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creatiview · 2 years ago

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[ad_1] The opinions expressed by contributors are their own and do not necessarily represent the views of RedState.com. Joe Biden and the Biden family along with Democrat acolytes and political hacks have been running cover for Hunter Biden for what seems like, forever. Hunter is a past and present combination of a degenerate liar, a drug-addicted loser, a philandering sexual deviant, a child-support dodging jerk, and the idiot bag-man for the Biden family but his protectors have told America that his life of grifting and using his last name have nothing to do with the “Big Guy”. His protectors run the gamut from intelligence operatives willing to lie about Hunter’s laptop claiming it was a deep-fake Russian disinformation op, to political hacks, dressed as journalists. Take Glenn Kessler for example. On Thursday, Kessler mounted his mighty steed and launched a 2,000-word “fact-check” in which he defended Hunter Biden’s email on Burisma as nothing more than Hunter Biden doing some deep-deep research on his subject matter, pulling information from multiple news sources. Kessler began his defense of the castle with a reminder that Hunter is a Georgetown and Yale Law graduate and must have picked up some skills along the way. Kessler soft peddles Hunter’s multiple and well-documented grossnesses and abject incompetence with the following: “Hunter Biden has had a checkered life, marked by substance-abuse problems. But he is also a graduate of Georgetown University and Yale Law School. One can presume he acquired some research skills at those institutions. He was also well-connected, with contacts he could draw on for information. In the email he refers to possibly hiring a firm to provide information “that’s not available through a Google search and some phone calls” — suggesting that that is what he relied on for writing the email. Wait -what? Hunter mentions something one cannot “Google” and that suggests the rest of his email was the result of Googling? Really? The email in question was written the same year that Hunter was discharged for drug use. For years, Hunter was a drug-addicted useless waste of air. When he wasn’t just a drug addict he was banging hookers and pole dancers and usually doing both at the same time. The guy that Kessler is telling us must have acquired some research skills was, around the same time, abusing drugs and cheating on his wife. And the same “smartest guy” Joe Biden knows was leaving his laptop with a repair shop and forgot he had left it there. Yeah, Glenn, Hunter is quite the history of independent reasoned thinking — a real first-world genius who must have employed the patience of Job to read 20 articles you cite as evidence. Then Hunter summarized them, then cobbled his 22-point email together — all by himself. Maybe in-between smoking crack, but all by himself. Or an alternate theory? Hunter Biden has been a lazy and mostly worthless human waste can most of his life. And maybe, just possibly, Hunter took the lazy route and looked at some classified document(s) and did some cheating? Kessler says no way – it’s clearly the result of a deep-thinking researching veteran law dog like Hunter. The clear-headed Yale Law graduate must have “Googled” all of that on his own. Kessler gave the alternate theory that Hunter wouldn’t have done such an awful thing as cribbing classified material “three Pinocchios” because who would think that Hunter Biden would, or could stoop so low as to crib from his father’s illegally stashed classified documents? Right? The guy who has admitted to buying crack from a homeless addict would never do such a thing. I mean it would be so out of character for Hunter. In related “Hunter Biden is a low-life creep” news, as we reported previously, The Daily Mail has a new story that might shock hacks like Glenn Kessler but it will shock no one else. The story details how Hunter Biden hadn’t paid one of his legal assistants what she was owed. In January 2019, the unnamed

woman emailed Hunter and asked why she hadn’t been paid for the previous month and why her health insurance wasn’t “active.” Two months passed, then Hunter Apple-paid her $1,000 for “small stuff.” He reportedly demanded phone sex for her paycheck. That was in March 2019 just two months before he married his current wife. From the story: “I will bake [sic] up for back pay,” he texted her on March 7, 2019. “You have to make up for back work.” After he sent $2,000 more, she agreed, and Biden set the terms: “The rule has to be no talk of anything but sex and we must be naked and we have to do whatever the other person asks within reason.” The texts go on and Biden continues to send her money as the two have sex over the video-chat app. That woman handled important tasks that included Burisma documents for Hunter to sign. She was one of four staff members Hunter had sex with. Glenn Kessler should fact-check this latest “Hunter is a low-life” revelation. Maybe Hunter was just doing research? Kessler might produce another 2,000 words of slobbering support, maybe claiming that “phone sex” isn’t really “sex” like Bill Clinton’s assertions that a blowjob isn’t really sex. Maybe Kessler can find a way to defend Hunter’s apparent extortion of sex-for-a-paycheck as not really illegal because the sex wasn’t in person and the money Hunter sent was electronic — so that wasn’t “real” either. Maybe Kessler will give the above, “three Pinocchios” too, because the information revealed by the Daily Mail comes from the same laptop that Kessler has labeled “alleged” and, after all, Kessler’s chums in “intelligence” said that the laptop was Russian disinformation op. So, the case is closed, right? Heck let’s give all of it four Pinocchios. Hunter is clearly a saint. His dad has said he’s “the smartest man he knows”. Likely, he was just doing research. I kinda believe that he’s the smartest man Joe knows. Joe’s not terribly bright. Trending on RedState Video [ad_2] Source link

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bluegarners · 4 years ago

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The Call

Later in life, he’ll understand it was the void that spoke to him. Right now though, it screams in Dick’s ears.

When he was younger, maybe between the age of five or six, he heard it. The particular wording wasn’t exactly correct, he never actually heard anything, there was no sound or noise to hear, but he understood it.

It was a call. A command. And whenever it surfaced, it was loud and it was in his face until he listened and did whatever it asked of him.

When he first heard it, he was with his parents, practicing for their next performance. It was normal and peaceful. But when he mounted the bars and was reaching out to grasp the swinging rope before him, it spoke and tugged gently.

Stop.

At the time, he hadn’t known what it was. It was soft, quiet even, but it had startled him enough to the point where his grip slackened, and he was falling. The feel of air rushing past you, whistling in your ear like a taunt as the world laughed; the first time you feel it, you never forget it.

He was lucky. It was only a practice and the safety net had caught him before gravity had had its way with him. His parents had been frantic, leaping down to help him and reassure themselves. It had been scary seeing a Grayson fall. Graysons flew, toyed with the idea of plummeting like it was merely a myth. To see one shot down, so suddenly, so quickly, and so young, it was horrifying.

Dick did not perform that night.

When his parents died, flashes of red, yellow, and green, it whispered again. It tickled against his ears, brushed against his hair, as he looked down at the brokenness of their bodies, displayed and framed with pools of black against the sawdust.

Follow.

It had only been a whisper, just a breath, and he had dismissed it. The shrieks of the crowd below, the shouts of the ringmaster demanding for everyone to remain calm, his fellow performers stock still like statues. It was easy to dismiss a whisper when there was chaos. When the police came and the sirens ceased their wailing, everything was silent and weightless, like the world had forgotten what noise was.

When the social worker told him that he could not continue traveling with the circus and was instead to remain in Gotham, be “placed” in an orphanage like he was some object, some discarded thing that needed to be relocated, he was angry. He was upset. He was baffled. He was ten.

In those few months he spent with the other dozens of “placed” children, Dick Grayson was a lot of things, but none of them what he wanted to be. There was an endless buzz deep within his bones, a steady thrum in his head that would not dissipate no matter how many nights he snuck out or how many purse snatchers and petty thieves he beat with his fists. The kids he roomed with, ate with, shared a bathroom with, knew he was a circus freak. That he was some weirdo who could perform tricks on command like a dog. That the people who he had once called family were all thousands of miles away from Gotham and buried in some nameless cemetery with plain gravestones.

One day, as he lay in his rotted mattress, the nagging, ceaseless, ever present urge to flee covering his entire being, another social worker came by and told him he was going to be taken away by Bruce Wayne. That the man had offered, in a generous and beautiful display of sympathy and desire to help, to take the ten year old in as his ward. That he better behave and thank the man when he came to pick him up and smile for the cameras when they flashed in his face.

Dick was confused. He was desperate. He was grateful to be rescued from the looming and smelly walls. Mostly, though, he was indifferent.

Arriving at the Wayne Mansion was overwhelming and scary. It was absurdly large, immaculately clean, and much too empty. Most of his first week getting “settled”, because that’s what you have to do when you relocate and get removed, you must settle for what you have, was spent with the singular butler. Dick found it impressive that the older man was in charge of maintaining every detail in the massive home, but he soon saw reason for it.

Bruce was never there. He was always working, always away, and too busy to properly help “settle” his new ward, of which he had yet to explain. Why? Why him? Why this random orphaned boy out of the other hundreds of more pitiable kids?

Alfred tried his best to explain it to him, that Bruce saw himself in Dick because they had both become orphaned at such a young age, and god, didn’t that sting? To be reminded in such a stark manner? To be told his sole purpose in occupying space in the Wayne household was because of a mutual trauma?

And then one night, it makes sense. He discovers the secret to Bruce Wayne and his near constant absence. And he wants in.

When it comes time, after three days of convincing, a week of searching and preparing, and two days staking out, Dick is ready. The mask he wears hides his eyes, hides the fury, the hatred, the absolute glee he feels as his fist drives into the man who took everything from him. Over and over again, and he thinks he’s smiling when he pauses for a moment to truly look into the bloody and disfigured face he’s beating.

Do it.

It had been months since he’d last heard it, last felt it, but he thinks he’s ready to listen. No more startling, no more ignoring. In fact, he might even embrace it.

There’s a batarang in his hand before he’s even processed it all, reeling back his arm to deliver the final blow, to avenge his parents, avenge the life that could’ve been his but was instead snatched from underneath him all because of some stupid money. Some fucking paper bills.

Do it.

“Robin, that’s enough.”

The weapon falls out of his grasp as if he’d been burned by it, getting up and off the unconscious man. The gloves he’s wearing are dripping, his skin hot from the red that splatters his front. Beneath the dock lighting, it almost looks black.

It begins yelling at him, pushing against his mind for every step he takes away from the misshapen body tied to the lamp post. It goes away eventually, its screams fading away into the background as days pass by. The endless thrum in him stops, the buzzing static in his bones melting away as he realizes how tired he is.

How awfully tired and done he is.

He holes himself in his much too large room, coming out only to eat and prove he is alive. For two weeks, he keeps the same routine. He tells nothing of his thoughts from that night, nor wishes to. Alfred attempts to keep him company, assuring the ten year old that he has someone to talk to, but his lips are sealed and his head is wailing.

Finally, he emerges, and after awkward greetings, apologies, and long suffering sighs, he gets to work. Training under the Batman, becoming yet another symbol to Gotham in the form of a bird his mother loved, it keeps his head on straight. For the first time in a long time, Dick is strangely optimistic and happy.

Alfred tells him that his smiles brighten both his and Bruce’s day, even if the latter says nothing of it. He learns that Bruce, even out of the cowl and under the name Wayne, is still a very stoic and quiet man, even cold at times. But Dick reminds himself that by letting him become Robin, by letting him work by his side and live in his home, this was the billionaire’s way of showing he cared. On the good days, when Dick could get the reserved man to smile or even chuckle a tiny bit, he was a ball of light and energy, doubling down on his efforts to keep Alfred and Bruce happy with him.

Because if they grew tired of him, or his presence no longer brought joy, what would they do with him? Under a legal obligation and public image, Bruce couldn’t get rid of him so soon, but there were worse things. Like taking Robin away. Taking his only connection, his only outlet, away. Letting the buzz and the ache return.

The day he debuted officially as Batman’s sidekick, his new partner, Robin, was one of the happiest days Dick thinks he’s ever had. It’s a slow night, a slow patrol, but it’s amazing. Everything he could have ever dreamed of. When they come to rest, perched on some high rise skyscraper looking over the dingy city, Dick breathes in the smog and smiles. Next to him, Batman stands, silent and brooding, but even Robin knows that he is satisfied as well. Below them, down, down, down below, there is the city life. The homeless, the hookers, the drug dealers, the thieves, the ordinary civilians. From where they perch, the people look like ants. So tiny and minuscule.

He’s seen this view before. Seen it in his trial runs through the city. Seen it from lower buildings. The air is thinner and just that amount colder, the wind is whistling in his ears, brushing against his hair, laughing. Taunting.

The longer he stares downward, the longer his eyes remain trained on the perhaps only dozen people below, the longer he allows the call to beckon him, the harder his heart beats. The louder the wind screams in his ears.

You never forget it after the first time.

Jump.

It’s the first time it has echoed so loudly, so demandingly.

Batman turns his head to stare at the boy, watching as his feet shuffle and his back hunches. There’s a strong gust, powerful enough to make his cape billow wildly, and suddenly, Robin is leaping.

Robin is plummeting.

There are no second thoughts as he fires his grapple hook, jumping down after the boy who falls so serenely. The wind bites at his face, Gotham is cold tonight, and as he yanks at the boy’s arm, securing him stiffly to his side, Batman feels his stomach churn. He hadn’t thought of this outcome.

Later, when they return to the Manor, Dick goes straight to his room, shutting the door and locking it. Bruce stays in the cave, troubled, unsure, and mildly terrified.

“I was just playing around, B. It was no big deal.”

“What you just did was reckless and unnecessary.”

“I was gonna catch myself.”

“Were you?”

Bruce still isn’t sure what exactly had happened. The boy hadn’t shown any alarming tendencies before. Red flags all but absent. Even after consulting Alfred, both adults were stumped. Dick was happy, right?

What bothered him the most was that Robin hadn’t even reached for his grapple. There was no fear. No thrill. Nothing in his actions or posture or face that would indicate he jumped for the fun of it.

He leaped and did nothing.

He just fell.

