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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

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The Other You - 2

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His body heavy, eyes drooping closed, Adrien released his transformation and flopped on his bed face down. Who in the world thought that him running a fashion empire after spending all day teaching the principles of physics to teenagers was a good idea? Add in Chat Noir’s obligatory patrols, and you've got yourself a sleep-deprived, confused, and stressed disaster of a man. Yet, despite his exhaustion, Adrien’s lips stretched in a smile as soon as his head collided with a pillow.

“I’m so tempted to just sleep,” he whispered into the silence of his bedroom. “There’s always morning for changing clothes and grooming.”

“Do whatever you want,” Plagg puffed. “But I need disinfection. Seriously, you two need to get a room and preferably a kwami-free one. I didn’t sign up for this uncivilized, touchy-feely stuff. Can’t you just reveal identities and free me from being an involuntary participant in your grossly romantic endeavours?”

“If it were up to me, I would've done that a long time ago,” Adrien murmured. His shoes and clothes already on the floor, he crawled under the comforter, yawning. “But, you know just as well as I do that it isn't up to me, and Ladybug might actually be right about it being dangerous.”

“Hawkmoth hasn’t been active for years,” Plagg whined, finishing wiping himself with a sanitizing towelette and immediately heading straight for his stash of Camembert. “He’s probably dead already. Why do you still need to keep these masks on?”

“Hawkmoth not being active for a while isn’t proof that we’ll never see him again,” Adrien replied, wrapping himself around his pillow. “What if he’s just waiting for us to put our guard down to strike?”

“He isn’t that smart.”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Adrien yawned again. “The man kept us on our toes for a decade. But even if, presumably, he’s out for good, this isn't the time to start a relationship still.”

“Why not?”

“Plagg, please,” Adrien mumbled, his eyes closed as he snuggled the pillow closer. “You know as well as I do that Ladybug is going through a rough period right now. Her job now demands all of her time and attention thanks to that jerk-boss that ditched them. Her relationship with her roommate—her best friend may I add—seems to worsen every time I hear about it. And have you even seen her? She’s lost weight and looks pale and tired all the time.” Adrien paused, opening his eyes. His chest tightened as he looked into the darkness of his bedroom. “Right now, Ladybug needs a friend who’ll support her, not another relationship to work on. And since I can’t help her with her civilian life, I’d be damned if I added to her problems.”

Adrien rolled over and pulled his comforter over his head. Ladybug needed a friend right now, not a boyfriend, and he loved her too much to add a romantic relationship to her already nearly unbearable pile. So until she got her promotion, he’d support her as a friend and would remain close for whenever she needed him. Once she reached her goal, though, that would change because then, Ladybug would actually have time and strength for a relationship with him. Otherwise, Adrien was afraid he was risking ruining everything before it even started. He’d already waited for her for years, he could certainly wait a little longer.

“Whatever you say, lover boy,” Plagg murmured and started to settle in his little bed, turning and twisting until he found the perfect position. “Goodnight, kid.”

“Goodnight, Plagg,” Adrien replied, his thoughts racing back to his Lady and the effortless friendship they’d developed that tiptoed dangerously on the border of romance. It would come eventually. Adrien knew that, and when it did, he'd make his Lady the happiest girl in all of France. He'd never take her for granted. He'd always—

“Wipe that dopey smile off your face,” Plagg suddenly grumbled. “It’s creepy to grin like an idiot in the dark.”

“How do you even see what I am doing from your wastebasket all the way over there?”

“I don’t need to see it. I can feel it. Now, stop it and go to bed. You have tons of work tomorrow and just a few hours left to sleep.”

“Don’t remind me.” Adrien groaned, flopping on his back. “I should’ve sold my shares and been done with it.”

“Then why did you listen to that dude from your work? You should try it, Adrien,” Plagg mocked. “See for yourself before deciding on what to do: continue teaching or follow in your father’s footsteps. Nonsense, I tell you. You should’ve sold and invested in Camembert production, something useful for once.”

“Max isn't a dude,” Adrien chuckled. “He's a friend, and he has a point. I've spent my life hating the fashion industry only because of my father and his crazy obsession with his work. Maybe—”

“He kicked you out of the house because you followed your passion instead of whatever he wanted you to do.”

“He didn’t kick me out. I left.”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, this fashion nonsense ruined your life. Why would you want to ‘try it out’?”

“My life isn’t ruined. And I think it’s smart to make sure I really do hate heading a fashion empire instead of simply projecting my failed relationship with my father on the whole industry.”

“A load of BS if you ask me.”

“What’s the big deal, anyway? It’s just for a few months. If I don’t like it by the end of the summer, I’m selling.”

