nothing but a mutinous quiet from Bruce, who’s huffing and misting and snarling and floating a good three inches off the ground. Good, at least he’s not feeling so pressed to the edge that he needed to lie.

“… I’ll take my own blood.”

Alfred sniffs, and it’s a dignified sound that somehow echoes in this fairly large room. “After your little altercation with Dr. Ivy last week, sir, your own supply is running unfortunately low. Two bags left, and I intend to keep them in case coming out of vampirism treats you poorly. No, sir, you’ll have a mug of Master Richard’s blood or so help me God I will tranquilise you and feed it to you myself.”

Alfred catches himself mid-rampage, and huffs a little while neatening the cuff of his shirt. “Those are your choices, sir. Pick one.”

Reading the room, it’s easy to tell that the hour it took Dick to get here from Bludhaven has likely been filled with that sort of tersely-worded bitching that Alfred and Bruce have down to the finest art. “A couple of pints of blood, Type D, coming right up. Bruce, I’d recommend just giving up right now. If Alfred works down the line, Jason’s coming in next, and that’s gonna end with a fist to the mouth.” Dick brushes crumbs off his hands, and jumps out of the crouch he’d been in on the arm of the sofa to head towards Alfred. “No one’s getting out of that without a broken finger or fang or both, so just take mine, okay? For us.”

Bruce doesn’t deign to actually say yes or fine , just seems to fade into shadows he’s manifesting himself, but it reads like a grumpy acceptance of defeat.

Good enough , thinks Dick. “Give us a sec, we’ll be right back. If you’re extra good, I’ll even make a Bloody Mary out of mine!”

Batarangs aren’t made of silver, but they sure do make a flashy thunk when they bite into a doorjamb a clean 10 feet away from the nearest person.

Alfred huffs a quiet laugh but Dick is much louder and substantially more insulting as they make their way down to the Cave.

The blood fridge is a thing of stainless steel tucked in a corner of the medbay, and it’s covered in magnets. The Wayne brood travel a lot, but Bats and Birds travel even more. It’s become a weird habit that got adopted like kids get adopted ‘round here; Dick looks at a cracked dinosaur magnet he’d bought at the Bludhaven Natural History Museum his first night out as Nightwing, and nostalgia hits harder than teeth in the neck. “We’re gonna need a bigger one of these soon, Alfred. We’re almost out of free real estate.”

“We shall persevere nonetheless, sir.” Alfred opens the fridge, and goes along the top row till he gets to the little placard with Dick’s face on it. The filing system remains sweetly, sweetly old-school, even if everyone knows where theirs is stored by feel alone, and each bag is barcoded with enough details to alarm even the most dedicated phlebotomist.

Looking over the racks, Dick whistles. “Bruce isn’t the only one who’s had a rough time recently, huh? Tim didn’t mention that the last Titans’ fight got him two bags down.”

For that, he gets his ear flicked. “Don’t snoop, Master Richard, it’s unbecoming.” Alfred takes a bag off Dick’s shelf and pops it into a cooler bag. He closes the door, and heads to the kitchenette in the Cave where he scrounges up a little metal straw. “Thank you for coming by so quickly. I was at my wits’ end trying to convince him to have just the littlest nibble. He tried to keep himself locked in the Batmobile when he came back via autopilot.” Alfred rinses the straw with more aggression than necessary. “I tugged on the handle, and the door was locked. A door, locked to me! In my own home!” He sounds as incensed as Alfred ever does, but he also goes to grab some tomato juice and a couple of sticks of celery, just in case.

“You wore him down for me, Alfred, I had it easy.” Dick quietly grabs another couple of bags of his blood, because deep deep down Bruce isn’t the only one hesitant about feeding on family, looks like. “Surprised you’d turn to me for this, though. Seems like more of a Tim thing, have him over with a 50-slide presentation on why vampirism’s really not that different to CPR, or something.” He swoops by Alfred’s side and picks up the cooler bag and the bucket of ice, because there are a lot of stairs from the Cave back up to Yellow, and kind men deserve kind things done on behalf of their creaking knees, thanks very much.

“You certainly have a point, Master Tim can be alarmingly persuasive with his statistics and, ah, unblinking stare.” Alfred doesn’t acknowledge Dick helping him with his things, just looks a little glad to have a hand free to hold on to the handrail, which is acknowledgement enough. “However, I have to admit that when I am at my wits’ end with Master Bruce, I always want to turn to you, Master Dick.” He pauses at the top of the stairs, turns and smiles his neat little smile at Dick who is finding balance harder to maintain than usual. “You have kept me company in my never-ending fight to care for Master Bruce longer than anyone else, after all.”

(Longer, longer, longer even than Bruce’s parents, God love them both.)

Alfred reaches out, pats Dick’s hand and nimbly reacquires his wares. “Do not under any circumstance tell the others, of course, but an old man is allowed his favourite ally.”

Dick is a whole-ass adult who’s lived through more things than people 15 times his age, he’s dressed in a smart suit and tie after an interview for a position as a flight paramedic, and he’s helped ward off the apocalypse at least on three separate occasions.

He knows enough about enough to know that their vampire-magician is deeply, deeply outclassed by Alfred’s mastery over spacetime, because right now Dick knows that if he looks down at himself, he’ll be 9 years old again, wearing oversized pyjamas as he tries not to cry because it’s his birthday and Alfred had made him a stack of pancakes the size of his head, while Bruce skulks by the door holding five separate tubs of ice cream, looking uncomfortable and uncertain and bound and determined to be a responsible parent

(like he’s bound and determined to be a responsible vampire).

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dick murmurs under his breath, rubbing his cheek to break the spell.

“Language,” Alfred’s voice floats back towards him, as they make their way back to the Yellow Room.

There’s a bit of a scuffle, trying to get Bruce to actually drink the blood. When Dick had casually tossed a bag at Bruce, it had been batted right back at him like the world’s weirdest opening to a game of ping-pong. Another fight almost broke out then, because at least a third of all of Gotham’s collective stubbornness was sat in the room at that point, but Dick managed to force through a resolution by making a Bloody bloody Mary for Bruce, and regular Bloody Marys for himself and Alfred.

They sit where they want, Bruce in his circle, Dick perched on a windowsill, and Alfred on the sofa, and they sip at their meticulously non-identical drinks. They’re on their third round of Bloody Marys and sweet idle conversation when the message comes through that Zatanna’s on her way, and the tension in the room drains as smoothly as they do their drinks.