Dick gets “suspended” for three weeks after. Bruce never said anything, never implied a suspension or anything of the sort, but Dick knew. He stays in the Manor with Alfred, goes to school, and is quite normal. He never attended a proper school whilst traveling with the circus, and he can’t say he likes the atmosphere.

He knows he’s been forgiven when Bruce joins them for dinner, asking what he’d learned that day and investing actual thought into the conversation. When they go out for patrol, and god, does it feel good to be out again, Robin stays close to Batman and Batman keeps an eye on Robin. All goes well and nothing big happens. It’s a good night.

As time passes on, and Gotham finally learns of their new hero, all thoughts of Robin’s leap vanish. Even the villains note how chipper the smaller vigilante is beside the ever dark and stoic Bat. There are always comments about his age, speculations on why a child would be strung along for the ride. Batman ignores them and Robin sticks out his tongue. Simple.

Months pass and Dick realizes that Batman doesn’t do holidays. Bruce Wayne hosts galas and attends them, but Batman does not. When Christmas Eve arrives, and with it the seventh gala of the month, Dick tries his best to remain collected. As Bruce Wayne’s ward, he has to maintain an image, but there is an empty feeling inside when Christmas morning comes and there is no real festive cheer. A simple breakfast and a normal day accompany it, and even Christmas dinner is no more than a nice ham and some plum pudding.

Dick cries that night. He’s never missed his parents more.

Spring arrives, and so does March 20th. Honestly, Dick hadn’t been paying attention, a small part of him perhaps even ignoring the date existed, but he’s forced to reckon with it when Alfred delivers him breakfast in bed and a small card that reads Happy Birthday.

He is eleven now. It is his first birthday, ever, where he has not been woken up by a hug pile and loud, borderline obnoxious singing from his parents. When Alfred leaves to let Dick get dressed, because “I’m taking you out shopping for a nice suit; Master Bruce has a pleasant dinner planned,” , he takes extra long in the shower, begging the hot water to do something about the numbness that’s closing in. He does not cry, he’s promised himself not to do that anymore, but he feels hollow.

Dick isn’t sure he likes his birthday anymore. It doesn’t feel the same. Not with the lavish presents, the fancy food, the primness of other rich people wishing him well and congratulations.

He wants his parents.

He wants them to smother him and take too many pictures.

He wants to laugh and complain when his face gets shoved into a slice of cake.

He wants to hold them tightly and tell them he loves them.

Instead, Dick says thank you and smiles brightly.

Later that night, when they’re back in the Manor, safe from the flashing cameras and intrusive questions,

“What’s it like to be the ward of a billionaire?”

“What were birthdays like in the circus?”

“Is it hard adjusting to normal life?”

Dick climbs out of his window and sits on the roof. Even as far away from the city as they are, light pollution steals the stars away. The sky is cloudy, the moon hidden, and Dick has never felt so small. So alone. The world is vast, larger than even he can stretch his imagination, and somewhere out there, Haly’s Circus was traveling, performing.

They must be thinking of him, right? At least one of them must remember him. He grew up in the circus, grew up around “strange” people, people he called family. He loved them, so they had to have loved him back, right? At least, once in a while, be thinking of him.

Or maybe. Maybe, he was just another act. Another stage performance. Dazzling, flashy, and brief. Time ran out, the clock struck twelve, and the show was over. Curtains close, they say goodbye, and that’s it.

The Graysons were never supposed to be permanent.

He teeters, four stories above the ground below, and breathes. Balancing at the tip of some outdated and strangely well fit spike, Dick feels the wind come and brush against his face. Is this what he’ll always think of when the air gets cold? Of cheering crowds and brightly colored outfits? The cheers turning into screams of horror, sawdust becoming saturated with a red so black it looks like some blank and open void?

Fly.

I’m scared to, he thinks. The horizon ahead of him is endless, boundless, but the ground beneath him, just barely sixty feet away, is so close. An abrupt stop.

Fly.

When he tries to breathe in again, his lungs spasm and a short and quiet hiccup escapes instead. For the first time, Dick is scared of flying. Scared of what will happen if he falls. Scared that there will be nothing waiting for him except something cold and hard, left in another unmarked graveyard.

Scared that no one will care if he falls.

But, it keeps telling him to go. To jump. To leap. To take flight. It’s loud and annoying and it won’t leave him alone.

He shuffles a bit, keeping his eyes fixed on the Gotham city lights. They become blurry, too obscured in his tears, and that scares him even more to think that if he falls, he won’t have the comfort of light to guide him.

Fly.

The suit he wore to dinner is starchy against his skin, the feel of pressed fabric and metal buttons stark. He feels out of place, even by himself where no is to judge him except the sky and the open air. The jacket is too thick, too warm, and he thinks that if he were to take it off, peel back the heavy layer and throw it away, he thinks he might actually be able to do it.

Actually fly.

“Dick?”

Fly.

The breeze plays with his hair, untied shoelaces and unkempt tie fluttering. They tease him in their effortless play. How tangibly wonderful must it be to play with the wind, forgetting gravity altogether?

There’s a shadow behind him, the moon peeking out and casting a soft glow upon the moor. It’s a heavy but solid presence, the shadow that stands behind him, and somehow, he can feel the concern emanating off of them. Sometimes, he forgets that Bruce is still fairly young. Only twenty six.

Fly.

“I’m scared,” Dick says aloud, still teetering, still balancing, still deciding. Still only eleven himself.

Fly.

“What are you scared of?”

It’s genuine, nothing mocking or patronizing, but Dick struggles to come up with an answer. Bruce is close behind him, maybe only a few feet away, tense and ready to make a grab for him. Ready to leap and snatch him out of the air again.

Fly.

Dick wishes it would shut up. Wishes the thing would go away, out of his mind, away from his head. It always sounds so nice when he’s by himself, when there’s no one else around, and it's just whispering into his ear. Speaking of reassurance and comfort. When there are others, when more people arrive, it gets so angry. So loud. Demanding. He doesn’t like it. He hates it. It never leaves him alone.

He wants it to die. He wants it to shrivel up and never come back. He wants to…

“I’m scared of flying,” Dick finally answers, stumbling away from the edge and back onto the roof. “I don’t want to fly. I don’t want- I can’t fly anymore.”

Bruce’s arms wrap around him, secure and tight and grounding. They hold him in place, even as the wind still laughs in his ear, whisking away leaves and letting them drift gently as if to say, This is what you’re missing out on.

“That’s okay,” Bruce rumbles, voice deep and perhaps somber. “You don’t have to fly if you don’t want to.”

Fly.

“I don’t. I don’t want to.”

And Bruce nods like he understands what Dick is talking about, like he understands the sudden fright of flight. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t and is merely humoring Dick. It doesn’t matter much though, the security of his hold enough to stabilize and keep him attached to the roof.

Enough to make him stop shaking out of fear of accidentally flying.

Enough to quell the screams.

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years ago

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Behold another Lost Boys holiday special! It was between this and Valentine’s day, but honestly I love writing Christmas specials, its such a cozy time despite the high suicide rates, but lets not get into that. A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @imlostinsantacarla FOR HELPING ME EDIT MY FINAL DRAFT!

Fun Fact! My husband, David (yes, that is actually his name) actually does have the bah humbug hat I mention in the head canons. He’s a heavy metal goth so when I found it at the store I had to get it for him. And you just know if our David found that, he wouldn’t be able to resist it!

Christmas with the Boys

Alright, so the whole touchy, feely and mushy feelings that surround even the topic of Christmas time is not something any of the boys will ever openly admit to enjoying. After all, they see themselves as these bad ass brutal killers who thrive off of death instead of holding hands and caroling with the goodie goodies of this coastal town.

Yet, it's challenging for them not to get sucked into the glitz and glam of the holiday season. Everything is a big deal in Santa Carla. Dia De Los Muertos, Halloween, Thanksgiving- everything! But especially Christmas.

Christmas in Santa Carla dwarfs the frenzy craze of Halloween. The entirety of the boardwalk is decked out with red and green lights that are tightly wound around palm trees, red bulbous bows are wrapped tightly around street lamps, the reds and whites of velvety fabric swirl down the posts, creating the effect of candy canes. All the store windows are painted to appear frosted, or covered with painted snowmen whilst several rooftops are covered with white felt in which mimics the texture and sight of snow. Even the boats in the harbour are all extravagantly decorated in a sea of lights that parade around brightly at night in every color imaginable.

Between the dates of the 30th of November all the way to the 24th of December the city of Santa Carla hosts a plethora of wondrous events in it's annual Holiday Festival. Large green, white and red kiosks are erected, selling a wide range of baubles and treats, from delectable chocolate coated rice krispy Santa Clauses, elf candy apples caked in a plethora of dark chocolate and peppermint, to a variety of Holiday hats, masks and even hand made costumes by the many local artists. Even hand carved candles in wondrous scents of pine, mint, or spice.

Currently, David possesses a black fur Santa hat which he acquired on a night out that boasts the words "Bah Humbug" proudly sewn over the front. It's the only holiday attire he'll even humor. Last time Marko attempted to place reindeer antlers on his head, David had set them on fire roasting atop a pan of chestnuts. Now it's not to say that he's a grinch persay. Rather, the complex and intense emotions that come hand in hand with Christmas can leave him perpetually indifferent at best, disdainful at worst. The whole occasion leaves him displeased. After all, he was an orphan who had been almost eagerly abandoned by his hooker mother left to fend for himself from the beginning, and of course never met his father. Even she could not identify which of her many clients may have been responsible. Most of his mortal life he had lived as a street rat, barely making ends meet by picking the pockets of tourists and Santa Carla citizens oblivious to the true dangers of the lower side of town. The rich and uppity classes who often snubbed their entitled noses his way would never suspect as he lurks between alleyways, leaving them cornered at knife point. It was scarce that he ever did see a kind face in the sea of those who had little interest for anyone that was not themselves. Back then it was rather uncommon for anyone to step outside their own little lives, which led to most interactions, outside of the other boys, having been met with great hostility, thus he had learned to be just as equally hostile in turn. Even the mere thought of anyone suddenly dawning a false kindness due to a certain time of year simply agitated David. It rattled him to the very core in a way very few other things did. Why bother with the lies? Couldn't people just face the very basic fact that they weren't nearly as charitable as they often deemed themselves to be? I mean, the young man had seen firsthand a family having previously snubbed a dirty homeless man with appalled disdain at the sight of his muddied clothes and dirt stained skin, only to then begin volunteering at a soup kitchen to purge whatever guilt they carried on their conscience once the holiday season began. The whole ordeal was pitiful! Nevertheless, - more so for Paul and Marko's sakes than his own -, he did humor these traditions amongst the holiday's festivities. Ruining a good time just wasn't his style. Unless they started fucking singing.

Most traditions David could tolerate, some he even enjoyed slightly; although he would never be caught dead admitting something as embarrassing as that! However, he just couldn't stand Christmas carols! They were the bain to his immortal existence. The repetitive nature of these overly cheery jingles left him covering his ears lest they nest in his brain leaving him humming the same damn melody for weeks. This was the case because the dynamic duo of dumbasses were well aware of his hatred for Rudolph the Red Nosed fuckin' roadkill! Stupid red nosed abomination.

“OOOOOOH-,” Paul begins with cheerful mischief.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” David seethes through tightly clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut in indignance.

Paul hesitates. He looks at Marko. Marko looks at Paul. Wicked grins of agreement spread wide like wildfire across their faces as their master plan comes into play. Full throttle. What’s more fun than annoying the shit out of David? One on the left, the other on the opposite side of the cave on the right. This was nothing but Divine perfection if you asked the two troublesome vampires.

“OOOOOH DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW!” Paul belted out at full volume.

“IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!” Marko followed in suit, the widest eerie grin plastered on his face.

“OVER THE HILLS WE GOOOO” Paul howled enthusiastically.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTH!” David's voice hit a whole new octave it had never in all his life so far. All the while Dwayne had opted to vacate the room lest he be caught in the middle of the escalating madness with Laddie in tow. He loved these guys, but not enough to dive head first into their fuckery.

Paul thrives during the Christmas holidays! How could he not? The food, the punk rock covers of Christmas songs, the absolute babes prancing around the town in Santa hats under mistletoe?! He loved it all! You can find him sneaking under mistletoe with many sweet honeys on a constant basis, regardless of whether or not he's acquainted with them. Most do roll their eyes or laugh it off, but every once in a blue moon the guy will get a little lovin' from a beach babe in the Yuletide mood. What else could he ask for? You can bet he’ll run into the woods December first, and quite literally RIP a pine tree out of the ground to bring home like a wee carrot being plucked from the ground. The bigger the better! He may even drag Dwayne or Marko along with him if it's too big for him to carry himself. And all the boozy drinks he can concoct up? This boy is in his element! Mulled wine, spiked eggnog, candy cane vodka, butterscotch bourbon hot chocolate?! Yes! David straight up refuses to try anything that Paul creates himself (remember the concoction he made in Max's kitchen? Those poor goldfish....) which is also another reason why he has Dwayne help him. Or rather, the other boys insist the most responsible of them monitors the blonde lest he poison them with some sickly brew. That, and the fact that Dwayne's the least likely out of all of them to blow up the damn kitchen!

Dwayne is indeed the designated cook during the holiday rush, albeit a field even he tends to struggle. Avoiding the kitchen catching aflame, perfecting his craft lest he blow up the stove, leaving only a pile of ash in its wake. As previously mentioned, ever since the dreadful chain of events that lead to the unfortunate destruction of Max's kitchen, this raven haired vampire has attempted his hand at learning to use a stove properly: Although he often finds himself forgetting ingredients either in the midst of cooking or after the final product is done and he's taken a big bite.