“It’s May now—”

“Almost June.”

“Still May, meaning that there are more than a few months until the end of the summer. And good luck enjoying each and every one of them with Marinette around. She gave you quite a welcome today, didn’t she?”

Adrien froze, all sleep vanishing at once, events of the past that changed his life forever flashing in front of his eyes.

***

On the day of their high school graduation, Marinette confessed. She blushed and stuttered and was absolutely adorable, expressing in the most beautiful and sincere of ways just how much he meant to her. When she finished speaking, with a trembling, hopeful smile on her lips, she raised her eyes, full of fear and anxiety, to look at him, but stunned, Adrien couldn't reply for the longest time.

He loved Marinette. He truly did, but only as a dear, close friend. He hated to reject her feelings, but even if Adrien wanted to give Marinette his heart, he couldn't. It had belonged to Ladybug ever since the day they’d met.

Speechless, all Adrien was able to do was look back at Marinette with eyes full of regret and apology. She didn’t need words to understand his answer. Whispering something he didn’t quite catch, Marinette escaped before Adrien could do as little as to say how sorry he was.

He’d never forgiven himself for breaking her heart, and if only he had been more careful, Adrien was certain they would’ve gotten through that incident without losing their friendship. Unfortunately, Adrien wasn’t so lucky. A few days later, he learned that Marinette had been pre-approved for an internship at his father's company. He lost his sleep over it because, living his whole life in the shadow of Gabriel Agreste, Adrien knew quite well what working for his father entailed and what it did to people as nice as Marinette. Sure, from the sidelines, being an employee at the hottest fashion house around seemed glamorous and exciting. In reality, there were only two options: you either allow this work to squash you and have a nervous breakdown before your first year was up, or you become just like his father—a cold, emotionless, heartless workaholic. There were no in-betweens or exceptions as far as Adrien was aware.

He couldn't let any of those happen to Marinette. Not when he wouldn’t be there to protect her. Not when, following a massive argument with his father over his plans for the future less than a week ago, Adrien was about to walk out of there himself. As of that moment, Adrien was supposed to move out of his childhood home by the end of the month if he wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a teacher. Otherwise, he’d have to cater to his father’s every whim indefinitely. The choice was clear, and seeing as he was escaping that hell of a company himself, Adrien couldn't silently stand on the sidelines and watch Marinette try to get on board. Not when, unlike him, she didn't know the reality of working for his father. Sadly enough, considering the timing, Adrien doubted that based on his words alone, Marinette would ditch her lifelong dream of working for Gabriel in favour of any other fashion houses that were sure to welcome her with open arms as soon as they saw her portfolio.

That's why he'd done it. That's why Adrien stole her file from his father's office.

He only wanted to protect her. He never meant any harm. He planned to sneak her portfolio to a few of his acquaintances in the other fashion houses that would be a much better fit for Marinette than his father's company ever could.

Perhaps, he could've chosen a better way to go about that, but at that moment, this was all that Adrien could come up with. Better timing also would’ve been nice. With his rejection of her confession, the moment to mess around with Marinette’s passions was as wrong as could be. Still, Adrien was confident his plan would work. The next day, he had a photoshoot for a fashion house that was on top of his list of better options for Marinette, so he stashed a copy of her portfolio in his bag and didn’t think twice about it.

Big mistake.

An hour before he was supposed to leave for the said photoshoot, Alya and Nino dragged him out of the house, picked up Marinette on their way and headed to their favourite cafe for some celebration he couldn’t even remember now. Despite the slight awkwardness between Marinette and him, their hang out turned out to be quite enjoyable. So pleasant, in fact, that Adrien let his guard down and made the second biggest mistake of his life—he’d allowed Alya to rummage around in his bag for mints while he visited the men's room before departing for his photoshoot.

Huge… colossal mistake.

Adrien stopped short of reaching the table on his way back. His friends stared at him in shock; his gaze focused on Marinette.

“Is this the reason no one could find my application when I called them three days ago?” She whispered, looking him straight in the eyes as she clutched her portfolio in her hands. “And the day after that? And yesterday? Today as well? They couldn’t find my portfolio because you took it?”

His body and mind paralyzed, Adrien stood frozen in place. He hadn't expected Marinette to find out. He hadn't the slightest idea of what to do or say.

Hastily, Marinette gathered her things and headed for the door only to halt her steps in front of him a moment later.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I can understand and accept you not returning my feelings; no one can control their heart. But this?” Her voice cracked as tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her face. “Why would you be so cruel? What did I do to you to deserve this?”

Stunned, Adrien helplessly watched Marinette for a few moments, his dumbfounded silence only fueling her already rushed assumption about the situation. When his speech had returned, he’d scrambled to explain.