“Ah, what perfect timing,” Alfred says like he hasn’t worked his way through an alarming amount of vodka. “Just in time for a really early breakfast.”

It’s 3 AM, and hopefully after unraveling vampirism Z will be interested in some god-tier chicken and waffles. Dick’s stomach is already rumbling, and he’s in an unspeakably good mood. It’s a trinity of trinities, three generations of Wayne and Wayne-adjacents, three Bloody Marys each, it’s three o'clock in the morning.

There’s a father, a son, and Alfred counts as their Holiest Ghost, probably. Funny that Bruce has to become unholy to make Dick feel gently religious, though that might be the vodka and dreams of fried chicken futures. “How’re you feeling, Bruce?”

Flushed with blood, Bruce looks healthier and heartier than he does on average, which is a fight to tackle a different night. “… Better,” he admits, digging a fang into a celery stick with an expression of deep concentration. “I could fly if I tried, I think.”

Dick whoops, and nearly drops his glass. “It’s that vitamin D, bay-bee.”

It even earns a chuckle from Alfred, and Dick can feel god in this Yellow Room tonight. “I think,” Dick says with utmost seriousness, “that being a vampire is a good look for you, B. Feels good to get you something, even if it’s just a drink.”

Feels good to be able to provide for you instead of the other way ‘round, is something a more sober Dick would think.

From his corner, Alfred raises his glass in a steady-handed toast. “Just a drink is plenty when just a drink is all you need. So here’s a toast to you, Master Dick. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

In the middle of a sea of silverware, Bruce raises his glass too, and oh, now Dick’s the one gone red in the face.

“Any time,” he says, and he’s glad to know he means it. “Honestly, this makes me feel like B should get turned into a vampire more often.” There’s a lot of magic in the Manor tonight, and only the tiniest fraction of it has to do with their rogue magician. Dick can’t remember when he last spent this much time with just Alfred and Bruce, and it feels like a loose anchor digging in juuust right.

The world’s in turmoil and his personal life has seen better days, but there’s a tether that comes off from the Manor and these two men. Sometimes, it’s a noose.

More often than not, it’s a lifeline, and what a fine feeling it is to know that that goes both ways.

Dick doesn’t know what’s showing on his face, though by how Bruce is now sat up and intensely staring at him, he’s probably revealing way, way too sopping much.

Bruce clears his throat, and his flush deepens into a rosy, rosy red. “Well. As being a part-time vampire does have its advantages, it’s. Hmm. I will discuss it with Zatanna, and see what I can do.”

And geeze, time-travel magic must be inherited too because Dick’s been forced back to his 9th birthday again, to Bruce Wayne-the-literal-Batman hovering uncertainly while holding way too much ice cream as he tries to accommodate Dick in that stupid, awkward, and hideously embarrassing way only he knows how.

“I’ll toast to that,” Dick says, ignoring the terrible scratch and crack in his voice, and he and Bruce both only nearly lose it when Alfred raises his glass again, and

quietly, quietly

murmurs, “Here’s a toast to my family”.

#batfam #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #family bonding #whale writing #bro i watched a weird japanese tv show last week #and it just left me in the weirdest most off-kilter mood #there literally way no direction for this story #i just like the thought of alfred having different niche categories #he can assign favourites too #and also vampire bruce who can turn to mist but doesn't #bc he was raised right #anyways here's wonderwall

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joshslater · 5 years

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A Week in Indiana

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was exhausted. It’s weird, because on long haul travel you have done nothing but relaxing. First on the initial connection, then at the airport, then at the trans Atlantic from Amsterdam to Chicago. I even napped a bit on it. Since that flight follows the earths rotation, you basically land at the same time as you start. Queues, immigration, wait for luggage, customs, relax some more at O’Hare. Finally followed by a decidedly less comfortable regional flight to Indiana, wait for luggage again, and out. And there he was, looking even better in person than he had on Skype the day before, waiting to pick me up. He was younger than me, but acted confident, cocky even. I like that.

- Hi there. How was the trip? - Long. I’m exhausted, like I said I would be. - It’s not far.

Americans have no idea what that word means. It wasn’t until an hour later we finally parked in his driveway. We had so much to talk about, but I made it perfectly clear that my mind wasn’t were it needed to be right now for anything serious. I quickly went online with my phone to cancel the backup hotel night I had, keeping some nights for the end of the week if things didn’t work out. Then I zoned out for most of the trip to his house.

- Let’s put your stuff in your room, head out for a bite and then you can go to sleep. - Head out? - I ain’t cooking.

The house was spacious living for a single dude, and probably the tidiest it been in a long while. Not that I paid much attention, as tired as I was. I would had preferred to just crash there and then, but I know from experience not to go to bed too early, or you’ll just wake up at midnight.

- Hey, can I get you something to drink? Coke, beer, water, absinthe? - A coke would be great. It’s dry in air planes.

A big, cold can of coke felt exactly like what I needed, despite the corn syrup. Rehydrated I carried my bags to the guest room, which doubled as a home gym. It’s silly, I know, but despite being so tired I found it kind of hot to be sleeping in a room where someone else had been working out. Well, I guess that’s the kind of shit we have in common, and the entire reason why I was here.

People really undersell the sheer amount of confusion when you wake up after having been drugged. Especially when you have been moved and things have been done to you. You didn’t plan for it, like going to sleep, and you have nothing to fall back to when you wake up to orient you. Everything around you is out of context. In addition to that, you still have residual effects and possible traces of the drugs in your system.

It’s impossible to estimate how much time it took to get a grip of the situation, but gradually I was aware that I was naked, tied to a bed, gagged and unable to see, possibly because of a pitch black room.

- Did you sleep well?

How long had it been? No way to tell. I feel like shit. I can feel him touching my naked chest. But that means he can see me, right? Why can I not see?

- I thought I would surprise you with a little transformation for yourself. This is the garage by the way. It’s not quite soundproof, but I don’t really need that, do I.

I don’t know what kind of gag he is using, but I can’t move my mouth in any direction. It feel like he had put some clay-like plastics into my mouth, had me bite into it, and then have it harden. I want to scream. I don’t want any piercings or tattoos or whatever. I shout that whatever his plans are, I want out. The best I could muster was an agitated hum.

I feel something cold against first my left nipple, and then both. Some sort of gel. Then some object is put there. Are these suction cups? Then a motor sound starts and I feel a rhythmic suction on my nipples. Guess they are.