“Shit! I forgot the milk and eggs!” Dwayne grumbled with a mouthful of dry crumbs, a true disgrace of a cookie.

Paul always gives him crap for it of course.

“Oooh I just thought you were going for a sandy, dusty dry cookie kinda thing.”

"Yeah man, these taste like ass!" Marko would cough out in midst of choking.

"And what, like you dumbasses could do any better," Dwayne retorts with a huff. Only Star manages to have any manners when testing his failed baking endeavors.

"Well I mean, the taste isn't that bad. Just a little dry is all."

"At least Marko wouldn't be choking to death." David would mutter from the darkest corner of the room, a little late in the conversation.

In all honesty, Dwayne's biggest motivation when it came to improving his skills was obviously Laddie. The kid never got much of a Christmas whilst living with his mom, so now that he was with the boys, he wanted to ensure that Christmas's were something that Laddie would remember for all eternity. Though granted, it is quite the mess when he was helping in the kitchen. But when the mini vamp grins from ear to ear whilst coated in flour and rapidly stirring an overflowing bowl of chunky cookie dough--the sight is too freaking cute!

Since Laddie joined the boys, they participate in Secret Santa every single year, which definitely includes Paul bursting through the entrance of the hotel as Santa on Christmas day. We won't talk about the fact that each year he almost falls flat on his face and swears, ruining the surprise for the kid.

"Santa where are your reindeer," he'd question, to which Santa Paul scoffs

"Pff, reindeer, I don't need any fucki- Ow," cut off by a firm and covert kick to the shin from Star, Paul quickly changes his response. "Oh! Ho ho, well, you see little boy, Santa can fly too! On his, uh, uhm… magic motorcycle! Yeah, that!"

But it's okay because Laddie already KNEW (he figured it out a year or two ago after Paul's beard fell off not once, but three times), he just doesn't have the heart to tell any of them because, well Paul really gets into it. And he knows the others are playing along for his sake. But to be fair, Laddie would have to be pretty dumb to believe it was Santa. I mean, the beard Paul's wearing is hanging half off his face by this point! But anyway, just like Paul's style, the entirety of the goody two shoes schpiel is thrown out the window, replaced with sleeves that have been ripped off, muddy boots, spiked bracelets and his Metallica shirt in full view beneath his flared red coat. He calls this BIKER CLAUS!

Laddie is not a squasher of traditions! But there was the one time that David had to intervene when Paul and Dwayne thought it would be great to use Laddie as the star at the top of the tree. David practically had a heart attack. Well, that's impossible but it still felt like he was having one!

“Ho ho ho! Now, don’t be a bitch, little David or Santa will have to give you coal.” Paul stated mockingly to David, brows furrowed.

“Well, Santa,” David scolds, a wry smile developing on his face when setting down the eight year old now off to shake his presents beneath their behemoth of a tree. “You best be careful. You never know what's in those milk and cookies, hm?”

Each year Marko buys bird toys for the pigeons in the hotel. Well, buy is probably the wrong word. More like he liberates the stores of their stock. And then for the next six months, David has to hear the agonizing jingle of bells. David almost roasted one pigeon in particular that kept flying over him to drop the ball with a bell in it on his head. That was Paul's entertainment for the next five hours, hell, he'd try to find it if the bird lost it and give it back. Marko defends the pigeon. Between running through stores buying up surprises for his friends, he's helping Paul throw out decorations for the cave. The dollar store has some surprisingly unexpected treasures, allowing him to deck the fucking halls to the max. Tinsel here, ornaments there, tiny light up trees to hide around the caves, a butt ton of cinnamon pine cones which he ends up throwing back and forth with Paul.

And Paul often steals his gifts or goes dumpster diving for any hidden gems. He forgets to take the tags off of them the majority of the time, which is always an indicator whether or not its new. Any time Star asks where he got them from he refuses to answer. Just gets up and walks away. But for David's gift? Well this lucky bastard has found coal in the dumpster and chucks it to David when he's not looking and he sighs deeply in disappointment because this is the third year Paul has done this.

"Huh? What? Who did that? Wasn't me. Somebody's throwing stuff."

Other than that he'll find a fat bag of charcoal and just tape the name David on it. David is certainly not amused. Dwayne will actually try to figure out what the others want, and has the sense to save the money taken from their previous meals. After all, they're dead, they wouldn't have much use for it anyway. He's not about to waste his hypnosis on some poor cashier. That would be a waste of time in his eyes.

When Christmas did arrive the tree was piled with mysterious boxes crudely mashed and taped together with bows and ribbons underneath it. It's obvious which ones are from Star since those gifts are wrapped in neatly pressed paper, wound tight beneath curled ribbons that remind the boys of her hair. Marko often goes on a food run rather than allow them all to be subjected to a potentially charred turkey, no offense to Dwayne of course. So, with a table covered from end to end with copious bowls of gravy, potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, a beast of a turkey in the center packed to the brim with cornbread stuffing, the boys cram into their chairs knocking back beers and spiked cider. Keeping to their own traditions, after fattening up, they gather around the tree and play card games, just as they had over eighty years ago on that frigid night. David still slays them in poker, and Marko is an utter dark horse when it comes to blackjack. Paul insists they try Go Fish. No one ever wants to play Go Fish. Closer towards the end of the night Dwayne will slip away to Jasper's shrine and bring him a fresh glass of rum as well as unwrapping what he got him that year. While Dwayne is there, the other boys will join him - omitting Star and Laddie left unaware of the Lost Boy they'd never met - in celebrating the last hour or so of the Holiday season with their fallen comrade.

Although Christmas time is often about uncomfortable mushy moments and emotions that create deep, unfamiliar times for David. The entire ordeal becomes that for everyone of the boys and Star. But God forbid anyone who even mentions it! I mean, it's kinda obvious though considering he's spending it with the people he always called family, knee deep in traditions that are sentimental to himself and the boys. There's a fluster of emotions running rampant during this particular Holiday Season, and although the blonde brooding vampire decides to squint at it with skepticism he savors these moments, knowing like Jasper, it could all be swept away with a single ray of light or the foolish hand of a hunter. So as they sit, drunk, full, and laughing beside Jasper's grave he can't help but smile at the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a pain in the ass, but… it's a pain he'll gladly sit through for his brothers.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years ago

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#12yrsago Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor

I read Sudhir Alladi Venkatesh's "Off the Books: The Underground Economy of the Urban Poor" over the holidays and it didn't disappoint me. I first read about Venkatesh's work investigating the economics of underground activities in Chicago's poorest ghettos in Freakonomics, so when I heard that he'd published a book dedicated to the subject, I rushed to read it.

Venkatesh spent years among the hustlers, gangsters, hookers of a South Side ghetto, interviewing them and following them around, speaking to block captains, preachers, beat cops and other people embedded in the local underground economy. The result is a comprehensive, though-provoking and often exciting read that tells the hidden story of everything from secret soul food kitchens to the ins and outs of running a crack-selling enterprise.

The bleak noir literatures, crime novels and cyberpunk and caper stories, they all use shady dealing as a critical stage-prop. But there's never consideration given to the necessary economic underpinnings of a stable shady economy. We see the macroorganisms, but there's no ecosystem in evidence that could support them -- it's like the dinosaurs on King Kong island -- what the hell do that many giant carnivores eat on such a tiny island?

Enter Venkatesh's tremendous research. He teases apart the gigantic web of interactions that comprises the shady economy, showing how a powerful gang leader has to contend with a store-owner if the gang's activities endanger the homeless man who keeps the graffiti kids away from the shop.

Venkatesh isn't a master storyteller. He repeats himself, going over the same points several times, and many of the book's juiciest tidbits are buried in the copious endnotes. The book is neither fish nor fowl, with elements of both academic text and popular non-fiction. That said, the material here was entirely new to me, and eye-opening. This feels like the kind of book I'll be thinking about for years to come.

Link

https://boingboing.net/2007/01/04/off-the-books-the-un.html

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patchouli-r0se · 6 years ago

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I am a recovering heroin addict. Since I've been sober, i have been diagnosed with quite a few things, but the most prominent and difficult one is PTSD. (post traumatic stress disorder) Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a psychiatric disorder that can occur in people who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event such as a natural disaster, a serious accident, a terrorist act, war/combat, rape or other violent acts. I have been sober for two years now, but it's not all sunshine and daisies. I'm still struggling quite a bit with my mental health.

I did not have a legal job when i was actively using, but i did support my habit and my boyfriend at the time. Being an addict in general is traumatic, but if i haven't been thrown into prostitution i wouldn't have seen half of the horrendous things, or had unspeakable things happen to me.

When i was 18 i had met a man. (i'll keep his name out of it, not to protect him, more to protect my own identity.) i had thought of him to be my boyfriend. He got me hooked on heroin, then told me i had to go make money or i would get sick.. And boy was he right. That was the first time i experienced withdrawal. So he showed me the ropes of prostitution. Remember, i was 18, and VERY unwell mentally. He showed me where to go, what to do, what to say, how much to charge, and he set me up with 90 percent of my clients. Why was he so knowledgeable? Well he was a pimp. Why didn't i see it? Because i just didn't know. I didn't understand that life. But i was about to get a taste.

I thought he wanted to “be with me” because he loved me. He didn't want o be with me, he wanted me to work for him. He was very manipulative and he had so much control over me. He had other girls working for him, but he spent the most time with me because i was young and “fresh” as he called it. I haven't been used up yet like the other girls; and men payed a lot more for me, and he liked that because it supported his habit.

Throughout the relationship he would steal money from me, he would take more drugs from me and he would have other people rob me while i was out working and bring him whatever money they got off me.

He ended up dying 3 years into the relationship from liver failure. I was on my own, i was heartbroken, scared, and i had a raging habit at this point. I was mainlining 5 grams of fentanyl heroin per DAY. the only way i knew how to survive on the streets homeless was by prostituting myself. But it wasn't like it was before he died, it was so so much worse. As soon as all the johns, (clients) and dealers in the area heard that i was alone and my keeper had died, a lot of horrible horrible things started to happen to me… yet i continued to do it for many many years.

I don't think anyone who hasn't been addicted to heroin can understand the hold that it has on a person, both mentally and especially physically. Every single decision i made revolved around if i had enough heroin. There was no partying like they say in the movies. I didn't have time to party. My whole life, from the second i woke up, to the second i went to sleep, (if i slept at all) was revolved around getting heroin and getting money for heroin.

Sometimes people tell me to get over the past and stop crying about it because the only reason that i was continuously raped and tortured was because i kept going out there.yes, that is the reason why i was being raped, but that does not change the fact that these grown, married men had victimised me, and some tried to kill me. They all knew no cop would care, listen, or believe a hooker anyway, and they all got away with it. And most of those men are still out there doing it. I'm still living in the same city that these things happened to me in so when i go out sometimes i see them and i breakdown. I am lucky enough that my appearence has chaged so drastically that most of them don't notice me, but some of them do. None of the men who have noticed me say anything to me, but i get a look, some smirk like they think it's funny that they did this to me. Sometimes i get angry and i want to get revenge, but what good would that do?

I am telling my story throughout this blog because there is little to no help for women who are in this horrible place, or women who got themselves out of it but are suffering the after effects. They are looked at as the lowest of the low. There is so much shame that comes with getting sober and off of the streets.

The probability that someone who is addicted to heroin gets sober and STAYS sober is very low, but the probability that a former prostitute gets sober and stays sober is even lower. The trauma that comes with it is unthinkable. If you haven't lived that life then you cannot even imagine the horror and shame that is felt on a day to day basis. And it's very hard to find a reason to stay sober sometimes. Those feelings are overwhelming and it feels as if it will never end.

No one who is on the streets selling their body wants to be there. Yes it is a decision, but the feeling that you get when you are in withdrawal is horrifying, and you would do anything in the world to feel better… and that's just what i did and many other women like me did.

Judging these women and making fun of these women is not going to fix the problem, it is only going to make it worse. It's like kicking a cripple; there is nothing you can say or do to me that will make me feel any worse than those men made me feel.

If you are a woman going through this, i embrace you. Prostitute or not, rape is a horrible thing that, physically, only lasts for a period of time, but the mental scars from it are life. No matter how much therapy i go to, i will always remember their face and the sickness i felt when those men touched me.

Just because i was a prostitute does not mean that i deserved any of that, and neither does any reason. Nothing can justify a man TAKING sex from a women.i am here for anyone who wants to vent. I will never judge regardless of the situation. I believe that ANYONE can change if they really want it.

This is my first blog post on this site, but i will be posting many more inspirational, mental health, and past stories of mine. I am doing this to help myself process some of the things that have happened, but really if i can get one person to see this who is going through absolute hell and let them know there IS light at the end of the tunnel, then i can die a happy women. Take care of yourself. Love yourself, for all your beauty and battle scars.

#womenempowerment recovery sobriety youarebeautiful itgetsbetter ipromise patchouli-r0se

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mollyshaj · 7 years ago

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11.

Mariah

“What is with these niggas and the baby mama drama?” I shook my head while taking a sip from my wine glass. We were sitting in my living room catching up on all the drama going on in our lives while my daughter Tiffany and Jayden were upstairs on her Xbox.

“I knew it was something wrong with him. No nigga that fine and that paid is bullshit free. His bullshit is in the form of a bitter ass baby mama.” Ebony said with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s not like you didn’t know the nigga had a baby mama though,” Nicole added in.

“Yes and I’m fine with him having a six year old child, but having a baby on the way is not something I’m about to put up with. Fuck that shit, he can keep it. If she’s pregnant that means they’re still fucking and I’m not dealing with that either.”