“You can’t work for my father.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh. And why?”

“It’s a bad idea. You don’t know what working for him can do to you. Marinette, I’ve been there. I’ve seen things… terrible things that happen to people because they can’t handle the workload and demands. I don’t want you there. I don’t want you—”

Marinette raised her hand and spat, “Stop it. I don’t care what you’ve seen there. Those people aren't me. This is not yourdecision to make, Adrien. It’s my life. My decisions. And if it would be a mistake, I want to be the one making it!”

“But—”

“Save it. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong. Friends support each other, not—” She swallowed, looking away, and quietly added, “If my feelings are so much of an inconvenience to you that you didn’t even want me working at your father’s company, you should’ve said so. I would have stayed away on my own. You didn’t have to do this.”

With those words, she walked away. Alya and Nino followed.

“I can’t believe you,” Alya had snarled. Nino kept looking down as he followed his girlfriend.

They’d kicked him out of their private chat room that same day. Adrien's multiple calls, emails and texts over the next few weeks to the three had gone unanswered. His hope for a chance to explain had been slowly dying, and in the end, it was Chloe—the only friend who remained by his side—who’d convinced him to give up. His heart was breaking, but Chloe was likely right; if none of his friends had responded by then, they’d probably blocked him. Adrien had some pride left, and he wasn’t going to impose himself on anyone in person if they wouldn't speak to him over the phone. There was only so much he could do trying to fix that mess; and he’d done more than enough. By the end of the month, Adrien moved out of the mansion, changed his contacts, and tried to start a new life, leaving everyone behind.

With his move, his relationship with his father had taken a sharp turn for the worse, the two of them becoming as good as strangers. Thankfully, Adrien had enough work and savings to support himself. Soon, he’d found new friends in university, and life seemed to be regaining at least some sense of normalcy. He regretted neither leaving his father nor trying to stop Marinette from entering Gabriel. Quite the opposite, Adrien would've never forgiven himself if he hadn't tried to save her from the claws of the monster called Gabriel Agreste.

Years passed. Adrien graduated and began working as a physics teacher at a local high school, ending his modelling career as soon as he’d signed his teaching contract.

He never heard much from Gabriel until the day his lawyer called from a hospital. A few murmured words of apology from his father in his final moments couldn’t fix anything, but in his heart, Adrien still mourned. He still cared because no matter how estranged they'd grown, Gabriel was still his father and there had been times when Adrien had been happy with him. He wished it could've been different. He wished they could've had a better relationship, but it was a little too late to change anything when his father was taking his final breaths. A failure on both sides. Adrien mourned that as well.

***

Adrien shifted in his bed. He had never asked to inherit anything. He didn’t need this company. It ruined a good part of his life, and for that, he hated it. Being cut off by his former friends, he didn’t know Marinette had been working there, sending all of his sacrifices to hell. But, boy, was he right. That gorgeous woman that snuck into his father’s office today—yes, he had to admit she was gorgeous; Marinette was always pretty but she had bloomed into a beautiful woman—was so exhausted that her beauty was barely visible. A thick layer of exhaustion glazed over her stunning blue eyes; her flawless skin looked pale; the sagging curve of her pink lips did absolutely nothing to accentuate her loveliness. The deep frown line in the middle of her forehead might have been there because of meeting him, but still, Adrien’s heart tightened. Working for his father hadn’t been merciful to Marinette.

Just as he’d predicted.

The worst part of all, however, was that Marinette seemed to not see it herself, fighting for a company that, without a strong leader, was quickly going under. Didn’t she have anyone in her life to care enough for her to shake her out of that trance? Didn’t she—

A thought popped into his head so unexpected and crazy, his eyes widened. It was rather insane, but perhaps fate was giving him a chance to redeem himself?

Whatever wrong he’d done before, his intentions were always pure: to help Marinette. She used to be his friend. He cared for her. Surely fate or destiny or whatever cosmic force that controlled his luck saw that and thought it unfair for Adrien to be condemned for what he hadn’t done. He wasn’t a backstabber; he was a loyal friend.

So, perhaps if he was the bigger person and helped Marinette now, she’d see his noble objective and would have to admit that he wasn’t as horrible of a person as she probably thought him to be. Perhaps she’d even apologize. He was older now, more mature. Surely, he could come up with better plans for how to improve Marinette's life, help her succeed, and prove the purity of his intentions and sincerity of his character.

He did also kind of owe her for breaking her heart. Maybe this was a chance to atone for that as well.

Adrien shook his head and rolled over in his bed. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care for someone who tossed him aside without even letting him explain. He shouldn’t help anyone who wouldn’t even listen to him or give him the benefit of the doubt.