- You should just relax. I don’t know anything about hypno, and you said it doesn’t work on you, but just so you have something to listen to I’ve downloaded a few things.

He puts earphones on me with the typical nonsense with multiple voices all talking over each other that all hypno mp3 files are so fond of. Then I feel him doing something with my gag, and a small trickle of fluid at the back of my throat, and then everything gets fuzzy.

- And here is something to keep you stupid. Enjoy the ride.

I’m too tired and drugged to analyze what is happening. I’m swimming in black velvet soup of words. I should relax, I’m told, be calm and follow instructions. I’m barely even aware I have a body, but occasionally the senses intrude into the bliss and I can feel the suction cups removed, more cool gel applied, and then the cups put back. Everything just gets softer and softer until everything ceases to be.

There’s no audio anymore.

- Hello, sleepy beauty. Are you ready for something solid to eat? - Yeah...

Wait? When did he remove the gag. Why can’t I see?

- Just be still, and I’ll remove the IV.

I could feel the short sting of an IV needle being pulled out, and felt him bandage the arm. What did he put into me? Where did he get an IV from in the first place?

- Now, just be still while I undo the restraints.

Any kind of resistance would be pointless. I was naked, in an unfamiliar room, and completely blind. I just followed along with his movements as he released my arms and legs. He then helped me on my feet and led me from the garage and through the house.

- So, I’ve prepared an outfit for you. Just put it on and we are ready for dinner. It’s all your size. Now, be very still and I’ll remove your black contact lenses.

So that’s what he had done. He was way better at removing them than I think I would have been, had he just asked me to remove them myself. As I blinked in the light I saw I was back in the guest room. My bags were no where to be seen, and on the bed was a small line up of clothes.

I turn to the mirror and see myself, but instead of my normal hairdo my head is almost completely shaved, save for a few millimeter Mohawk. Secondly, and more concerning, my nipples are huge. Like finger tip huge. He’s observing me from the door.

- Cortisone cream and a modified milking machine, and a few tricks. They will shrink a little bit, but not much. You’ll look like this from now on.

I don’t even have the energy to yell at him. If it is permanent, as he say, screaming doesn’t help. I need to get away from him before he can do whatever else he has planned for the week. It’s only day.... Actually I don’t know how long it’s been. One day? Two days?

- Just get dressed, and we can be on our way. Bring the ID so we can take a beer as well. - OK.

I look at the items laid out for me at the bed again, next to my passport. One black tank top with white hem in some sporty mesh material with the text “PUMP!” printed on the front. Blue, short adidas polyester shorts with white stripes. White, calf high socks with two black rings at the top. Black adidas shoes with white stripes. The only things missing for a stereotype bingo is a whistle, glow sticks and some molly.

No underwear, apparently. I put on the shorts. Like hell “all your size”. The shorts are tight and doesn’t leave my dick size to anyone’s imagination. Socks and shoes go on fine. I brace myself and put on the top. My tits feels like sparklers, shooting nerve signals all through my body. I can feel the tight shorts getting even tighter. I feel slutty.

On the way to dinner he is quite chatty. Talking about the buildings and neighborhoods we drive by, as if he hadn’t drugged and violated me for hours, perhaps days. He is casually dressed, Levis’ jeans and American Eagle polo. Still he manage to outclass me by an order of magnitude. Dinner is at P.F. Chang’s, so not at all fancy. Still I feel like everyone is looking, and judging. Everyone we pass on the parking lot, through the mall, at the front of house, on the way to our table. Everyone can clearly see my tits and my dick through the fabric. My haircut practically shouts for attention. My clothes even more so. And it’s not like I’m part of a group that has dressed up, or down. I’m lead here by someone dressed normal. A regular dude and his slut.

Sitting down feels better, with a table hiding my lower body, but it still feels like I’m in public in just underwear, having two flashing tits.

- Hey, relax. Calm your tits.

It was such a cheesy joke, I exploded in laughter. He’s right of course. It’s not like I’m hurt or massively disfigured. Most people will never even see it, once I’m in decent clothes. No one around me knows me, and I’ll never see them again. This is me experiencing something I could never have set up myself. Besides, I can’t really do anything about my situation except flagging down a cop, so I might as well enjoy it. I ordered the Dynamite Shrimps, the Singapore black pepper chicken and a steady flow of diet coke.

Man, was I hungry. It was tasty and I even managed to relax, though my tits kept rubbing against the mesh fabric, keeping me semi erect. And every time someone passed by, I got a twinge of feeling exposed, feeling “slutty”. We chatted a bit about ourselves, kind of how I had imagined our first real meal would have gone. When we were both done we asked for a refill and the bill. I managed to hide it, but I got quite the shock reading it. It said Tuesday. I arrived Saturday afternoon, so I had been drugged for three whole days! I don’t think he noticed my shock, because he leaned over and asked me, in a hushed voice “Are you ready to leave, slutty fuckboi?”.

Right away my dick throbbed into almost fully erect, and it was very close to pump custard into the shorts. Of course! The fucking hypno loops! That’s why I have been so docile since I woke up. “Slutty fuckboi” and “Calm your tits” were trigger phrases. Tits?! They are nipples. I’ve even been conditioned to refer to them as tits. I’m sure there are some programming about feeling self conscious and “slutty” as well. Who the fuck does he think he is! I must escape right now!

- Almost. I need to go to the boy’s room first. - I bet you do. You drank quite a lot.

I need to walk through two thirds of the restaurant to reach the restroom. Again I feel like I’m under dressed, overexposed and it would be hard to miss my raging erection in the hilariously tight adidas. I keep a fast but calm stride. Running would just draw even more attention.

I even have a hard time pulling down the shorts. They are almost locked in place by my swollen deadbolt. I stand feet together, slide the shorts straight down and turn to the sink to chill my dick in cold water. After the erection is gone I take a leak, pull up the shorts, and that’s when I feel the passport in my pocket. I had almost forgotten about it. I still have a reservation at the hotel. My credit card is on file and I have an ID to show. It must be within just a few miles, and if anything I’m dressed for exercise.

I don’t have a phone or a watch, so I don’t know exactly how long it took, but I guess about two hours to sneak out through the other entrance, ask mall information on the location of Holiday Inn, walk there without Google Maps, manage to check in with a receptionist who clearly didn’t approve of my attire, and have a lie down in bed. I should call Amex and have them block my credit card and send a new one to the hotel. Should I call him and tell him to send my bag here? Would it be risky to let him know where I stay? Would it be risky to even talk to him? That’s when the phone rang.