“Tristan is still fucking his bird ass baby mama,” I took another sip of wine then put my glass on the table. “Bitch is a whole hoe out here,”

“How do you know?”

“Girl did you forget who you’re talking to? You already know I’m up on everything. The bitches that buy from me can’t wait to run their damn mouths about what’s going on out there. I’ve heard quite a few stories about that slut ass bitch. If that’s what he wants to roll with, it’s on him but I’m not sticking around for it.”

“You sound really bothered, I thought you couldn’t stand his ass?” Nicole laughed.

“Bitch I can’t, that doesn’t mean I can’t comment on his stupidity. Fuck that though, what’s going on with you and Rashad?”

“Not a damn thing. He’s been blowing my phone up but I don’t answer. Fuck him, I don’t like playing games and that’s what he did.”

“Man this is fucked up,” I sat up on the couch. “We find some fine ass, got their business together ass niggas and they’re all on some bullshit. “

“Life just works out that way sometimes. Rich niggas play with you and the ugly broke ones do you right.”

“Wrong, broke niggas bullshit too, shit look who I had a damn baby by,” Ebony rolled her eyes.

“You’re bringing up Quan a lot, what is that about?” I asked; she was referring to him a little more than I’m used to. Usually she acts like the nigga is dead; she doesn’t talk about him at all. I could understand why the nigga is a dead beat and he put her through hell.

“His stupid ass mama called me yesterday.”

“For what? It’s been five years of nothing from any of them and now they’re calling you?” Nicole shook her head.

“That’s what I said to her, this bitch talking about Quan is about to move back up here and that he plans on having a relationship with his son. I was like first of all, fuck you. How dare you ignore my son for five years then call me sending messages from this asshole like I’m supposed to be like okay great let me know when he’s up here. Fuck outta here, Quan can kiss my black ass and so can that thick neck bitch,” Ebony vented and I busted out laughing.

“No you didn’t call her a thick neck bitch!” I cackled. Her being upset wasn’t funny but what she said damn sure was. “Yo, you have no type of chill and I love it.”

“You stupid,” Nicole waved me off but both of these hoes were laughing, they know that shit was funny.

“Fuck that bitch and her son, I hope he fuckin’ dies.” Ebony said after her laughter died down.

“Damn that’s harsh,”

“Well Mariah, let a nigga beat your ass for four years straight then leave you and your child homeless and broke, we’ll see how you’ll feel about him.”

“Nah I feel you, I wasn’t in that boat but I get it.” I shrugged her shoulders.

“Shit,” Ebony shook her head. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me to say it like that.”

“It’s fine I know what you meant so you’re good.” I told her.

I could understand why Ebony hates Quan so I’m not mad at her about saying the death thing because she’s not being malicious. Truth be told I would probably wish death on a nigga like Quan too.

The only thing is with Eb is she can feel like that all day about him but Jayden loves his father and him not being around really hurts that boy whether she sees it or not. I know because I’m dealing with the same thing with my daughter.

I had Tiffany two years before Ebony had Jayden at fifteen years old. We relate on having kids early but the father department is totally different. Quan was an ass hole from the gate, as soon he found out Ebony was pregnant he started treating her like shit. I think it’s because he felt like there was no way he could lose her at that point. They have a child together so they’re bonded for life, and his ego made him think that he could just do her any kind of way.

Tiffany’s father wasn’t on that type of time with me. When I told him I was pregnant he made it his business to treat me better than he already was. He came to every doctor’s appointment, made sure we had everything we needed. When I turned seventeen I moved out of my mother’s house and into an apartment with him and our baby.

We were doing great until I got a call at 4:23 A.M August 15th, 2008 that he was shot eight times after getting into a fight with some nigga. There I was twenty three years old, with an eight year old daughter and no father around. Not because he didn’t want to be there, not because he was locked up but because some nigga couldn’t handle getting his ass beat and took his life.

My child doesn’t have the opportunity to grow up with her father and I know the toll that takes on her; so hearing Ebony wishing Quan dead wasn’t really comfortable for me but I understand her feelings. Quan and Terrell were two different types of men so I wasn’t going to be mad about the hate she has for him.

“If he wants to see Jayden are you going to let him?”

“Why would I let the man that was whooping my ass come anywhere near my son?” Ebony asked with her face screwed up. “I don’t even want his ass near me why should I let Jayden be around him? He doesn’t even know that nigga,”

“If he told his mama that he’s going to make it his business to see Jayden, even if it’s only to get near you he’s going to do that shit. So you need to figure out what you’re going to do about that.” I told her and she nodded.

“I hear you,”

“Good. What are you going to do about work?”

“I have a damn good stash so I’m good for a minute. I can take my time and find another job. I was tired of the post office anyway so I’ll find something to do.”

“As long as you and Jayden are good that’s all that matters,” I looked down at my watch then stood up. “Well this was fun but I gotta take Tiffany back to my mother’s house, you hookers gotta go.”

“Damn rudeness, you aint have to say it like that.” Nicole said as she got up off the couch.

“Exactly, no manners having ass; go tell Jayden to let’s go since you kicking us out.” Ebony added in.

Laughing I went upstairs to Tiffany’s bedroom and told Jayden to go downstairs, while Tiffany to get ready to go before going down to my room.

After getting dressed I grabbed my car keys, phone and purse then went downstairs. “Tiffany come on!” I shouted for her. A couple of minutes later she came downstairs.

“Why do I have to go back to grandma’s house? She asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Legally you’re supposed to live with her but I’m working on changing that. Just give me some time and I promise you��ll be living with me.”

“Okay,”

“Alright, come on we’ll get something to eat before I drop you off.” We left the house after I locked up then went by Friday’s for dinner.

The whole time at the restaurant she filled me in on the little bit I didn’t know about her middle school drama. Every time I speak to her she has a story to tell about somebody done said or did. Most of it is annoying but I laugh it off. I never want her to feel like she can’t come and talk to me about whatever is going on with her.

I wish I could have her full time but that was going to take a minute because my mother has custody. You would think because she’s my mother and she knows me she would make it easy but she takes me through hoops. It’s like she doesn’t want me with my own child and that shit pisses me off.

What makes it even more annoying is she likes to throw the fact that Jasmine lives with her in my face. My daughter lives there but I do everything for her just like any mother does. I buy her clothes, I help her with her homework over Face time, and I talk to her every damn day. I give my mother money for groceries and her bills yet she acts like I’m a dead beat.

Pulling up to my mother’s house I mentally prepared myself for her smart ass mouth. Every time I’m over here she lets some slick shit out of her mouth. Sometimes I let it slide; sometimes I shade her ass right back.

I love my mother to death but she can work a damn nerve and I know I’m not supposed to disrespect my parent but fuck that. She barely acts like a parent so why should I treat her like one? Financially my mother was there but emotionally she wasn’t. Growing up with her felt more like having a sibling versus a parent.

Just like me, my mother got pregnant at an early age. First she had my older brother Marcus when she was 16 then had me at 18 so we pretty much grew up together. I don’t harbor ill feelings for my mother’s lack of affection and parental guidance at all; but I’m not about to let her talk to me like she’s stupid either.

We’re cool with each other and I talk to her all the time but we have our moments when you wouldn’t even know we were mother and daughter because of how we go at it.

“Let’s go,” I told Tiffany before getting out the car. We went up the front steps and I used my keys to get in the house.

“Ma!” I yelled for her while Tiffany made her way upstairs to her bedroom. Five minutes later my mother came downstairs.

“Why you always gotta come in here being loud?”

“How else were you going to know I was here?”

“Mhm, I hope you talked to Tiffany about her attitude. I don’t need those teachers calling me about her all the time.”

“Yes I talked to her and she told me what happened. It’s handled.”

“Good; you need to step it up some and be around more.”

“I talk to her every day and she’s with me every weekend, what are you talking about?”

“You sound like one of those dead beat niggas, you think talking on the phone once a day is good enough?”

“So give me custody? I keep telling you to do that shit but you’re not moving your ass to file papers or nothing.”

“Mariah don’t put this on me, I’m not the reason she’s here. You and your actions are,”

“Oh my God, here you go.” This right here is exactly why I don’t bite my tongue with her; it’s always some bullshit coming out of her mouth.

“What? It’s the truth; you’re out every other night living your life while I raise your child. When are you going to step it up?”

“Last time I checked I was doing just fine until they took her from me. Let’s not act like I came over here one day and said here goes my child I’m leaving.”

“What did you expect them to do? Let her stay with you while you held drugs for those punks around Booker T?”

“Well holding for those punks paid my rent, put food in my house and clothes on both of our backs. What did you expect me to do? Was it right? No but shit, I needed to take care of us and I did it. Let’s not act like what you were doing was any better, ma. Let’s not go there,”

“This isn’t about me, and don’t get snappy. You and your brother were raised just fine. You never went hungry did you? I never got arrested and had either one of your names brought up in the system, that’s on you.”

“You really wanna go there ma? if you want to have a discussion about parenting skills we can do that because I think you’re forgetting some of the shit you did.”

“Whatever bitch, I’m grown don’t question me this wasn’t even about me we’re talking about Tiffany.”

“I’m here for Tiffany and you’re talking about some bullshit, damn why do you always have to be on some extra shit when I come over here?”

“I’m extra because I want you to be a parent?”

“I am a parent so don’t even go there with that bullshit; you’re extra because you’re talking to me like I’m a damn deadbeat when I take care of my child. Did you forget I’m paying most of your damn bills, my bills, still doing for Tiffany and myself by myself?”

“Money isn’t the same thing. You need to be here.”

“So give me custody then; every single time I want her to come with me you fight it and say you’re not going to cooperate. You want me to step up then give me custody and stop switching up all the damn time. Until you do that, shut the fuck up.”

“Who the fuck is you talking to? Bitch don’t forget I’m the one who stopped them from putting her in foster care. Her father’s family doesn’t do shit for her, I’m here with her every day and because I’m telling you to step up you wanna get disrespectful?”

“I’m not trying to get disrespectful, you’re the one basically saying I’m a fucked up parent.”

“You are a fucked up parent, she doesn’t live with you. They took her away from you for a damn reason.”

“Ma you really don’t want to do that. Let’s not play who’s the perfect mother because I’m pretty sure having a pimp then being that pimp’s bottom bitch isn’t too much of a positive thing when you have two kids. Your son is in jail behind killing the nigga because he was beating your ass and you can’t even answer his phone calls, so please don’t go there with me because I will hurt your fucking feelings.” I snapped at her before going upstairs to Tiffany’s room. I kissed her on the cheek, told her I loved her then left not saying shit else to my mother.

I knew she was going to pull some bullshit with me and I was right. How can you chastise me because my child doesn’t live with me, but then turn around and refuse to give me custody? She knows damn well my daughter is fine and safe with me; I fucked up before but I learned from that.

After Terrell died everything was on me. I had to pay all the bills by myself and a 9 to 5 job wasn’t cutting it. Stupidly I started holding drugs for a few niggas I knew in the streets. It was never around Tiffany, she was never near it and I never even let niggas in my apartment. I was doing alright, charging these niggas a stack or more depending on how much I was holding.

The problems came when Case, one of the niggas I was holding for, brought me into his drama. I don’t know why him and his bitch got into it but for whatever reason the nigga let it drop that I was holding for him, and he would use me as in excuse as to why he would be gone all night and shit.

The bitch approached me about it, we ended up fighting because she put her hands on me. I fucked her up and the dummy called the cops and told them I had drugs in my house.

Luckily for me he got all of his shit out of my apartment before they came but I was still fucked because I had some weed in my night stand drawer. Long story short I got arrested; it wasn’t a lot of weed but it was enough for them to be petty enough to try and take my daughter away. My mother stepped up and took custody of Tiffany and that’s how she ended up with her.

All of that drama and bullshit happened three years ago and Tiffany is still living with my mother. I want her with me full time but I can’t even lie and say it’s going to be easy to do that. I have to readjust my entire life and that’s going to take some time but I’m going to make it happen as soon as possible.

Tristan Myers

“Why can’t you spend the night?” Sade whined as I put my clothes on. Huffing I looked at her lying ass naked on her bed with the sheets covering the bottom half of her body.

“I don’t spend the night here, I never did. Why are you acting like you don’t know that?”

“Are you going to try and cut me off like Kay did Brandi?”

“What?” I looked at her like she was stupid because she had to be asked me that shit. “What happens between that grown ass man and woman has nothing to do with me.”

“I’m just saying, you already fronted on me for that bitch at his party.”

“Watch your mouth,”

“Oh so I can’t call your bitch a bitch?”

“You trying to piss me off?” I gave her a serious look and she shook her head quickly. “That’s what I thought.”

“You need to stop doing this shit with me,”

“Doing what?”

“Playing, we have a child together. It’s time for us to be a complete family.”

“Now I know you trippin’,”

“I’m not trippin’ I’m serious. Why do you act like I’m not worthy of being your woman,”

“You’re not,” I shrugged. “Sade we have this discussion all the time. You’re a beautiful girl, you brought my son in this world so I always got you but you will never be my woman.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t do shit, and I know I take care of you but ma you really don’t do a damn thing. You don’t even cook or clean in this muthafucka, a damn cleaning service comes here every week. Why the fuck would I want a lazy woman on my arm? Let’s not forget you trying to take my damn son away from me.”

When our son was 2 years old this ditzy bitch tried to get sole custody of him and tried to get $15,000 from me a month in child support. I almost killed her ass when I got those damn papers. She didn’t get custody or a big child support check from me, all she got was lawyers fees and hurt feelings. The judge was not for her bullshit at all.

“I’m good enough for you to fuck though,”

“I said you were beautiful, I fuck beautiful women. What else do you want me to say?”