He had been her friend. She had claimed to be in love with him. Why then was a simple mistake big enough for her to dismiss years of friendship and kick him out of her life? Why should he even think about doing anything nice for such a person, even if only to prove himself right?

Because she helped you just a few hours ago despite hating you.

Adrien groaned. Damn conscience! He still shouldn’t! She did it for the sake of her job, not because she cared for him.

She still helped you when you needed help. She isn’t a lost cause yet. There's still good in her.

Adrien pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t! Not after the way she treated him.

Weren’t you the one to deliver the first blow, though?

Adrien sat up, running his hands through his hair. Why was he such a pushover? Why couldn’t he be more like his father when it came to things like these? Why was he already thinking of the ways he could help Marinette?

Because you aren’t your father, and you still care.

“Okay, fine. I’ll help her.” He threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Just leave me alone. I need to sleep.”

Settling back into his bed, Adrien closed his eyes and hoped for a few peaceful hours of slumber. Instead, his head buzzed with ideas crazy enough to make him chuckle one moment and bemoan his existence the next. By the time the morning rolled in, there were only two things that Adrien was certain of:

First, Gabriel would have to go. His father had built that company on his employees’ tears and suffering. It wasn’t worth saving, even if Adrien thought he figured out how to do that. It might be a petty, personal revenge move, but Adrien couldn’t find it in himself to care. It would be the right thing to do. Most of its employees had already handed in their resignation letters, anyway.

Second, there was only one way for Marinette to make it in this industry now: find a position in a different company. With her talent, it shouldn't be a problem. He just had to play his cards right and find her a company that would appreciate her more than his father ever did—showing her in the process what a grave mistake she made all those years back when she had cast him aside so cruelly.

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#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #marichat #adrienette #enemies to lovers #angst with a happy end #the other you #myart #my art

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innuendostudios · 5 years

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Here’s How to Radicalize a Normie, a video essay on how the Alt-Right and their fellow travelers recruit. Clocking in at 41 minutes, 6756 words, 633 individual drawings, and 27 sources (including three full books), it is by far the longest and most heavily-researched video in The Alt-Right Playbook. I am very tired.

It took so long to put this behemoth together that my Patreon started to dip. So, maybe a little more than usual, if you want to keep seeing videos like these, please consider backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, your friend Gabe is starting to worry you.

Gabe’s always been just, you know, a regular guy. Not very political. He likes video games, sci-fi, comics, Star Wars, and anime. White guy shit. The only offbeat thing about him is you suspect there’s like a 20% chance he’s a furry. For all intents and purposes, Gabe is a normie.

But recently Gabe’s been spending a lot of time on some radically conservative forums, and listening to radically conservative podcasts, and picking some radically conservative arguments with you and your friends. You never would have expected this, not from Gabe, and, given the speed it’s happened, it’s worrying to think where it might be headed.

How have the Alt-Right gotten their hooks into your friend?

If you’ve ever known a Gabe, this video is for you. Here’s How to Radicalize a Normie.

Step 1: Identify the Audience

What you need to know before we begin is: around 2013, the Nazis went online.

Hate groups in the US, as tracked by the Southern Poverty Law Center, had been growing in number since the noughts, but, between 2012 and 2014, they dropped by almost a quarter. Patriot groups dropped by over a third. However, hate crimes stayed about the same. Radical conservatism was not shrinking, but decentralizing. Still radical, still often violent, but now full of white nationalist nomads unlikely to join a formal organization.

This didn’t make them harmless. What it did was protect their asses from the typical hate group cycle: getting the public’s attention, making allies in conservative media, swelling their numbers, and then eventually disgracing themselves with failures, infighting, and, often enough, members committing horrific acts of violence, which come with social and sometimes legal consequences for all the other members.

So the Alt-Right and their fellow travelers these days don’t so much have members. They have hashtags, followers, viewers, and subscribers. This insulates them from their own audience. If Gabe, as a member of that audience, were to go out and commit a crime on their behalf, there’d be little doubt they had a hand in radicalizing him, but it’d be very hard to claim they told him to do it. On some of these sites, where Gabe spends hours and hours of his day, he’s never created an account or left a comment; the people radicalizing him don’t even know he’s there.

This distributed nature is what makes the Alt-Right, and the movements connected to it, unique. (You may remember a notable proof-of-concept for this strategy.) Doing almost everything online has, as compared with traditional hate movements, dramatically increased their reach and inoculated them from consequence. The trade-off, as we will see, is a lack of control.

And so we come to Gabe.