- Room 304. - Calm your tits, bottom boy. Isn’t it time to continue your transformation? - Yes, it is. - Cool. Pick you up in half an hour. - OK.

Shit. I’m broken.

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fiftyshadesgrl · 5 years

Text

Wrecked

I sit shivering from fear and cold, my clothes dripping from the freezing rain outside. I have heard about negan and the saviors but had never ran into them. I had been alone since my boyfriend abandoned me, how long was it, six months, a year. I had no idea all i knew is it was spring when we were cornered in that gas station by walkers and now it was winter.

Jake, my boyfriend at the time said the gas station looked safe, but nothing ever is safe these days. I followed him to get supplies and luckily this place hadnt been raided yet. We split up, i go for canned foods, water and medical supplies, jake goes for ammo and weapons.

I heard the walker outside, i ducked and waited until i thought it was clear. Turns out more made their way to us. Jake turned the corner just as i was closing my bag, he signaled for walkers outside. I nodded and crawled across the floor away from the walkers sights. I stood next to jake, "we cant go out the front way." Jake nodded and signaled towards a exit in the back,, i nodded and followed him.

Jake turns a corner, the big exit sign in sight. Jake turns the knob and i cringe as it squeaks loudly. He opens the door just a crack to make sure its clear then opens it all the way. Everything seemed to blur then. A walker grabbed jakes arm, the walkers arm detached as jake slammed the door back shut.

I heard glass breaking and bodies hitting the floor. I looked around and seen the managers office and rushed towards it, twisting the knob and thank god it was unlocked. "Jake! Over here!"

He lets go of the door and runs to where i am. I see the walkers coming in from where jake just stood. I slammed the door and slid the lock in place. The walkers started pushing and banging on the door, jake used all of his weight and pushed against the door.

"(Y/n) help me hold the door." I pushed all my weight against the door, didnt seem like it did much good from the way the hinges were creaking with every push. We looked desperately for a way out, not seeing anything in my sight that would help us i followed jakes gaze to the heat duct above the desk. "Think we could reach it?" I say as the door shook violently.

He looks me deeep in the eyes, "i can for sure."

I nodded, "okay you go first while i hold the door then you pull me up."

He shook his head, "theyll get in before i could reach you."

"What do we do then? We cant just stay in this room." I say trying to hold back the tears.

He leans towards me and kisses me, "i love you." He whispers agaainst my lips.

"I love you too." I say knowing this would be our last kiss. Suddenly jake lurches forward jumping up on the desk and pulling the cover to the duct off. "What are you doing?" I yell as the door gives way more.

He shrugs, "survival of the fittest. Ill miss ya." He climbs into the duct, leaving me behind.

"You son of a bitch!" I scream. I check to see how many bullets i have left in my handgun, just one. If those damn things wanted a meal they aint getting me alive. I look over at the file cabinet and decide to fight for my life.

I made a quick lunge for the file cabinet and push it, i seen the door giving way but i had to do something. I push and it tilts, i push with all my sttength and huff out a breath as it falls over just as the doors hinges give. I jumped up on the desk and jump towards the opening of the duct, almost damn it. The door begins to break more, a walker is halfway through. The pack on my back is making it hard to jump so i open it, grab a water bottle, a first aid kit and a can of spam.

The walker is crawling through as i make one last attempt to jump. I jump and get a grip inside the vent. I pull with all my strength, i have my upper body laying inside the vent as the walker grabs my boot. I kick franticly but its grip is relentless. I grab my handgun from my belt and shoot the walker in the head. Throwing the gun down as i pull myself the rest of the way into the vent.

I lay there for a minute trying to catch my breath. I can hear the walkers below scratching and clawing trying to get to the vent, thankfully i know they cant. After that day i have been on my own, i never found jake even if i did id probably kill him for leaving me.

I sit now in a room that reminds me of a interrigation room at a police station, but at least it was dry and warm. The man who now sat in front of me his name was simon, his 60's porno mustache stood out to me and thats how i remembered his name. "So little lady, where are you from?"

I look up confused, this wasnt the question i had been expecting. He shook his head, "what i mean is what group are you from."

I shake my head, "im not with any group."

He leaned forward in his chair and intertwined his fingers. "Dont lie to me, its better if you just tell me before the main man gets here."

"Im not lying. Ive been on my own for months." I say shivering, i hear a door open and a tall dark haired man wearing a leather jacket walked in. He swung a barbwired covered bat around as he whistled some kind of tune.

He took in my appearance and nudged simon with his elbow, "simon, be a gentleman and get the lady a blanket." Simon didnt hesitate, he stood and left the room when he came back in he handed the man the blanket and exited the room. He walked over towards me and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, i clutched it and shrunk into it getting all the warmth i could.

He walked back around the table and sat down, "whats your name doll?" He asked, i couldnt help the way his voice warmed me on the inside.

"(Y/n)" my teeth had stopped chattering and my toes and fingers strated to get the feeling back in them.

He smiled and nodded, "im negan." I felt the fear creep back up my spine at the mention of the name i had heard so much of. He chuckled, "i take it youve heard of me."

I nodded, theres no reason to lie because what have i got to lose. "Yeah quite a bit actually."

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he leaned back in his chair. "Whats a pretty little thing like you doing all alone out in this cold?"

"I have nowhere to go." I say matter of factly.

Negan furrows his brow, "of course you do. If youve heard of me then youve heard of the sanctuary, you couldve always come here. How long have you been on your own?"

I shrug, "i dont really know 6 months to a year. I dont even know what month it is."

"Its december." He says handing me a bottle of water, i down it in a matter of seconds. "How long since you have ate?"

I place the bottle down on the table gently, "three days ago." He nods then goes to the door, he ls talking to someone. He shuts the door a moment later then sits back down in the chair across from me.

"What group were you with? Whyd you leave?" He crosses his leg to where his ankle is resting on his knee.

"I wasnt with a group. It was just me and my boyfriend for a while. Then we got cornered one day and he chose to save his own ass and left me behind. I got out though thankfully. Ive been on my own ever since." Theres a knock on the door and negan goes to answer it, he comes back holding a tray of food. My stomach rumbled at the smell of whatever it was, he placed it in front of me. There was various vegetables, soup, and bread. I dug in immediately and negan just sat and watched.