“You aint shit.”

“You say that all the time yet every time I come over here you bending over or opening your mouth for this dick. Relax and play your part, if you can’t do that then stay off my shit. Simple as that,”

She sucked her teeth and got off her bed storming into the bathroom with an attitude as if I was supposed to care. Sade knows what it is and she always did. I met her ass seven years ago, fucked twice and her ass popped up pregnant with my son Damien.

I’m a grown ass man so I stepped up and I look out for her. Never have I ever made her think we would be anything more than what we are. I’ve never even spent the night in the same bed as her, when I do I’m in the damn guest room with the door locked. She lets her stupid ass family and her funky ass friends gas her into thinking because we have a child together she can dictate shit or claim me.

It was her raggedy ass friends that hyped her up to approach Mariah at Kay’s party. Now I admit, it was messy of me to have Sade there knowing Mariah was coming but it wasn’t on me. She heard about the party from Brandi and she wasn’t going to shut the fuck up until I said she could come. I gave her the stay the fuck outta my business speech before we got there and she swore she understood but acted stupid anyway. That’s why she got her ass beat.

After I got dressed I left her bedroom then went down to my son’s room where he was knocked out. I kissed his head then got my shit and left heading over to my bar in Jersey City.

When I walked in I planned to go straight in the back to check up on some things since it was busy as usual but somebody at the bar caught my attention. I walked over and took the empty seat next to them.

“You look stressed,” I said loud enough for Mariah to hear and she looked over at me then sucked her teeth.

“Leave me alone Tristan, I’m not the in mood.”

“I’m just saying you look like you got something on your mind. I’m not here to fuck up your night, I’m just seeing what’s good. Besides, you in my shit or did you forget?”

“I did actually,” she chuckled.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“People are annoying, including you so leave me alone. I don’t need your bitch coming at my neck.”

“Nobody is about to come at your neck, and she aint my bitch. She’s a bitch but she don’t belong to me.”

“Okay fine whatever, cool just leave me alone.”

“Nah I need to talk to you some come on.”

“Boy I’m not going anywhere with you,” she spat while rolling her eyes.

“Keep playing with me I’ll knock those shits straight. I wasn’t asking you, come on.” She looked at me like she was ready to go off until she saw the expression on my face. She had one more time to say no and I was slinging her little ass over my shoulder.

“Fine, but you only have five minutes.” She got up from the stool and I grabbed her hand leading her through the bar and to back where my office was at. I unlocked the door and let us in.

“This is nice,” she complimented while taking a seat in the chair right in front of the desk while I took my seat behind it.

“Thank you,”

Turning to face me she propped her arm on the back of the chair giving me her full attention. “So, what do you wanna say Tristan? Why are we back here?”

“I wanna apologize for how I came at you that night. I was wrong for disrespecting you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

I nodded then raised my eyebrow at her. I don’t know what was wrong with her but I could she was crying. Her face was flushed and her eyes were puffy and red along with her nose.

“You good?” I asked her and she nodded.

“Yeah I’m fine,”

“So why were you crying?”

“What?”

“You heard me, I can tell your ass was crying. Who fucked with you? Let me know they can disappear with one phone call.”

“Tristan I am fine and even if I wasn’t you are not about to put a hit out on my mama.”

“Oh so it’s your mother that pissed you off. What happened?”

“None of your business,”

“Damn you rude, I’m going to chock that up to your mama too. Tell me what happened, you never know it might help to get the shit out.”

She sucked her teeth then chuckled. “We had an argument about my daughter.”

“Daughter? I didn’t know you had a kid,” She never mentioned having a kid to me so where the fuck did this daughter shit come from?

“You weren’t supposed to; we weren’t serious enough for you to know that information.”

“Damn, the type of nigga do you take me for? I can’t know you got a shorty,”

“Never said that but it doesn’t even matter. You know now, so what about it?”

“Chill, I don’t care if you have a kid. How old is she?”

“12,”

“Ma you 27, the fuck were you doing poppin’ pussy at 15?”

“Fuck you Tristan don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you,”

“It sounds like you are to me,”

“No your ass is just sensitive. Why were you arguing with your mother?”

“My daughter lives with her, she wants to come at me about stepping up but she refuses to give me custody.”

“Why does she have custody?” I gave her the side eye, I wasn’t about to entertain a dead beat bitch so shorty better have a good reason why she doesn’t have her kid.

“Nigga don’t look at me like that. I can the judgement in your face already so if you’re going to be on that shit I will get my ass up and walk the fuck out.”

“Chill, damn just tell me what the fuck happened. I’m listening,”

“Don’t play with me Tristan; I’ll slap your ass.”

“We both know that aint about to happen so relax, just tell me what happened.”

She took a breath then proceeded to tell me the whole story about how her daughter’s father was killed and how she ended holding drugs for niggas. What she did wasn’t the smartest thing to do especially with her child in the house but I get why she did it. Nigga paying you well over a stack just to hold some shit and it’s just between y’all; sounds like an easy come up to somebody that needs the help. I can’t judge her for the shit; she did what she thought she had to do. Hell, at least she wasn’t out here selling ass.

“So you’re going to file for custody?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m tired of begging for my child then getting told off because she doesn’t want to give her up. First thing tomorrow morning I’m going to file the papers.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“I had a public defender when I got arrested and she was on her shit thankfully so no.”

“Well if it comes down to y’all having to go to court on some serious shit, I can hook you up with a lawyer. I know a good one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Why?”

“You need the help and it’s not like it’s on some stupid shit. I know how the custody shit works, I had to fight for joint custody of my son. That shit aint fun and it’s not easy. That bitch was trying to get me for all I had.”

“Yet you’re still fucking her, that’s not smart.” Mariah shook her head.

“I don’t fuck with her like that. If it’s not about my dick getting wet or my son I don’t pay her any mind.”

“She’s obviously not the brightest crayon in the box but damn. That’s the mother of your child and you straight up dog her ass.”

“So?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Who hurt you?” She looked at me skeptically.

“Fuck is you talking about?”

“I’ve never seen a man be so disrespectful towards women unless they’ve been hurt by one. So I’m asking again, who hurt you? You got your heart stomped on before? You have mommy issues or some shit?”

“You would have to have a mother to have mommy issues,” I said and she raised an eyebrow.

“Everybody has a mother, how else did you get here?”

“No some people have mothers and some have egg donors. A bitch birthed me but she aint ever did shit for me so I don’t have a mother.”

“Yeah, you have mommy issues. That explains so much.”

“I don’t have mommy issues,”

“Okay, sure Tristan; who were you raised by?”

“My uncle,” I answered her.

My uncle Gotti was a big deal out in the streets. When I was born my mother was too busy chasing niggas and chasing a high so my uncle took me and my older brothers in. He wasn’t married, he had kids but the BM’s he had wasn’t about shit so he barely tolerated them.

When I was 15 he brought he into a meeting with his right hand Kashmir King. That was the day I was introduced to the game. I worked for them for years all the while stacking and investing my money so that I could be completely legit one day and that day happened last year. Now I was focused on growing my business, I already owned a few restaurants and bars; my plan was to keep going until I couldn’t go anymore.

“No grandmother, no aunties? No female cousins?”

“The closest thing I have to an aunt is Kay’s mama. I have my uncle and my brothers, that’s about it.”

“That’s why your ass is so disrespectful,”

“You call it disrespectful I call it honest. Would you rather I lie and lead bitches on?”

“No, but you don’t have to be rude. Honesty doesn’t have to be brutal.”

“That’s just how I am; I don’t feel the need to watch my mouth. Listen, I treat people according to how they behave. If a bitch wants to present herself like she has no home training, the fuck am I about to respect her for?”

“So what about me? You came at my neck on some stupid shit too.”

“I apologized to you right?”

“Yeah,”

“Alright then, I don’t do that often. Actually I don’t do it at all, so let that sink in a little bit.” I winked at her making her blush a little bit. i’m having a little get together at my house, I want you to come. You can bring your girls and your daughter if you want to.”

“Let me think about it,” She smirked.

“Cool with me,” Think about it my ass, she knows she’s coming.

#chris brown #chris brown fan fiction #chris brown fanfic #chris brown fanfiction #chris brown fan fic

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riverdamien · 3 years ago

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In the Midst of Time!

In the Mists of Time!

Matthew 25:31-46

John 21: 15-19

Last week I was attending a conference in Las Vegas, and as I sat in my nice hotel room I remembered the day before walking to the post office, a young woman, butt naked, simply out of her mind wandering around; as I returned home there was a young kid, with black paint around his eyes, wearing filthy shorts, and dirty legs, and could not even focus when I spoke to him; in the doorway was another lying in her excrement; the night before I took another young man to the hospital, sick with the coronavirus. found him lying on the street in chills.

The words of Jesus echo in my ears as I see the suffering, I struggle with my privilege and hear these words:

"When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon, son of John do you love me?" He said to him: 'Yes Lord you know that I love you.' Jesus said to him, 'Tend my sheep...Jesus said to him the third time, Simon son of John do you love me?' Peter was grieved because he had asked him a third time, 'Do you love me?'. .'Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go."

June 4, is the anniversary of my ordination back in the mists of time, I was 21, and through the years to come I was confronted with a church that rejected me as a result of being queer, and that denominations being torn apart with the same issue; I found myself in that struggle being a hooker, and finally coming back to a new queer denomination.

The call to ministry continues to burn like a fiery flame within me, in season and out of season. And the years have passed, my youth is gone, and am struggling with walking, the side effects of the coronavirus.

The Church is a human institution, and as Dorthy Day once said, "The Church is both a whore and also our Mother." Looking through the years she has always been my Mother.

And as I struggle with walking from an injury, and the side effects of the coronavirus, I find myself still answering the question: "Yes Lord I love you," even though like Peter I have failed so many many times.

And on this anniversary I renew my vows of ordination, "To preach the Word, and Administer the Sacraments," and continue to "wait tables,"

My thanks to all of you who have supported me through these years!

-----------------------------------

This is Pride month. The Pride celebration will be on June 25 and 26. We will be in charge of the accessibility section, and if anyone would like to volunteer please call.

In San Francisco, it is easy to think that all is well with LGBTQ rights, but throughout the country, those rights are being challenged, and people are suffering.

In the past year there has been one suicide and several young people attempted to commit suicide we have worked with, and so there are many others in the closet and struggling. Forty percent of the homeless population is LGBTQ.

So come to Pride, rejoice in our freedom in San Francisco, and protest the discrimination elsewhere in our state, and throughout the country.

------------------------

Fr. River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min.,, D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

----------------

We are Beggars! So please consider a tax-deductible gift.

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aliceliddellsmirror · 4 years ago

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@gatorfisch Okay I’m going to try to remember all the pieces of facts that led me to my conclusion... 1- Watch on Netflix the doc about the Yorkshire Ripper. Basically he had been active long before the first official death (he both killed, and attacked some who survived), he was at first referred to as a killer of hookers, although his first few victims labelled as hookers had no proof they were... they were just poor. But some WERE probably hookers, which means the Yorkshire UK cops didn’t give a fuck until they couldn’t hide it anymore (he didn’t just attack poor, he went after everyone). There are 4 episodes or so in this limited series on YR, and it will show you just how deeply even the UK cops don’t care about vulnerable people being killed b/c guess what! The mayors and city councils don’t like to be known for having an active serial killer in the area. Fucks up tourism.

2- A youtube channel called Soft White Underbelly. He goes to places like Skid Row, and pays the people he finds willing to be interviewed about their lives. 2 separate interviews with 2 hookers, one had survived a single serial killer attacked, the other had survived 2 (TWO!!) serial killers. All 3 were different men. One of the hookers is asked how many serial killers are preying on the vulnerable in LA-- she said thousands. Without hesitating, she oh there’s thousands. I’m sure a skid row hooker is going to give a more honest answer than anyone associated with LAPD or LA city government... they REALLY don’t want people knowing just how many killers are active in that city, at this moment. Fucks up tourism.

3- I’m currently watching Mindhunter on Netflix, about how the FBI created their Behavior Science division, ie serial killer hunters, and it’s currently on the section about the Atlanta child murders. I don’t remember the number, but many children were abducted and murdered, and then a bunch of older people were killed around the same time. FBI guys were sure this was a child serial killer for the kids, and 2-3 different killers for the adult victims. All victims were poor and/or black. The city refused to even look into it until they couldn’t hide it anymore. Fucks up tourism.

4- I guess if you just consume a lot of media on serial killers like I do.. eventually, you ARE going to see this same pattern. Many serial killers go their whole lives never getting caught, b/c they take vulnerable people, which includes sex workers, addicts, homeless, and indigineous women (US and Canada). They don’t really like to investigate these as serial killings, and really only do if someone from the public stumbles across a body, or someone is killed who has family to advocate for them. That’s literally the only reason we know about most of the ones who HAVE been caught. Cops are told by their superiors there is no reason to investigate, city mayors and councils get upset at the idea of a serial killer active there being known, this has been going on since the original Jack the Ripper. Longer, of course, but before then serial killers could hide their crimes much easier than in 20-21st century. No one wants to say they have an active serial killer in their city. Fucks up tourism.

Obviously this is all stuff you will have to look into yourself for anyone who thinks I’m off base on the thousands-tens of thousands number of currently active serial killers, but I am convinced that is the number range. No one investigating hundreds of thousands of murders over the course of 70 years or so, unless one pops up they can’t hide (think Son of Sam or Nightstalker, both were too bold to ignore and their victims were random and not vulnerable- hence coverage). But I am convinced, 100%, that the number 150 or so active SKs is WAY off base. The authorities don’t give a fuck about poor people and they really don’t like sex workers. They literally just declare every murdered woman or young man with no firm familial ties as a sex worker, and shut the case. Then bodies pile up.