Gabe exists at the intersection of the kinds of people the Alt-Right is looking for - straight white cis men who feel emasculated by modern society, primarily, though they do make exceptions - and the kinds of people who are vulnerable to recruitment. Gabe fits the first profile in that he got bullied in high school, and often feels he has to hide his nerdy side for fear of getting ridiculed. The Alt-Right also has success with men who can’t get laid or recently got divorced or feel anxious about an influx of non-white people in their community. These things can make one feel like less than the confident white man they’re “supposed” to be. And it’s the closest they will ever come to being minoritized.

Regarding the second profile, it’s important to know that Gabe is not categorically different from you or me. He’s a cishet white dude - his problems are not unique. There isn’t a ton of research into the demography of the Alt-Right, but there may be a higher-than-average chance Gabe has a history of being abused or comes from a broken home. You don’t know if it’s true of Gabe, he’s never said. But most abuse survivors don’t become Nazis. The things that make people like Gabe recruitable tend to be situational: it happens often during periods of transition, as dramatic as the death of a loved or as benign as moving to a new city. Things that make people ask big life questions. Gabe has concerns like economic precarity, not knowing his place in a changing world, stressful working conditions. In other words, Gabe is suffering under late capitalism, same as everyone, and it’s entirely plausible he could have gone down the path to becoming a Leftist.

This is not to make an “economic anxiety” argument: the animating force of the Far Right is and always has been bigotry. But the Alt-Right targets Gabe by treating his “economic anxiety” as one of many things bigotry can be sold as a solution to. It is their aim that, when dissatisfied white men go looking for answers, they find the Alt-Right before they find us.

Step Two: Establish a Community

Were Gabe pledging an old-school hate movement, there would probably be a recruiter to usher him into an existing community. But that’s the kind of formalized interaction modern extremists try to avoid. Online extremism has many points of entry, and everybody’s journey is unique, so rather than be comprehensive we will focus on what are, in my estimation, the two most common pathways: the Far Right creates a community Gabe is likely to stumble into, or infiltrates a community Gabe is already in.

The stumble-upon method has two main branches, one of which is just “Gabe ends up on a chan board,” which we’ve already done a video about. The other is kind of the polar opposite of 4chan’s cult of anonymity: Gabe ends up in the fandom of a Far Right thought leader.

These folks are charismatic media personalities (that’s charismatic according to Gabe’s tastes, not ours; I don’t understand it, either). These personalities may gain traction on any number of platforms, from podcasts to reportage to blogging, though the most effective platform for redpilling is, and yes I am biting the hand that feeds me, YouTube. They may get Gabe’s attention through fairly standard means, like talking about or even generating controversy to get themselves trending, while some of the more committed will employ dubious SEO tactics like clickbait, google bombing, and data voids (just pause for definitions, we don’t have time).

What they tend to have in common, especially the most accessible ones, is that they don’t present themselves as entry points to the radical Right. In fact, many did not set out to be Far Right thought leaders, and may not think of themselves as such (though they are often selling products, of which the Alt-Right are among their biggest purchasers, and it’s not like they’re turning the money away). How they present is the same way anyone presents who wants to be successful on social media: accessible, approachable, authentic. The face-to-face relationship a budding extremist forms with their recruiter or the leader of their hate group’s local chapter are here folded into one parasocial relationship with a complete stranger.

Why this person appeals to Gabe is they’re not selling politics as politics, but conservatism as a kind of lifestyle brand. They rely heavily on criticizing or ridiculing the Left: feminists are oversensitive, Black people unintelligent, queer folks doomed to loneliness, and trans people insane; I dunno if it’s a coincidence that these are all things Gabe thinks about himself in his low moments. By contrast, they don’t sell conservatism as having sounder policies or a more coherent moral framework, but that abandoning progressive principles and embracing conservative ones will make Gabe happier. Remember, Gabe isn’t looking for white nationalism or misogyny, what he wants is the cure to soul-sickness, and these friendly micro-celebs are here to offer a shot of life advice with politics as the chaser. It is extremely important that politics be presented as a set of affects, not a set of beliefs.

The second pathway is infiltration, which is its own beast. Media personalities sometimes become gateways to the Right almost by accident: they do something edgy, a part of their audience reacts positively, and, facing no real consequence, they do it more; this leads to further positive reinforcement from conservative fans, the rest of the audience acclimates, and the cycle repeats, the personality pushing the envelope further and further based on what flies with their increasingly conservative audience. In this way, they become a right-wing figure by both radicalizing and being radicalized by their audience.

Infiltration is deliberate.