He waited til i was done to ask anything else. "Howd you survive all this time?"

I leaned back, having a full stomach and being warm made my eyelids heavy. "I kept low, stole when i absolutely had to and stayed away from walkers."

He laughed, "thats a real fuckin woman there. Well let me be the first to welcome you to the sanctuary. You can stay as long as you like. Come with me cause i know youre in desperate need of a fuckin shower."

"No shit." I chuckle under my breath, he laughs again as he leads me upstairs to a magnificent bedroom.

"Everything youll need is in the bathroom there. Ill have you some clean clothes on the counter before you finish." Why was everyone so scared of negan? He was portrayed as a monster, a blood thirsty psyco who would kill someone if they looked at him the wrong way. This wasnt the negan that was standing before me. I feel like i can trust him. Will it come back to bite me in the ass? Only time will tell.

To be continued.......

@an-unhealthy-obsession @holylulusworld @vicmc624 @jesseswartzwelder @tftumblin @justanotherwinchester

#jeffreydeanmorgan #jeffrey dean morgan smut #negansmut #negan #negan fic

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marshunter06 · 4 years

Text

Love Lockdown

IV- Talking Is Hard

Courtney,

Alright, but don’t have high expectations, I haven’t really been able to practice music much. I’ve never performed in front of a crowd, my parents wouldn’t let me. I’m a little rusty, but with all the free time, I’ve gotten to write a couple of new songs. What about you? Are you into music?

-Trent

She knew all too well what it was like to have parents who disapproved. To be fair, they were right to not trust Duncan. Her mother always said he would break her heart.

Trent,

I can relate to having parents like that. We never saw eye to eye either, but they were right in the end, not that I would ever admit it. As promised, I’m attaching the pictures of the soup, I’m not a photographer, so you’ll have to excuse me. I promise it tastes better than it looks. As for music, I love it. Besides law, it’s my other passion. I play the violin and guitar, but it’s been a while since I’ve touched either. I’ve never written a song before, would you be willing to share?

-Courtney

She spends the rest of the evening finishing her dinner and filing the cases for the law firm. She decides to take care of the dishes before continuing work on her project. When she gets down to the kitchen, she finds Duncan finishing up the last of the dishes.

“I can take your bowl.”

“No, I can clean it.”

“You burned your hand earlier, let me take care of it.”

She doesn’t argue with him any longer. It’s not everyday he offers to wash dishes. She doesn’t really know what to do. They have some unfinished business, but avoiding it made it easier. If it doesn’t go well, how could she stand being locked in with him, but if it does, she would be a fool to take him back.

“Court, are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re spacing out. Maybe you should go sit down. I’m done with all the dishes and I put the extra soup in the fridge already.”

“Oh. Thanks…”

She allows him to guide her to the living room on the couch. He sits on the opposite end keeping some distance. Now that she wasn’t as hostile, maybe they could finally talk.

“Court, I’m sorry.”

“I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then don’t, let me explain.”

“I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“Then give me a second.”

He leaves to go back to the kitchen, he quickly returns with two wine glasses and her favorite moscato already chilled.

“Alcohol is your solution?”

“Wine doesn’t hit you as hard, besides it’s your favorite.”

“I thought we finished it a month ago.”

“We did, but I got it today while we were at the store. I got your favorite ice cream too, dairy free caramel crunch.”

She was so focused on ignoring him that she didn’t even notice he was getting all of her favorites. He was making an effort, the least she could do was listen. She just hopes she doesn’t regret it. She pours both of them a glass of the wine.

“Okay, but I won’t guarantee I’ll stay long after this glass.”

“Nothing ever happened. I need you to know that first.”

“But you wanted it to.”

“No, I… I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me Duncan. You wouldn’t entertain it if the thought didn’t enter your mind. I know you did. You would’ve shut it down immediately if you didn’t.”

“You’re right. I should have stopped it, but believe me when I say she doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“How can I believe that when you still talk to her!”

“We’re still friends. Look, I told her it has to stop, and she agreed. She didn’t feel great about this either.”

“Bullshit. We never got along and you know why.”

“No Courtney, I actually don’t. Gwen was always nice to you.”

“Because I’m your wife, was your wife. I really did marry an idiot, anyone with eyes could see she’s into you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, you know she likes you. Why else would you cheat on me with her?”

“I told you nothing happened!”

“Nothing physical maybe, but your heart betrayed me the moment you caught feelings for someone else.”

Duncan was ready to argue, but they’re once again interrupted by a notification. It was Courtney’s email. She glances at her phone screen then downs her glass of wine.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Wait, who are you talking to?”

“We’re not together anymore, you don’t get to ask me those questions.”

She goes upstairs without another word. She was still upset, clearly emotions can’t fade overnight even though a couple weeks have passed. She decides to calm herself by reading the email.

Courtney,

Sorry to hear that your parents are the same. The soup looks awesome, you should start a foodie Instagram if you haven’t already. I play the guitar too, and the piano. My songs aren’t quite finished yet, but if you still want to hear them… one condition though, it’s gotta be through FaceTime. Can’t have my work stolen before I make it big, kidding of course. But I will give you my number to text me, it’s easier. If you still want to email, I’m all for it too.

-Trent

Seeing his message brightened her mood, but she couldn’t quite shake the pain after her talk with Duncan. Trying to further calm herself, she starts to get ready for bed. Following a routine always made her feel better, then she would answer Trent. She was ready to send him an email, but texting is easier.

C: Hey Trent, it’s Courtney. I don’t have a foodie Instagram, but I am up for FaceTiming at some point. You don’t have to share your music if you’re not comfortable, we can work on our case instead. Besides, it feels kinda weird not knowing who you are.

T: Courtney! Hey! I feel the same, it would be nice to actually see each other since we can’t meet up. I would be happy to share my music, but you’re right, work comes first.

C: Are you busy tomorrow? We can work on the case maybe after lunchtime?

T: Extremely busy, but I should have an opening in between staring at the ceiling and looking out the window. After lunch sounds great!

C: Lol, glad to know I’m not going to interfere with your busy schedule. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, good night.

T: Sweet dreams Courtney.

Sweet dreams? If only, it’s been a while since she’s had a decent dream. Most of her dreams have been about Duncan and Gwen, maybe that’s why she couldn’t stop being upset with him.