We have one here in Asheville, NC. A cop who was dating a friend of mine told me about it, like 13 years ago, I would never have known otherwise. Still active, although likely a different one than the serial killer/s we have in our National Parks up here. These mountains make for easy hiding.

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fangirlingtodeath513 · 7 years ago

Note

Could you recommend me some fics!? :)

Hello anon! I’m not sure what types of fics you’re looking for, so I’m gonna post a few that I have bookmarked on AO3 and if you’re looking for more specific fics, shoot me another ask :)

The Walk by PersephoneShadow (aka @ibelieveinthelittletreetopper)

Castiel tells himself it was a one time thing, even if his night with a hooker named Dean changed his whole world, but he can’t keep away from the man fate keeps throwing in his path. Castiel is married and he knows his sexuality is an affront to God and everything he’s ever been told is right.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t care about the weirdo with blue eyes, but every time they meet he gets a bit closer to something like hope. Dean’s nothing but a homeless waste of space with a brother in foster care a world away and a father in the wind.

As the connection between these two lost men deepens, it threatens the carefully maintained lies their lives are built on in a story of faith, mistakes, and the journey of love.

Warnings: There’s instances of homophobia throughout the fic, violence (toward Dean, mostly) and it’s obviously NSFW since, ya know, Dean’s a sex worker.

Let It Be by PersephoneShadow (aka @ibelieveinthelittletreetopper)

Dean Winchester’s life changed forever the night a demon appeared in his brother’s nursery and killed his father.

As a hunter Mary is determined to protect her sons from the evil she has run from her whole life - the same evil that took John. But Dean also trusts his protection to the angel in a trench coat he talks to in his dreams. Through years of tribulation and uncertainty, the Winchesters (plus a corgi that might be magic and an angel that may not be real) must fight monsters, demons, and even fate itself to survive as a family.

Or: The one where Mary lives, Cas is there, and nothing and everything changes.

Warnings: Violence, but nothing that’s atypical of Supernatural in general. Other than that, not much.

This is a behemoth of a fic (over 140,000 words) but honestly, if you have the time to read this, it’s beautifully written and was my favorite fic until The Walk beat it out of first place.

Under My Skin by @xylodemon

Dean wants to keep Cas close.

Warnings: None

This is sort of a coda fic, mostly inspired by the absolute flailing Jensen getting a tattoo caused. Honestly it’s just a really good fic and the whole idea of it is super heartwarming. (Also it has a happy ending in case you don’t like fics without happy endings. The above two also have happy endings.)

So Bitter and So Sweet by superhoney (aka pomegranatedaffodil)

Dean has known about the family curse ever since it claimed the life of his mother: anyone who dares to love a Winchester is fated to die. When he takes a chance on love and loses his husband Benny, his belief in its power only grows stronger.

Two years later, a late-night phone call from his brother Sam sends both of their lives spinning wildly out of control. Then Officer Cas Novak arrives in town, looking into the disappearance of Sam’s girlfriend Ruby, and starts asking questions Sam and Dean can’t answer. Complicating matters even further, Dean feels an immediate, overwhelming connection to the intense, blue-eyed source of their problems.

Dealing with all the secrets, the lies, and a brother slowly crumbling under the weight of his guilt doesn’t leave much time for romance, but as Cas gets closer to the truth, he also gets closer to Dean.

Inspired by the film Practical Magic.

Warnings: It’s NSFW and angsty, but has a happy ending.

For My Own by youaresunlight (aka @puppycastiel)

Five times Castiel regrets dating a movie star, and one time Dean proves him wrong.

Warnings: None

I love the idea of Dean being a movie star and this fic is super well written.

Typecast by @mnwood

Up-and-coming movie actor Castiel Novak knows he’ll never be taken seriously if all he ever plays is betas, and as an alpha he certainly doesn’t think it’s a wise career choice to play an omega. However, when he’s offered the omega role in a gay romance and learns that the much more famous (and his crush) Dean Winchester is playing the alpha, Cas decides maybe it’s time to take a risk. But when they meet on day one, Cas isn’t sure what to make of Dean’s scent.

Warnings: Very NSFW and has A/B/O dynamics. Also, Dean is aromantic and Cas is asexual, if either of those things are a nope for you.

Defiant by thestorygirl

Dean Winchester has devoted his career as a police officer to helping angel slaves in any way that he can. He even formed and heads the “Angel Welfare Task Force,” which involved him being called to consult on any case involving slaves. This passion stemmed from an incident that happened twenty years previously, when a thirteen year old Dean failed to help his friend Castiel escape being sold to a sadistic owner.

Dean had never really harbored any hope of finding his friend. He saw his work as something he did in memory of Castiel, to prevent others from suffering the same fate. But, when called out on a routine case one day, Dean was startled to find that he recognized the victim.

Warnings: Castiel is a victim of rape. Repeatedly (if I’m remembering correctly, it’s been a while since I read this). It wasn’t Dean. Angels are essentially slaves in this fic, humans have enslaved them and bound their grace with collars to keep them from accessing most of it. Very NSFW.

Literally anything by @ibelieveinthelittletreetopper is amazing. She’s a beautiful writer and her fics are so well put together and just… *gestures wildly to her AO3*

Also anything by @ozonecologne (her codas, specifically) are beautiful and should absolutely be on your to read list. Her AO3 can be found here. You do have to have an AO3 account to read her things, since she was having trouble with people uploading her fics on other sites without her permission. You can also browse her fic page on her tumblr here.

Also anything and everything by @ltleflrt should be devoured ASAP. AO3 here.

@grey2510 is also a phenomenal writer, whose AO3 is here

Anything by @elizabethrobertajones and @mittensmorgul whose AO3s can be found here and here, respectively.

Also I’m gonna throw this one on at the end. I’m reading it currently and I have absolutely no idea how it’ll end because I’m only two chapters in, so mind the tags.

The Path of Fireflies by museaway

After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

This is a recommendation from ibelieveinthelittletreetopper, I think… I’ve had it open on my laptop trying to read it between studying for my tests. The first two chapters are excellent.

(I just realized all of these are destiel fics which is basically all that I read aside from Cockles fics from specific authors so… sorry if you’re not looking for destiel fics? I’m also 100% sure I’m forgetting people so SORRY TO ANYONE I FORGOT)

If you’d like specific types of fics, feel free to send me another ask. You can also check out @deancasbigbang, a lot of those fics are posting/have posted recently, and DCBB fics are amazing.

#asks #fic rec #destiel fanfic #destiel #Anonymous

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rohobi · 7 years ago

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Pretty Woman | (B)

PAIRING— kim namjoon x reader, Pretty WomanAU GENRE — fluff, smut, angst SUMMARY — based entirely off the 1990′s film ‘Pretty Woman’. Nothing below is my original work, all credit goes to the movie. Kim Namjoon is a wealthy businessman who arrives in Hollywood to meet with a tycoon of a shipbuilding company he’s in the process of raiding. Lost trying to find his hotel, he meets you, a feisty and straight up prostitute on Hollywood Boulevard.

↪ A/N: I am appalled by the amount of youth who have not seen this film. I have linked the film for your viewing pleasure here because it’s a fucking classic. Otherwise, just read this lmao complete summary of the movie.

During a phone call with his younger girlfriend, she dumps him for being too controlling. Namjoon is frustrated and sick of the women in his life only after one thing; his money. Not taking her seriously, he rolls his eyes and asks her to escort him home -as he doesn’t live in LA and this is her playground. “This is a very important week for me darling, I need you at every moment. I thought my secretary cleared you?”

“You never give me any notice and I speak more to your fucking secretary than I do with you.”

“I am sorry if I made you upset, this deal is very important and I need you here this minute, please if you could-

She hangs up on him after telling him to “fuck off Namjoon, I am not your beck and call girl. I’m moving out, when you get back to New York, my stuff will be gone.” Putting the phone back into his suit pocket, he slumps against the bar, drinking the rest of his coke.

Kim Namjoon finds himself accidentally ending up on Hollywood Boulevard in the city’s red-light district in his lawyers Lotus Esprit sports car, after forcing him to give him the keys. Not thinking his actions through, he speeds up the hill instead of down, where Beverly Hills is located.

Forced awake by the three alarms clocks, you pull yourself out of your makeshift mattress on the floor and get ready for you shift on the streets. Wearing thigh high leather boots, a small denim skirt, a white tank, short blonde wig and a train conductors hat, you walk to work.

Except, your landlords banging on your door for rent, stopping you from leaving. Opening the back of the toilet compartment for this months rent, you find the box where you kept your rent money empty.

Sighing. You put it back into the compartment as your landlord continues to bang on your door. Grabbing a red coat, you open the window and escape from paying rent with money you don’t have down the fire escape.

You’ve always loved Hollywood at night. Busy streets, the distant sound of police sirens, homeless men in expensive threads offering advice on the key to happiness.

But tonight, it’s different. Detective Albertson, the usual cop on these roads is interviewing men -key witnesses. It looks like another ones been killed -drug deal gone wrong. It’s been happening a lot these days, it’s a reason why you’re thankful that you’re strictly against drugs, never letting yourself sink to that low.

Hooking was enough.

Only when you get close, you realise it’s not one of the boys but one of your own.

Slipping past the police, you walk into the alleyway as police attempt to identify the body. You silently lean over the man holding the camera as they cover her body.

Marie.

She was only 18, had a bright future ahead of her. You hadn’t seen her in weeks. Had she been in the dumpster this entire time?

“Another kitten on the streets buying crack like it’s milk, the fuck these kids doing these days,” a police officer says, almost a little too passively. “How many girls are we going to find in the dumpster this week?”

Feeling vomit rise up your throat, you run across the road to Irene’s usual hangout. You love your roommate usually but today, you’re angry. Fist bumping the bouncer, he lets you in as you walk through the mostly red lit club. Walking up to the bartender, a familiar of yours, he grins. “Nice to see you this evening, run out of books?”

“Had to use them as kindling,” you smile back. “Hey pops, you know where Irene is?”

He nods his head to the stairs. “Upstairs kid.”

“Thanks.”

You spot her in the far corner, combing her hair. “Irene.” you shout over the music. She looks up, happy as fucking larry. “Hey, y/n.”

“Did you take it all? Is it all gone?”

She looks nervous, standing up, she shouts. “Carlos sold me some good shit, we just had this great party I hosted-

-I can’t believe you bought drugs with out rent money, whats wrong with you?” You interrupt her, hands on your hips.

Her eyes glisten with tears. “I needed a little pick me up.”

You shout at her. “Well, we need rent money.”

Grabbing your arm, she pulls you down to the bar for snacks. She gives you the same look she gave you when you knocked on her door 8 months ago. “I gave you place to say and some money, don’t irritate me.”

“I just saw a girl get pulled out of a dumpster for buying drugs Irene.”

She puts a couple grapes in her mouth. “Yeah, I know. Marie. She was a crackhead for months. No one could help her.”

Girls fight in the distance, you both watch them crash to the ground in nonchalance. “Look Irene,” you whisper, facing her. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“Where, where the fuck you wanna go?”

You sink in your chair, “I guess, anywhere but here.”

Namjoon can’t drive the sports car. That he knows well as he pulls up next to a homeless man carting through someones rubbish. “You know how to get to Beverly Hills?” he asks, leaning towards the window from the drivers seat.

The man laughs. “Honey, you’re in Beverly Hills right now!”

Namjoon drives away. “Of course I am.”

Irene leans on the parking metre as you rub your heel against your designated Hollywood star. “Maybe we should get pimps?” she asks and you snort laugh your way to Africa.

“And what, ruin our lives and he takes all of our money? No way.”

She nods. “You’re right. We say who, we say when and how much.”

A car skids behind them. Irene gasps. “Yo, catch this out.”

“Wait a minute, that’s a lotus?” you gasp, watching it skid to a halt on the curb a couple metres away from you.

“No baby, that’s rent. You should go for him. You look hot tonight. Don’t take less than a couple hundred. Call me when you’re done. Take care of you.” she pulls you into a hug.

“Take care of you too.” you say back.

In his confusion with how to drive the car, he skids over to the curb where he encounters a prostitute by the parking metre, you.

“Sugar, you want a date?” you ask. Leaning on his open window, you watch in amusement as he tries to remember how to turn the car back on. “Do you not know how to drive your car, sir?”

”Driving this car is the least of my worries, do you perhaps know the directions to Beverly Hills Regent Hotel?” he asks, turning back to you. You admire his stunning brown eyes and reassuring grin.

”Do I perhaps know my own city?” you snort, chewing your gum, you look him up and down. Not bad. “I know it like the back of my hand. It’s gonna cost you $5 though.”

“That’s ridiculous-

“-price just went up to $10.”

He stares at you in disbelief. “You can’t charge for directions.”

“I can do whatever I want to baby, i’m not the one lost.”

"Alright fine. Please, will you help me? Can you guide me there?” he begs, holding his two hands up in a praying expression, a twenty hanging between them.

You hop in. “Alright, down the road, make a right.”

“So what’s your name?” he asks.

“Anything you want it to be?” you wink at him. Namjoon stares at you, still waiting for a name.

“Fine, my name’s Y/N.”

After much discussion on how to drive the expensive sports car, it becomes clear that you know more about the Lotus than he does, and so he lets you drive instead.

“This is gonna cost ya,” you mumble, spitting out your gum on the sidewalk as you run over to the drivers seat. “Never driven a car in thigh high leather boots before.”

“I’ve never let a hooker drive my car before, new experiences for both of us.”