The Far Right will reliably target any community that has 1) a large, white, male population, 2) whose niche interests allow them to feel vaguely marginalized, and 3) who are not used to progressive critique of said interests. This isn’t to say progressive critique doesn’t exist, or hasn’t been baked into the property from the beginning, but that it has been, so far, easy for white guys to ignore. As such, progressives within that community probably don’t talk politics much, and women and minorities are perfectly welcome to post, same as anyone, but just, you know, don’t, don’t make identity politics, you know, like, a thing.

Given Gabe’s proclivities, he’s probably already in a number of fan communities where he can geek out and not get teased. And this is where the Far Right will go looking for him

Communities are at their most vulnerable to infiltration at times of political discord. This can happen naturally - say, a new property in the fandom has a Black protagonist - or it can be provoked - say, a bunch of channers join the forum and say provocative things about race to get people arguing - or both. Left to its own devices, the community might sort out its differences and maybe even come out more progressive than they started. But, with the right pressure applied in the right moment, these communities can devolve into arguments about the need to remove a nebulously-defined “politics” from the conversation.

The adage about bros on the internet is “‘political’ means anything I disagree with,” but it’d be more accurate to say, here, “‘political’ means anything on which the community disagrees.” For instance, “Nazis are bad” is an apolitical statement because everyone in the community agrees. It’s common sense, and therefore neutral. But, paradoxically, “Nazis are good” is also apolitical; because “Nazis are bad” is the consensus, “Nazis are good” must be just an edgy joke, and, even if not, the community already believes the opposite, so the statement is harmless. Tolerable. However, “feminism is good” is a political statement, because the community hasn’t reached consensus. It is debatable, and therefore political, and you should stop talking about it. And making political arguments, no matter how rational, is having an agenda, and having an agenda is ruining the community.

(Now, it is curious how the things that provoke the most disagreement tend to be whichever ones make white dudes uncomfortable. One of life’s great, unanswerable mysteries.)

You can gather where this is going: a community that doesn’t tolerate progressivism but does tolerate Nazism is going to start collecting Nazis, Nazis whose goal is to drive a wedge between the community and the Left. Once the Left acknowledges, “Hey, your community’s developing a Nazi problem,” the Nazis - who are, remember, trusted, apolitical members of the community who might just be kidding about all the Nazi shit - say, “Did you hear that, guys?! Those cultural Marxists just called all of us Nazis!” Wedge. Similarly, any community members who say, “but Nazis though” are framed as infiltrators pushing an agenda, even if they’ve been there longer than the Nazis have. They get the wedge, too.

This is how fandoms radicalize. They are built as - yeah, I’ll say it - safe spaces for nerds, weebs, and furries, and are told that the Left is a threat to their safety. Given a choice between leaving a community that has mattered to him for years and simply adjusting to the community’s shifting politics, the assumption is that Gabe will stay. This assumption is right often enough that a lot of fandoms have been colonized.

What is true of both of these methods - Gabe finding the Right or the Right finding him - is that Gabe does not come nor stay for the ideology. He’s here for the community, the sense of belonging, of being with his people, of having his fears validated and his enjoyment shared. The ideology is simply the price of admission.

Step Three: Isolate

There is a vast, interconnected network of Far Right communities out there, and Gabe is, at this point, only on the periphery. In order to keep him in, they need to disrupt his relationships to other communities, and become, more and more, his primary online social space. Having made this space hostile to the Left, they now seek to break his connections to progressives elsewhere in his life.

This is hard to do online. The whole appeal of moving radicalism to the internet is that your away-from-keyboard life doesn’t have to change. You are crypto the moment you log off. Some thought leaders will encourage their audience to cut ties with Family of Origin, or “deFOO,” but, even then, they can’t monitor whether the audience has actually done it the way an in-person movement could. And so alienating Gabe from the Left is less controlled, and, consequently, may be less total. How much Gabe isolates is up to him.

But the vast majority of Far Right media presumes an alienation from the Left. Part of conservative bloggers and YouTubers making the Left look pathetic is doing a lot take-downs and responses. This is a constant repetition of the Left’s arguments for the purpose of mockery, and, for Gabe, it starts to replace any engagement with progressive media directly. He soon knows the Left only through caricature. It also trains him, if he does directly engage, to approach the Left with the same combative stance as his role models. (For reference, see my comment section.) And this is only if he doesn’t partake in one of the many active boycotts of “SJW media.”