#quaratine fic #trentney #LL #WIP #Talking is Hard is a great Walk the Moon album btw

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preciousmetals0 · 4 years

Text

6.6 Million Job Cuts; Luckin Nuts; Zoom’s a Klutz

6.6 Million Job Cuts; Luckin Nuts; Zoom’s a Klutz:

Thanks, I Hate Record-Setting Years

Anyone else tired of records?

I’m not talking about vinyl. My vinyl collection is one of the few things keeping me sane during this quarantine (The White Album, Led Zeppelin IV, Ziggy Stardust, Dark Side of the Moon, Facelift, Paul’s Boutique, World Domination … it gets more eccentric as the list goes on).

No, I’m talking about economic records. We set quite a few of those lately … and not in a good way.

Today, the U.S. Department of Labor reported that a record 6.6 million people filed for unemployment benefits last week. Furthermore, the previous week’s record was revised higher to 3.34 million unemployment claims.

Another record: The two-week total for U.S. unemployment claims comes to just shy of 10 million.

Less than a month ago, claims trickled in at their slowest pace in 50 years. Now this…

Tomorrow, we’ll get an initial look at the official U.S. employment numbers. But the March jobs report won’t show the worst of what’s going on. Economists predict that the U.S. shed 100,000 jobs last month — a bit higher than the ADP figures released on Wednesday, but far from the figures that weekly jobless claims show.

What that means is this: Wall Street has another month to stew in anticipation until we finally get real, hard data on COVID-19’s impact on the U.S. economy. On that front, economists project that the April report will show losses of 10 million jobs or more, with the unemployment rate spiking above 10%.

The Takeaway:

Yesterday, I called the market’s recent rally a head fake. I stand by that statement.

There’s a tenet in sentiment investing that says something like: When the market rallies in the face of overwhelming negativity, that’s a good thing.

You’ve heard the saying “climbing a wall of worry?” That’s what we’re talking about here … or are we?

You see, to truly climb a “wall of worry” investors need to know all the facts. All of the negativity and downside risks need to be priced into the market … into stock prices.

Right now, they aren’t. We don’t know the full extent of COVID-19’s impact on the U.S. economy — or any other economy for that matter.

And yet, the market rallied today in the face of 6.6 million jobless claims and the prospect of 10% unemployment. Wall Street acts as if we already saw the worst that COVID-19 can throw at us … as if Wall Street has all the facts.

Truth be told, if all the facts were known, this would be the time to buy.

But we��re still in the dark regarding a broad swath of the U.S. and global economies.

What I’m trying to say is that, unless you’re a day trader or a speculator, this relief rally is a sucker play. Stocks will fall further as more economic data is reported. We haven’t seen the worst and it will have a negative impact on the market as a whole.

Now is the time to keep your powder dry, hold until you see the whites of their eyes, sit on the sidelines or whatever idiom you prefer. A golden time for investors will come when this is all over, and you don’t want to jump the gun and miss out on real opportunities when they finally arise.

This too shall pass, and Great Stuff readers will be prepared to take full advantage of the new, post-COVID-19 market when it arrives.

Going: Let’s Make a Deal

If you’ve speculated on energy stocks lately, today was your day to make bank!

Behind door No. 3, we have President Trump tweeting the possibility of a truce between Saudi Arabia and Russia:

Just spoke to my friend MBS (Crown Prince) of Saudi Arabia, who spoke with President Putin of Russia, & I expect & hope that they will be cutting back approximately 10 Million Barrels, and maybe substantially more which, if it happens, will be GREAT for the oil & gas industry!

That was all it took to send oil prices soaring 20%. Sector leader ExxonMobil Corp. (NYSE: XOM) jumped 8%, while Royal Dutch Shell PLC (OTC: RYDAF) spiked more than 12%.

The bottom line for the energy market is that someone in the industry needs to do something. We’re quickly running out of places to put the oil we’re producing, leading some analysts to project negative prices for “black gold.”

As with the rest of the market, don’t let this 20% spike lure you in.

Going: “Zoombombing”

From COVID-19 darling investment to pariah in two days? Sound impossible?

Not if you’re Zoom Video Communications Inc. (Nasdaq: ZM). The videoconferencing upstart saw a wellspring of users flooding to its platform amid the coronavirus quarantine. Today, the company announced that daily active users skyrocketed to more than 200 million from just 10 million in December.

That’s a truly massive increase in customers, and it’s one that ZM investors would typically cheer. “Would” is the keyword here. In the past week, Zoom:

However, as seen with Facebook, the general public tends to shake these things off rather quickly — if they’re even aware in the first place.

Additionally, Zoom took measures to quickly address these concerns. It stopped sharing data with Facebook, started work on a patch for Mac security and issued guidelines on how to avoid “zoombombing.”

The bottom line for investors here is that Zoom is quickly becoming the next verb for videoconferencing, just as “Skype me, bro!” was before it.

If the company can overcome these latest privacy issues, Zoom has massive potential. It could become the de facto solution in videoconferencing, which should last long after the quarantines are over.

Gone: Luckin Nuts

Misconduct? Fabricating transactions?

Someone’s had a bit too much caffeine. Luckin Coffee Inc. (Nasdaq: LK) is in hot water today, after it announced that it began to investigate “misconduct, including fabricating certain transactions” carried out in fiscal 2019.

The company appointed a special committee of independent directors, suspending Chief Operating Officer Jian Liu along with other staff implicated in the misconduct. In a statement, Luckin said:

As a result, investors should no longer rely upon the Company’s previous financial statements and earning releases for the nine months ended September 30, 2019 and the two quarters starting April 1, 2019 and ended September 30, 2019, including the prior guidance on net revenues from products for the fourth quarter of 2019, and other communications relating to these consolidated financial statements.

That’s not just crazy, that’s Luckin nuts. You can basically throw out all of last year’s financial statements, earnings and guidance for the Chinese bean water boiler.

Combine this with the Chinese coronavirus quarantines, and it’s no wonder why LK stock is down more than 82% from its January peak. Bargain hunters beware, LK should eventually rebound, but there could be more downside in store before all this is over.

In this ever-changing world of kooky coffee conspiracies, there’s one thing I can always look forward to: your emails!

You Marco, I Polo … it’s Reader Feedback time again.

The Long Run

No rescue bill is goin to save America and its people unless and until the U.S lockdown for at least a month just like its friend India. America just needs to stop all commercial activities. its offices, malls, shopping centers and trading makers.