You snort laugh. “It’s gonna cost ya another $20. I’m sure you have the much on you, right?”

He gapes at you. “Of course.”

“So, tell me. What kind of money you girls make these days?” he asks, folding his coat on his pocket as you drive.

“I don’t take less than a couple hundred dollars.” you lie, clutching onto the wheel. Your usual was 100 but, he looks rich.

He gapes at you. “A night?”

“An hour.”

“You’re making that kind of money an hour and you’ve got a safety pin holding your boot up? You gotta be joking.”

You look at him seriously. “I never joke about money.”

“Neither do I.”

You drive through the night life silently. “$200 an hour, pretty stiff.”

Without taking your eyes off the road, you put your hand on his crutch. Softly palming him through his suit pants. “Well, no but it's got potential.”

He looks up at you with a blank expression. You put your hand back on the wheel and grin.

Namjoon gives you a $50 note for the ride after you park his car outside the hotel, and then you separate.

Re-calling his girlfriend one more time, or more accurately, his now ex-girlfriend, she screams at him to get a hooker and to leave her alone.

He slumps himself against the elevator and then he looks out the window from his hotel penthouse room in thought. Maybe he should get a hooker.

You go to a bus stop, where he finds you again moments later and offers to hire you for the night. You accept, needing the rent money and he hands you a roll of money in his hotel room. You lick your fingers as you count over $1000 dollars. Your heart races as you put the money in your boot, thats more than enough for rent for a couple months and a little extra for school.

Pulling out your collection of condoms from your boot, held up by the safety pin. You offer him one of each colour, ready to put one on him when he stops you, asking to instead just simply, talk.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tell him you’ll be out in a moment and that the wine they just had really got to you. Thinking you to be taking drugs, he barges through the door as you hold dental floss behind your back. “I don’t do drugs, I just think you shouldn’t neglect your gums.”

He stands at the door.

You stare at him in the mirror. “Are you going to watch?”

“No, it’s just,” He shakes his head. “Very few people surprise me.”

“Well yeah, you’re lucky. Most shock the hell out of me.”

Later on that night, he’s at his desk finishing up on his documents and you’re on the floor by the tv -boots off, eating strawberries and popcorn, and watching old movies. He sits on the couch beside you, dropping all of his paperwork to instead watch the way your smile lights up your face when something funny happens on TV. He finds it refreshing.

Spurred on by the intense look on his face, you climb to your knees and crawl between his thighs. Rubbing your hands up his thighs, you palm him without breaking eye contact. He tries to kiss you but you hold a finger on his lips, informing him of your no kissing rule.

You give him a blow job that night, and he falls asleep on the couch when he’s done. You run to his bedroom and fall asleep on the most expensive bed you’ve ever touched.

You have the best sleep of your life.

The next morning, you awake to a full table of breakfast. Namjoon didn’t know what you liked so he ordered everything from avocado on toast to bacon and eggs.

Wearing a matching bathrobe, you sit beside him. He’s surprised by your natural hair, in fact, he thinks you look beautiful as you eat the toast with your hands. You ask him about his life, feeling overwhelmed over just how articulate and rich this man is.

You liken his job of buying companies in financial difficulties and then selling them off to stealing cars and selling the parts. Namjoon begins to look at his business in a new light.

Listening to music and singing in the bathtub that morning, Namjoon receives a call from his lawyer, Jackson, that insists he brings a date to the business to act as a buffer. Offering a laundry list of nice girls he knows, Namjoon cuts him off, smiling at you in the bath tub. “You don’t know any nice girls and besides, I already have one.”

“Y/N,” he says, and you pull out the earphones, feeling embarrased over your moment of careless bliss. “Sorry, I love that song.” you whisper.

“Y/N, I have a business proposition for you.”

He asks you to play the role his girlfriend has refused, offering you $5,000 to stay with him for the next six days as well as paying for a new, more acceptable wardrobe for you.

He gives you his credit card, requesting that you only purchase clothes that are elegant and conservative. He leaves not much later and you scream to your hearts content, jumping on his bed in celebration of $5,000!

Picking up the phone you call Irene, and you both scream into each others ears. Holding up his card into the sunlight, you ask. “Where do I go for the clothes?”

“Rodeo Drive baby.”

You leave the hotel with the same clothes you walked in with, gaining the unwanted attention of men and scowls from women in the main lobby. Walking down Rodeo, you marvel at the expensive threads in windows before you look back at the card in your hands, kissing it.

You enter a designer brand with a nice dress out front. Each customer service representative in the room, look at you in distaste. “Are you looking for something in particular?” a woman asks, following you as you look at the clothes.

You smile at her. “Yes actually, something conservative but I don’t know really.”

“Oh, conservative yes.”

You hold the hem of a pretty lace dress. “I like your clothes here, nice stuff. How much is this dress here?”

“I don’t think it would fit you.”

“Well, I didn’t ask if it would fit, I asked how much it was.”

She turns to another customer service rep. “How much is this Mary?”

Mary crosses her arms across her chest. “It’s very expensive.”

“Very expensive.”

You turn to look at other clothes. “Look, I have money to spend here.”

Mary cuts you off from looking at a dress. “I don’t think we have anything here for you,” looking you up and down, she adds. “You’re obviously in the wrong place. Please leave.”

Leaving the store silently, tears glistening in your eyes. You walk back to the hotel, disheartened by the woman in this world. Walking through the lobby, you are stopped by a soft-hearted Hotel Manager, Barney, who asks that you dress appropriately in his hotel.

You cry your heart out, telling him that is what you were trying to achieve today. He asks what you were trying to purchase. You tell him that you were trying to buy a dress for a dinner this evening.

Walking around the desk, he picks up the phone. You immediately think he’s calling the police but are instead relieved to hear that he’s calling Womens Clothing just for you.

“I’m sending Y/N over to you, she is the very special family member of a very special guest here at the Beverly Hills Regent Hotel.”

You smile, feeling the kindness from an otherwise strict man.

Now having a dress for the evening, you ask Barney, the hotel manager to teach you etiquette. He spends a couple of hours of his own free time to teach you. Still confused by the silverware, he advices you to follow after Namjoon’s lead.

“The rich just make it more difficult for themselves don’t they?” you snort laugh, picking up the many forks on the table.

That evening, you sit at the bar in the lobby wearing a black cocktail dress. Visibly moved by you transformation, Namjoon begins seeing you in a very different light. Openly gaping at you as you walk up to him, you chastise him for being late. “You’re late Mr. Kim.”

“And you are stunning.”

The dinner is intense. You don’t know an awful lot about his business but he tells you on the way to the restaurant that this is a company he wishes to purchase, sell off and make lots of money from. Even potentially gaining a billion dollars.

You ask him what the point is when he doesn’t do anything with the money. He laughs, holding you close to him. “I bought you for the week didn’t I?”

“That is correct but I am a dollar in the sea of billions.”

He thinks on that as he walks you to the table where two gentlemen await; a father and his adult grandson. As the dinner continues, the men admire your innocence, even comforting your lack of knowledge on the food and type of silverware to use.

As you try to eat, the discussions get heated as they ask what Namjoon plans to happen to their family company. He is honest, tells them he plans to break it apart and sell the pieces.

They are understandably hurt.

You are understandably confused on how to use the apparatus to eat the snail escargot, whatever they called it. At the peak of anger, the snail flies out of your hands and into a waiters arms. It’s a welcomed distraction, as the men laugh but it doesn’t downplay the serious business at hand.

Namjoon is called a bastard who uses corrupt politicians to his advantages.

The men wish you well as they leave.

“We are similar creatures Y/N,” he says, walking you back to his hotel room. “We both screw people for money.”

Later that evening, Namjoon has disappeared and hasn’t come to bed, its now 3am. Getting worried, you call the hotel elevator service if they have seen him. In nothing but a bathrobe, they take you to the hotels piano room where Namjoon has slumped himself over the keys to play a passionate piece.

You lean against the piano.

Namjoon stops playing, asking everyone in the room to leave.

Grabbing you by the waist, he pulls you against the keys so you stand before him. Leaning his head on your stomach, you tangle your fingers through his hair. “You okay?”

Saying nothing else, he unties your bathrobe to run his fingers over your lingerie. Lifting you up and onto the piano, you whisper. “I guess so.”

He tries to kiss you but you pull away.

Not letting it ruin the moment, he lays you down on top of the piano. Eating you out. The soft sounds of mismatched piano keys are the only thing heard from outside the room.

The next day, he takes you shopping and oh boy do you get your revenge on those nasty girls from the day before. Spending thousands on clothes for you, Namjoon informs you that people are never kind to other people, they’re only kind to money.

You remember this as you walks into the store from yesterday in nothing but Chanel from head to toe, holding up bags from the likes of Gucci and Prada. “Hi,” you say, walking up to the same woman from yesterday. “Do you remember me?”

“I’m sorry, I do not.”

“I came in yesterday, you wouldn’t wait on me.”

Walking around the store, you smile. “You work on comission right?”

“Ah yes.” she says.

“Well, big mistake. Huge mistake,” holding your bags, she looks at the labels on each, a gasp tears through her lips. “I have to go shopping now, goodbye.”

You leave the store with a swing in your hips. The ladies watch on in disbelief.

In his office, Namjoon is told if he makes one single phone call to the bank, he can ruin the family business owner he met last evening. He ignores Jackson as he talks about money, as he mindlessly stacks glass cups on each other.

Namjoon is uncomfortable with the idea that he doesn’t build or make anything like you asked him if he did. Growing increasingly uncomfortable with a company that tears smaller ones apart, he gets an idea that might just change the entire course of his life.

Back at the hotel, you await beside a candle lit dinner naked. Namjoon comes home and with a happy face, asks that you bathe together, hoping to wash away the grime he feels like he is.

Namjoon takes you to a polo match in hopes of networking for his business deal. His attorney, Jackson, suspects you as a corporate spy, and Namjoon tells him how you truly met after watching you converse with another man.

He’s ashamed of the jealousy he feels.

But when he sees you smile so widely and it’s not because of him, he’s baffled. When had you gotten so close?

Jackson later approaches you, suggesting they do business once your work with Namjoon is finished. Insulted, and furious that Namjoon has revealed your secret, you want to end the arrangement.

Namjoon apologizes, and admits to feeling jealous of a business associate to whom you paid attention to at the match. You fight in the hotel lobby, yelling at him for making you feel the cheapest you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

You shake your head, dismissing his comments. “I wanna get my money and get outta here.”

He stares at you for a long hard minute before emptying his wallet and walking away. You stare at the money before deciding not to take it. Namjoon chases after you as you’re about to get into the elevator.

He sincerely apologies and you let him take you back into the room. You sleep together that night, staying up late, talking about each others lives. You tell him how you got into hooking because you followed an old exboyfriend who abandoned you in the city.

You couldn’t make rent after working three jobs and then you met Irene, who took you in and made hooking sound great. “The first time I did it, I cried the whole time. It’s not like it’s a star profession, a dream, something kids grow up wanting to be.”

“You could be so much more.” he whispers, kissing your temple.

You cuddle into his naked chest. “But then people put you down when you start to believe that.”

“I think you’re very bright, a very beautiful and special person.”

“You ever notice that the bad things are easier to believe?”

He doesn’t nod but agrees with it wholeheartedly.

Clearly growing involved, Namjoon takes you in his private jet to see La Traviata in San Francisco. Jackson isn’t too happy about him leaving in the middle of this deal for date with a hooker. Namjoon holds back, telling him to be careful with his word.

In a perfect red dress with a necklace worth a quarter of a million dollars, you feel like a princess. You are then moved to tears by the story of the prostitute who falls in love with a rich man.

You break your "no kissing on the mouth" rule for him and then, you make love with Namjoon. After that, you two are constantly together.

On dates.

Kissing.

Having sex.

And in the aftermath of it all, when you’ve spent your last day with him, you tell Namjoon that you love him, but he does not respond. Your heart breaks for the first time but you knew he’d never love you back.

You’re just a prostitute in a nice dress.

Namjoon offers to put you up in an apartment so you don’t have to pay rent and so you can be off the streets. Hurt at his charity, you refuse, saying that this is not the "fairy tale" you dreamed of as a child, in which a knight on a white horse rescues you.

Meeting with the tycoon whose shipbuilding company he is in the process of trying to obtain. Namjoon changes his mind. He doesn’t want to be someone who destroys things, but someone who builds things, makes them better. His time with you has shown him a different way of looking at life, and he suggests working together to save the company rather than tearing it apart and selling off the pieces.

Jackson is furious at losing so much money, goes to the hotel to confront Namjoon but finds only you. Blaming you for the change in Namjoon, he attempts to rape you. Namjoon arrives just in time, punches him and throws Jackson out of the room.

You cower behind the couch, a bruise on your face from where Jackson had hit you. He stares at your doe eyed expression in apology, feeling his cold dead heart race.

With his business in L.A. complete, Namjoon asks you to stay one more night with him -- because you want to, not because he's paying you.

You refuse.

Then you part ways.

You never accept his payment, choosing to leave the money behind. Namjoon holds the $5,000 in his hands feeling lost and empty.

Taking the clothes however, is a completely different story. Sweeping the streets clean of your hooker friends, you give them an outfit each and encourage them to all apply for jobs. They all give you money for the clothes -enough to sustain yourself for a couple of months.

After each of your friends receive interviews, you teach them proper social etiquette and how to look strong in front of employers.

“How do we turn our experiences into strengths,” one woman asks.

You grin. “You got any talents?”

“I guess, I can blow two guys at the same time and watch the clock in the corner of my eye? Does that count?”