In addition to mocking the Left’s arguments, they also, curiously, appropriate them. This is one part sanitization: liberal centrism is more socially acceptable; indeed, many figures on the outer layers think of themselves as moderates, even as they serve as gateways to radicalism. But, also, many of Gabe’s problems could be addressed by progressive leftism, so they sell him racist, sexist versions of it. Yes, there is a problem with workers being underpaid and overextended, but the solution isn’t unions, it’s deporting immigrants; yes, there is a chronic loneliness and anger to being a man in the modern age, but it’s not because of the toxic masculine expectations placed on you by the patriarchy, it’s women being slutty; yes, wealth disparity does mean a tiny percentage of elites have more influence over culture and politics than the rest of us combined, but the problem isn’t capitalism, it’s the Jews. And it’s hard for Gabe to reject these ideas without, in the process, rejecting the progressive ideas they’re copied from; the Right’s “take the red pill” is, to the untrained eye, similar to the Left’s “get woke.” (Or, at least, the bowdlerized version of “get woke” that is no longer specifically about race which came to fashion when white people started saying it, grumble grumble.)

Take the red pill or reject them both; either is a step to the right.

As this rhetoric slips into his day-to-day conversation, even as seemingly harmless “irreverence,” it may strain relationships with people who are not entertained by this shit. Off-color comments about race and gender can certainly be wearying for female and non-white friends, which can lead to a passive distance or an eventual confrontation [“why is everyone but me so sensitive?!”], which only seem to confirm what his reactionary community says about liberal snowflakes. If he says these things on social media, he may get his account suspended, and, if he comes back under an alt, you can bet his new reactionary friends will be the first to reconnect, applaud the behavior that got him banned, and repeat should he get banned again. A few cycles of this and he’s lost touch with everyone else.

Also, his adoption of the insular, meme-laden terminology of this community makes him less and less comprehensible to outsiders.

Over time, sources of information get replaced with community-approved ones: conservative news, conservative YouTube, conservative Wikipedia if he’s really committed. The Algorithm soon takes note and stops recommending media from the Left. He stops watching shows with a “liberal agenda,” which usually means shows starring women and people of color. Now, there is evidence that the human mind responds to fictional characters similarly to real people, and that consuming diverse media can decrease bigotry in ways roughly analogous to having a diverse group of friends, which is one of many reasons we say representation matters. By consuming a homogenous media diet, Gabe stymies his ability to have even parasocial relationships with anyone who isn’t a cishet conservative white dude or one of their approved exceptions.

To the extent that any of this happens, it happens at Gabe’s discretion and at his own chosen pace. It has not been forced on him, only encouraged and rewarded. But the fact that it hasn’t been forced can make him all the more willing to accept it, because it seems safe to consider; even though his life and social circle are changing to accommodate, he does not feel committed. But many Gabes have walked these halls, and, if they close the door behind them, there’s nowhere left to go but down.

Step Four: Raise their Power Level

(...and they say we ruined anime.)

Consider the ecosystem of the Alt-Right as layers of an onion, with Gabe sitting at the edge and ready to traverse towards the center. (No, I’m not just going to reiterate the PewDiePipeline, though, if you haven’t seen it, go do that.)

The outer layer of the onion is extremism at its most plausibly deniable. Without careful scrutiny, the public-facing figureheads could pass as dispassionate, and the websites as merely problematic rather than softly fascist. It is valuable if Gabe believes this as well; that, at this stage, he believe the bigotry is simply trolling, the extremists an insignificant minority, and any report of harassment faked. That he believe where he is is as deep as the rabbit hole goes. And that he continue to believe this at each successive layer.

People in the deepest crevices of the Alt-Right self-report getting redpilled on multiple issues at different times in their journey to the center of the onion. If Gabe’s first red pill is about the SJWs coming for his free speech, he’ll think that’s all anyone in his community believes; there’s no racism here, people are just making a point about their right to use slurs. Then, when he gets redpilled on the white genocide, he’ll laugh at those Alt-Lite cucks who tried to sweep the race realists under the rug, and at himself for having once been one, but acknowledge that those channels and websites are still useful for onboarding people, so he won’t denounce them. At the same time, nobody takes those manosphere betas seriously.

And this process is reiterated with every pill swallowed: gender essentialism, autogynephilia, birtherism, Sandy Hook truth, pizzagate, QAnon if he’s really out there. The heart of the onion is typically the Jewish Question, but these can happen in any order, and in any number. But each layer sells itself as being, finally, the ultimate truth. Each denies the validity of the others; the layers ahead don’t exist, they’re made up my liberals, while the people behind are asleep where you are now awake. That’s why they chose “the red pill” as their metaphor: take it, and everything will be revealed. That’s why it cozies up with conspiracism. But what’s supposed to follow is that this knowledge help Gabe in some way, and it doesn’t. Blaming immigrants doesn’t actually fix the economy, and hating women doesn’t make men less lonely. But, having been alienated from everything outside the onion, once that sinks in, the only recourse on offer is to seek out the next pill.