[…]

This is a long term investment that U.S needs to invest in right now … Just think beyond markets. Be human. Market was not there before you and will not be after you. Only thing that matters is us as a species. We can still act before it’s too late and give a better future and markets to our future generations.

— Abhinav D.

Abhinav, well said! Forgive me for keeping your email brief here, but I wholeheartedly agree with you.

Just last week, Great Stuff remarked that you can pass a spending bill worth however much you want — keeping some oil on the economy’s spinning gears — but that won’t rehire the 6.6 million people who are now jobless.

That said, the people who most need to hear your point won’t think they’re the problem. I tell you, the stubbornness that stay-at-home orders have inflamed in some people … why, it’s like an old man trying to return soup at a deli.

Short and Sweet

— Dairold W.

I see your point, and raise you this: 42.

Buy inverse ETFs.

— Louis L.

I must give due diligence where due diligence is due. You, sir, are cleary a tried-and-true Great Stuff reader! Why, we recommended an inverse exchange-traded fund (ETF) — the ProShares Short S&P 500 (NYSE: SH) — back on March 16. Kudos to you, Louis…

It’s a veritable hootenanny (that’s a technical term … in Kentucky, at least) of risk tolerance in these markets, and I should’ve known some Great Stuff readers are eager to bear the storm.

From early responders in yesterday’s Poll of the Week, roughly a quarter of you are picking gems from dirt in the beaten-down energy sector, with another 11.5% braving the biotech boom. (If any actual COVID-19 relief comes from the dozens of these biotech stocks turned overnight vaccine experts … some of you will have a field day!)

Yet, by and large, nearly half of you are bargain hunting in emerging tech trends. From 5G to the Internet of Things, I can’t blame your enthusiasm — trust me, faster connections can’t reach my neck of the woods soon enough!

Now, if long-term, high-growth tech trends are your thing, Ian King’s research in Automatic Fortunes could be perfect for you. Not only does Ian find the right tipping-point trends that should outlive the virus shenanigans, but he also pinpoints each trend’s standout leader.

It’s that simple and the 5G explosion is no different.

Click here to learn more about Ian King’s tech research!

Have you written in yet? What’s stopping you? Drop me a line at [email protected] and let me know how you’re doing out there in this crazy market.

That’s a wrap for today. But if you’re still craving more Great Stuff, you can check us out on social media: Facebook and Twitter.

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Editor, Great Stuff

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goldira01 · 4 years

Link

Thanks, I Hate Record-Setting Years

Anyone else tired of records?

No, I’m talking about economic records. We set quite a few of those lately … and not in a good way.

Another record: The two-week total for U.S. unemployment claims comes to just shy of 10 million.

Less than a month ago, claims trickled in at their slowest pace in 50 years. Now this…

The Takeaway:

Yesterday, I called the market’s recent rally a head fake. I stand by that statement.

There’s a tenet in sentiment investing that says something like: When the market rallies in the face of overwhelming negativity, that’s a good thing.

You’ve heard the saying “climbing a wall of worry?” That’s what we’re talking about here … or are we?

You see, to truly climb a “wall of worry” investors need to know all the facts. All of the negativity and downside risks need to be priced into the market … into stock prices.

Right now, they aren’t. We don’t know the full extent of COVID-19’s impact on the U.S. economy — or any other economy for that matter.

Truth be told, if all the facts were known, this would be the time to buy.

But we’re still in the dark regarding a broad swath of the U.S. and global economies.

This too shall pass, and Great Stuff readers will be prepared to take full advantage of the new, post-COVID-19 market when it arrives.

Going: Let’s Make a Deal

If you’ve speculated on energy stocks lately, today was your day to make bank!

Behind door No. 3, we have President Trump tweeting the possibility of a truce between Saudi Arabia and Russia:

That was all it took to send oil prices soaring 20%. Sector leader ExxonMobil Corp. (NYSE: XOM) jumped 8%, while Royal Dutch Shell PLC (OTC: RYDAF) spiked more than 12%.

As with the rest of the market, don’t let this 20% spike lure you in.

Going: “Zoombombing”

From COVID-19 darling investment to pariah in two days? Sound impossible?

That’s a truly massive increase in customers, and it’s one that ZM investors would typically cheer. “Would” is the keyword here. In the past week, Zoom:

However, as seen with Facebook, the general public tends to shake these things off rather quickly — if they’re even aware in the first place.

The bottom line for investors here is that Zoom is quickly becoming the next verb for videoconferencing, just as “Skype me, bro!” was before it.

If the company can overcome these latest privacy issues, Zoom has massive potential. It could become the de facto solution in videoconferencing, which should last long after the quarantines are over.

Gone: Luckin Nuts

Misconduct? Fabricating transactions?

The company appointed a special committee of independent directors, suspending Chief Operating Officer Jian Liu along with other staff implicated in the misconduct. In a statement, Luckin said:

That’s not just crazy, that’s Luckin nuts. You can basically throw out all of last year’s financial statements, earnings and guidance for the Chinese bean water boiler.

In this ever-changing world of kooky coffee conspiracies, there’s one thing I can always look forward to: your emails!

You Marco, I Polo … it’s Reader Feedback time again.

The Long Run

[…]

— Abhinav D.

Abhinav, well said! Forgive me for keeping your email brief here, but I wholeheartedly agree with you.

Short and Sweet

— Dairold W.

I see your point, and raise you this: 42.

Buy inverse ETFs.

— Louis L.

It’s a veritable hootenanny (that’s a technical term … in Kentucky, at least) of risk tolerance in these markets, and I should’ve known some Great Stuff readers are eager to bear the storm.

It’s that simple and the 5G explosion is no different.

Click here to learn more about Ian King’s tech research!

Have you written in yet? What’s stopping you? Drop me a line at [email protected] and let me know how you’re doing out there in this crazy market.

That’s a wrap for today. But if you’re still craving more Great Stuff, you can check us out on social media: Facebook and Twitter.

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Editor, Great Stuff

#Timor Invest

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tinkerbellafan · 6 years

Text

Chapter 8

Sitting on the swings watching a group of children running around with her friends. He looks down and recognizes the Flash Gordon sneakers on his feet. The houses surrounding the playground feel like home.

“Come on Cas I bet you can’t catch me!!!” The red-headed girl runs around him teasing as she makes her way across the playground. He jumps down to chase after her but somehow not managing to catch up.

“Come on Cas you can do it!!” She calls out to him.