Crossing your arms over your chest and then your legs, you sit up straight. “Honey, you can multitask well and you work in a timely fashion. Next?”

“I strictly only have threesomes? There’s more money.”

Leaning forward, you laugh. “Easy, you’re a team player. You work well in a team to ensure a good financial gain to the company and you work only for a positive result.”

The girls sink into the chairs, laughing wildly at the prospect of this actually working. You open up a business to get people off the street and into jobs, and at first it works and then, it really works. Money starts pouring in from donations and familiar investors but it’s not enough to keep a roof over your head. The prospect of becoming homeless scares you more than you’d like to admit.

Across town, Namjoon re-thinks his life as heads to the aiport back to New York and has the hotel chauffeur detour to your apartment building, where he leaps from out the white limo's sun roof and "rescues you", an urban visual metaphor for the knight on a white horse of her dreams.

So what happens after he climbed up the tower and rescues her? She rescues him right back.

#bts fanfic #bangtan imagines #bangtan scenarios #bangtan fanfics #bts fanfiction #bts #bts rm #bts namjoon #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts blurb #bts pretty woman

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reinamycloud · 8 years ago

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J2 Fic Recs

I listed a few old J2 fic faves for a community I’m part of and figured I might as well share it here, too. Most of these are terribly well-known, fyi, since it’s a bit of a starter kit. :)

NON-AU:

The Courtship of Jensen's Co-Star by qblackheart [112K, E]

Summary: Somewhere in the time between a handshake and a hug, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki went from being reel-life brothers to real-life best friends, and complete strangers to cosmic soul mates, no rhyme or reason to it that either of them could ever see. Jared was everything Jensen was not: friendly, funny, and full of life; one in six-point-whatever billion the Earth’s population currently stood at. Life was awesome. Work was amazing. Everything was fine until Jared kissed Jensen. Everything was peachy until Jensen fell in love. With desperate times unexpectedly calling for desperate measures, Jensen called Chad Michael Murray for relationship advice – because being in love led to temporary insanity obviously – so it really didn't surprise him that he couldn’t seem to win when it came to wooing Jared. Still, Pisces must’ve been in a really good place in the night sky or something because suddenly, right smack dab in the middle of the miserable courtship of his co-star, Jensen discovered that maybe loving Jared was all he needed to do to win his heart. And luckily for Jensen, loving Jared was also the one thing he did best.

The Play-Nice Proviso by qblackheart [70K, E]

Summary: When Jensen Ackles first met Jared Padalecki, it was most definitely not love at first sight. It wasn’t even like at first sight. In fact, Jensen hated him, and he had a few good reasons as to why. So what if his new co-star was oblivious to his one-sided warfare? Jensen could deal. Apart from when he couldn’t. So when it came down to picking between Padalecki and his peace of mind, the choice seemed clear. Except for the fact that The Network had his balls in a vice, leaving him stuck with Supernatural, stuck with his idiot co-star, and worst of all, stuck with a ‘Play Nice’ Proviso added to his contract. Well, he could play nice. He would play so nice that the world was going to think that he and Jared Padalecki were the bestest friends in the history of best friends. It was unfortunate then that no one had ever told Jensen what happened when an immovable object met an irresistible force; no one had ever thought to mention that there was a thin line between hate and love; and nothing, absolutely nothing, could have possibly prepared him for Playing Nice with Jared Padalecki.

Mirror 'Verse by Felisblanco [45K, M]

Summary: They keep calling him beautiful. Pretty. “Come on. Look this way. Give us a smile, Jensen.” He smiles and blinks against the flashes, fighting the urge to lower his eyes, to hide the blush burning under layers of makeup. Sweat runs down his back, his hands tremble. He’s not pretty, not beautiful. He’s small and weak and pathetic and one day they’re all gonna figure it out. One day… [Note: Jensen suffers from an eating disorder]

Puzzle 'Verse by Felisblanco [30K, T]

Summary: As they start filming and working together, Jared realizes Danneel’s prediction was right. He and Jensen do hit it off. Sure Jensen is quirky and sometimes (okay, a lot of times) uncomfortably direct to the point of being rude. But once Jared figures out Jensen isn’t actually mean as much as he’s just a little clueless (and mostly unconcerned) about the rules of social interactions, it stops bothering him. [Note: Jensen has Asperger's]

AU:

As This Sunset Turns to Morning by mournthewicked/alovething [86K, E] (podfic)

Summary: Jensen spends his life hiding who he is from the family that would never accept him if they knew. When he’s uprooted in the middle of his senior year and suddenly becomes the new kid, his carefully placed mask begins to slip. Especially when he meets Jared – a loud, outspoken spectacle of a boy that fights for everything Jensen was taught to stand against. Jared has no problem going after what he wants, and now it’s just a matter of Jensen letting himself do the same.

Gunpoint by Felisblanco [137K, E]

Summary: Jensen got his childhood stolen away from him when he was ten years old. Along with his memory, his voice and every emotion that wasn’t fear, hatred or anger. Question is, can Jared help him get any of it back? And more importantly, does Jensen really want him to? [Note: Jensen has PTSD]

One Small Step by sandymg [37K, T] (podfic)

Summary: Jared has had a secret crush for months. But it’s not like publishing genius and gay activist Jensen Ackles is going to notice the tall, weird guy pushing the mail cart. So when Jared’s best friend and Jensen’s assistant, Sandy, tells him that Jensen is getting married in one month to a fellow activist -- something about being the first gay couple to get married in the state -- Jared knows some things just aren't meant to be. And now Sandy is insisting that Jared help her plan the wedding. She thinks it’s a good idea. Jared thinks she’s nuts. Because the only thing this could lead to is heartbreak. Right? [Note: Jared has Asperger's]

True Colors by Munibunny [32K, M] (podfic)

Summary: Jared is a mentally challenged young man with a very special gift. Jensen is an executive with nothing in his life but work. They meet by accident and discover a connection that defies explanation.

Lost and Found by Mediaville [47K, E]

Summary: Jensen Ackles is a shy, overweight songwriter whose body issues have prevented him from forming any real personal connections, and at thirty, he’s still unsure of his sexuality, and still a virgin. But when he signs up for an experimental obesity research program, he meets Jared Padalecki, a stunningly sexy fitness guru who slowly but surely changes Jensen’s life.

A Beautiful Beast by Anyothergirl415 [29K, E]

Summary: Burdened by his past, Jensen Ackles isn’t entirely certain how to act when he’s approached by the homeless man that’s been stalking the book store he works in. He learns pretty quickly, however, that like himself, this man is not at all like he might seem.

Our Parts Are Slightly Used by kelleigh [50K, E]

Summary: After three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, Jared has come home to Texas, working a steady job as a security guard and trying to patch himself back together. His dreams are less than kind, but he copes for the sake of those who never made it back. Jared's not expecting to meet someone like Jensen Ackles - a Dallas businessman with confidence and charisma in spades. They connect over coffee breaks and high-spirited basketball games with Jared's vet buddies, and what begins as friendship quickly deepens into a defining romance. Although Jared's willing to share his physical scars with Jensen, the burden of hiding his emotional wounds weighs heavily on both of them. As Jensen scrambles to put a name to his boyfriend's symptoms, Jared struggles each and every day, and neither of them sees the storm on the horizon until it's too late.

In Becoming Who We Are by Eliza Jane [82K, E] (podfic)

Summary: Fresh out of school with a degree from the University of Washington, Jensen meets and falls for Jeff Morgan. He may not know what he wants to do with his life, but for the first time since leaving Texas, he feels like things are coming together. Jeff seems like the perfect guy, right up until it all falls apart.

Hearthstone by Molly [42K, M]

Summary: Jensen lives alone in the small town where he grew up, dividing his time between the bookstore he runs (with no customers), the bar he half-owns (but doesn't run) and the big, expensive dream house (that he bought with money he doesn't know what to do with). He lives quietly at the edge of the circle of friends he went to school with, and avoids everybody else -- until the new guy in town crashes a bike in front of Jensen's store and wedges himself into Jensen's world.

Over here at the side of your life by Fleshflutter [13K, E]

Summary: Jared is a hooker, Jensen is his workaholic best friend.

Stretch Right Up And Touch The Sky by felisblanco [47K, E]

Summary: Jared’s life changed forever the day Jensen transferred to his school two years ago. It must have been destiny that brought them together because Jensen was without a doubt meant to be his forever soulmate and the love of his life. Too bad Jensen had no idea Jared even existed.

Reinventing Love by mournthewicked/alovething [202K, E]

Summary: Coming out to your best friend isn’t easy. But then again, neither is falling in love with him.

#j2 #j2 fic #j2 fic rec #rpf #spn rpf #fic rec

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indigo-ra · 7 years ago

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The Woman of the Millenium

Let me tell you something about a real woman who deserves all the respect and love of every girl who has achieved the goal of becoming anything she ever “put her mind to.”

Barbie is, and always will be, THAT HBIC. For any of you militant pro-black str(a/u)gglers who still are involved in your petty race for division because you still haven’t crossed the finish line and evolved to a level beyond human, this isn’t for you. This is for the real feminist who fights for equal pay and human rights to be treated BETTER than equal when she has to raise kids on her own, wear many hats AND EARN A LIVING for the past, present and future of her family.

Sheep are always looking for a reason to be offended these days, especially the millennial whiners. Nowadays people are offended on behalf of minorities they don’t even fucking represent. What kind of bullshit is that? But I digress.

Barbara Millicent Roberts, or as you all know her, Barbie, was an integral part of my childhood. Even though my mom wouldn’t let us get the white ones, we still called the Kiras, Theresas, Christies, and MIdges “Barbies”- and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one raised with this mentality.

Of course a lot of the black baby-boomer generation withstood the civil rights movements of the 60s and 70s and continued the struggle until they finally made Barbies in every shade and color. BUT even before there were multi-cultural (and now, even more realistically-proportioned) dolls, Barbie was working for your feminist rights.

Maybe you like to slip on some sexy lace nylons and stilettos, and cook for your man in lingerie after wrangling your kids from soccer practice after he gets home from a long hard day at work, once in a while. BUT EVERY DAY?

That’s what life was from the 1920s-50s, for a woman. And God, woman if you had anything to say about it, you could get used to the taste of his knuckles in your mouth and complain to all your friends and your parents and they would all just tell you to do better by doing what the fuck he expects, because divorce was not an option. Even if you decided to leave, despite all that; IF you could even find another man who would whisk you and your kids away from all that drama, his expectations would be the same as the one before and being alone is all fine and well if you liked being homeless, because IF you could find a job, the wages were so low that it was basically slave labor.

Imagine a time when your man could come home smelling like a cheap hooker’s perfume and a distillery and you would still be expected to do your fucking wifely duties (without contest) because cooking, cleaning, raising kids, shopping and making sure your sex life stays spicy enough that he wont cheat, was your “ONLY” job as opposed to his job at...wherever the fuck he was earning his paycheck.

White and black aside, this was a universal standard for the attainment of the “American Dream”. So if you were lucky enough to be successful and black in the 50s, this was still your life.

The grass ain’t always greener.

Anyway, Barbie was always a pertinent social icon for motivating women to want to stay fashionable, classic, witty, educated, skilled, clever and above it all in the best way that lady can be. Especially during a time when the “chauvinist pig” was beating his chest like a silverback gorilla. Through the years, of course, men at Mattel would try and warp her image to what appealed to men’s tastes, but in the end, that would always prove to be a bad marketing model, because the target demographic were female (old and young) and they wouldn’t buy the dolls, followed by public outrage if the integrity of that model was skewed in any way.

Barbie has been working her ass off since the 1950s, in every career, race and walk of life and I hear you in the back of the room mumbling something about “black lives matter” or some shit that is race related tattooed into your indignant expression, but let me tell you something about black women. We ain’t NEVA took no shit from nobody! Back in those days, white men in business suits were racist, sure, but if all the black women suddenly went rabid in a day, they woulda got they lily white asses ROCKED. The word “nigger” can’t protect you from these hands, nigga.

Tell me, who looks to be more of a threat?

both women are exceedingly intelligent, but one is a wild animal with unbridled rage hiding under that curly mane.

That being said, white men didn’t take any women seriously, but they at least feared the black woman. White women got no respect and BLONDE white women? Forget about it, kitten.

Of course a string of pearls and a fur once in a while might be enough to keep her complacent enough to keep her mouth shut, but that would NEVER be so with a black woman. So in a sense, they really kinda had it worse, because as the white man’s primary breeding stock, white women were traded like Pokemon cards without any say-so whatsoever, which kinda is why they are a docile breed of human (less so in recent years, but still partaking in activities like getting white-girl-wasted and generally having low self-esteem and less respect for all points of entry where dicks are concerned). These be facts!

You know who never was about that life though?

This classy, sassy, alpha bitch, here. The fashion world evolved around the standards established by this DOLL. Models and SUPERmodels are a breed of human whose careers, behaviors and lifestyles were groomed and perfected in the image of this DOLL. Barbie embodies the attainment of a level of perfection beyond just physical dimensions. The cultural aspects and intellectual output that came from her influence for generations has evolved a need for art, culture, beauty and couture fashion across the globe. Her influence transcends race, gender, religion and creed, because it includes them all while highlighting the beauty of diversity and MOST IMPORTANTLY OF ALL, underscoring CLASS- Which cannot be bought or sold.

So, here’s to you Miss Barbara Millicent Roberts. Thank you for being the unwavering high standard that most young girls had to look up to, when we didn’t have role models or parents to teach us how to be classy because their parents didn’t have a clue either. You are, and continue to be, perfect.

#barbie #dolls #cultural #icon #class #elegance #etiqutte

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