A voice he barely remembers fades out into white noise

“Come on Cas, you can do it, you’re a fighter, you’re strong. Come back to me, baby.”

Cas slowly starts to fade back into consciousness

“I don’t know what to do Charlie!! Its been days he won't wake up…..no…. those files are sealed for a reason!!! Charlie don’t you dare!! They said all we can do is wait, the specialist already flew in.” Dean took a few centering breaths; Charlie was saying everything to get him to calm him down on the other end of the line. When they finally hung up Dean flung his cell phone against the wall. “Damn it!!!” Cas could hear his husband falling apart but wasn’t quite in control of his body enough to open his eyes just yet.

Dean plopped down in a chair somewhere in the room, the mumbled prayers let him know that Dean was somewhere to his right.

Cas summoned every bit of strength in his body and forced his eyes open just a bit. “Dean?” He barely managed to make a sound over the beeping of the many monitors.

“Cas?!? Oh, angel, you came back to me…” Dean caressed his husbands face afraid to touch as if he were made of glass.

“Always” Cas attempted a smile but his body was weak. Looking into his husbands' eyes he could see so much pain, desperation, and love.

It was in this heavy moment that his nurse barged into the room, noticing the change in his vitals she had to check on him.

“Oh sweetie you’re awake, thank goodness. If you didn’t wake up soon I was going to have to bring in an extra bed and IV for that husband of yours. He hasn’t left you longer than it takes to use the bathroom and barely ate since we brought you in.” The nurse was gentle in all of her checks gingerly moving Cas’ limbs in the daily exercises to help with his circulation.

“You rest up now, your doctor will be in any moment to check up on you now that you’re awake.” She fluffed the pillows under his head, tucked the blankets around his body and on her way out, she pulled a chocolate pudding out of her pocket with a spoon and handed them to Dean.

“That better be empty when I get back” Her tone left no room for no debate, but it was said in love.

“Yes ma’am” Dean nodded with a smile on his face. Somehow his 6’1 husband managed to look like a 6yr old boy at that moment.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, Cas. I came home that night ready to apologize and I saw you laid out….I thought….it doesn’t matter what I thought, you’re awake now.” Dean placed his hand over Castiels' and gave a slight squeeze finally taking in that Cas had woken up and was still with him.

Shortly after, Dr. Cain came sweeping into the room looking at some labs that had been run earlier and checking the different monitors that surrounded Cas’ bed.

“Thought we lost you for a minute there…” Cain actually has a smile on his face trying to bring levity to the seriousness of the situation.

“So it seems that medication we gave you is no longer an option. Somehow your body decided to reject it and that increased the rate of deterioration of your kidney. Now I'm not gonna sugar coat it, this does mean we should think about more aggressive measures.”

Cain looked at his patient while continuing the conversation about the options they had left before a transplant was their only option. Dean listened as intently as his emotions would let him, but even then all he could hear was transplant and death. He knew that Cain had already submitted Cas for the transplant list, they just weren’t going to tell Cas and cause him to stress.

Unknown to Castiel, they did as Cain and Sam insisted when Cas was first brought in and all of their friends had already submitted to testing for compatibility as possible donors. Should it come to that, they would all willingly go under the knife for a dear friend.

“So.. a few days huh?” Castiels' first words after Cain left the room. To him it had only been a few minutes, one second he was going upstairs to the bedroom, the next he was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a billion machines.

“yea, its been three days, everybody has come to visit you. I’m sure Sam and Charlie will be back later to drag me away to get food now that you’ve opened your eyes. Jeeze Cas…” Dean let out a breath he’d been holding since Cas had been admitted. His eyes focused on a spot on the wall as the story continued. “I came back to apologize for being a class A jerk and storming out like some drama queen and there you were, just laid out on the stairs. It didn’t even look like you were breathing. I held it together long enough to call 911, I apparently called Sam at some point cause he showed up when the ambulance did.” Cas tried to focus on the words of his husband instead of the broken man that held his hand.

“Dean Winchester I told you that pudding ought to be gone. Now you sit down here and eat.” The nurse walked back in with a tray of soup broth for Castiel to attempt. Next to the bowl of soup was a sandwich and chips, no doubt more food she planned to force on Dean.

“Yes, Missouri.” Dean twisted to the table behind his chair and retrieved the pudding and spoon taking a big bite.

“Now Castiel sweetie I brought you some broth to sip on. Eat as much as you can and when you’re ready, you’ve got a few people that want to say hello.” Missouri brushed her fingers through Castiels' matted hair after helping him sit up in the bed. “Yes ma’am.” Cas smiled at how easily this woman warmed his heart and at the same time, seems to terrify his ‘fearless’ husband.

It wasn’t until the next day that Castiel let his friends visit, opting to spend his first-day conscious being coddled by his husband. Dean needed to feel useful and they needed that time alone.

Sam popped in on his lunch break to make sure Jess wasn’t smothering him. Bobby and Ellen came by and dropped off food for him and Dean because according to Ellen “Hospital food is bland crap and you boys need food with flavor.”

Charlie was his last visitor of the day coming by in the late afternoon

“Cas buddy how are you feeling today?” Charlie slid into one of the chairs next to his bed. She pulled out some of his favorite novels from her bag along with his laptop. She knew that sick or not, if the urge to write hit, he’d need to get it out somehow.

“I’m fine Charlie.” He hadn’t even looked up from the stack of books now covering his tray.

“We both know that’s not exactly true Castiel.” Charlie pulled out her own sketchpad and charcoal pencils. Their time was always spent embracing their artistic sides, not always deep in conversation but peaceful coexistence.

“That’s what people say isn’t it? I can’t very well say I’m sure I’m circling the drain because my kidneys hate me and they’ll never find a donor to match me.” Anger and pain were laced in every word. This, the one and only time he spoke his fear out loud, to the one friend he knew wouldn’t think he’d gone off the deep end.

“Well, Cas….I guess you’re just gonna have to be like the smartest character in the Harry Potter books and kick it in the ass like Hermione.” Charlie giggled at her statement, this was always an argument between them. She always sided with Hermione and he always said Neville was underappreciated for all he did. The distraction was exactly what her friend needed and even though Cas knew exactly what she was doing. He couldn’t help but be drawn in and away from his own destructive thoughts.

#supernatural #fanfiction #Destiel #dean winchester #castiel #angst with a happy ending #mechanic dean #sick castiel #doctor sam #doctor cain

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