And pills are easy to find. Those within the network have laissez-faire relationships, even as they, on paper, disavow one another. When they need a source or a guest host, they aren’t going to go to the Left; they’re going to feature each other. The Left is the enemy; their ideas are beneath consideration, and the only reason to engage them is for public humiliation. [Shapiro’s book.] But you can interview “western chauvinists” and that doesn’t mean you’re endorsing them, just, you know, it’s fine to hear ‘em out, nothing should be off-limits in the marketplace of ideas. Besides, Nazis are apolitical.

And because these folks keep showing up in each others’ metadata, regardless of what they say, Google thinks there is definitely a relationship between the guy “just asking questions” and the guy denying the Holocaust. Gabe is softly exposed to many flavors of conservatism just slightly more radical than he is now, and is expected, at the very least, to not question their presence. This is an environment where deradicalizing - listening to the Left - would be sleeping with the enemy, but radicalizing further? You do you, buddy.

Gabe’s emotional journey, however, is somewhat more complex. If you’ve spent any time reading or watching reactionary media you’ve probably noticed it’s really. fucking. repetitive. It’s a few thousand phrasings of the same handful of arguments. Like, there’s only so many jokes about attack helicopters! But these people just crank out content, and most of it’s derivative; the reason to pick one personality over another isn’t because they say something different, but because they say it differently. Gabe just picks the affect it’s delivered in.

Repetition dulls the shock of the most egregious statements, making them appear normal and prepping him for more extreme ideas. Meanwhile, the arguments themselves? They’re not good. (BreadTube will never run out of shit to debunk.) They are repetitive because they’re not good. They’re mantric. A good argument you only need to hear one time; if you can follow it, internalize it, and explain it to someone else, you know you’ve understood it. But a bad argument can’t convince you on its own merits, so it will often rely on affect. This can be the snappy, thought-terminating cliche, or the long, winding diatribe that sounds really sensible while you’re hearing it but when someone asks you for the gist you can only say “go watch these 17 videos and it’ll all make sense.” Both these approaches are largely devoid of content, but, gosh, if they don’t sound sure of themselves.

And that mode can be very persuasive, but it doesn’t stick the way a coherent argument does. It needs to be repeated, the affect replenished, because the words matter less than the delivery. There needs to be a steady stream of confident voices saying “we’ve got this figured out and everyone else is stupid” or Gabe’s gonna notice the flaws. They are not well-hidden.

And the catch-22 of returning to that stream over and over is that these communities are stressful even as they are calming. People afraid they will die virgins go to forums with people who share and validate that fear, and also say, “Yes, you will die a virgin.” People afraid Syrians are coming to kill us all watch videos by people who share and validate that fear, and also say, “Yes, Syrians are coming to kill us all.” Others have already pointed out that rubbing your face in your worst anxieties is a form of digital self-harm, but I need to you understand the toxic recursion of it: Gabe is going to these communities to get upset. Every emotion is converted into anger, because sadness, fear, and despair are paralyzing but anger is motivating; Gabe feels less helpless when he’s pissed off. And so, while he’s topping up on reassuring nonsense, he’s also topping up on stress. And, being cut off from everything outside the network, the only place he knows to go to release that stress is back to the place that gives it to him. It’s a feedback loop, pulling him deeper and deeper on the promise that, at some point, relief will come.

It is a similar dynamic that keeps people in abusive relationships.

When someone in Gabe’s community makes a racist joke, they are presenting Gabe with a choice between the human interaction of laughing with his friends and his societal responsibility not to be a fuckin’ racist. And not laughing seems ridiculous; everybody’s friends here; no one’s getting hurt; this is harmless. And so the irreverent race joke draws a line between the personal and the political, and suggests that one can be safely prioritized over the other. One way to look at radicalization is being asked to stick with that seemingly innocuous decision as the stakes are raised incrementally: first with edgier humor, and then comments that are funny because they’re shocking but you couldn’t really call them jokes, and then “funny” comments that are also sincerely angry, but, in each instance, since he laughed with his bros last time, it stands to reason he should keep favoring the personal over some abstracted notion of “politics.”

This is why the progressive adage “the personal is political” is among the most threatening things you can say in these spaces.

I’m not trying to make a slippery slope argument. Most of us who laughed at edgy jokes when we were teenagers didn’t grow up to be Nazis. It is a slippery slope in the specific context of being in community with people trying to radicalize you. Gabe is a lonely white boy in need of friends, and laughing at a racist joke is personal, while not laughing is political. Staying in a community that has Nazis in it is personal, and leaving is political. The personal is what brings people together and the political drives them apart. (The “only if some of them are bigots” part of that sentence is usually lopped off). There’s this joke on the internet that nerds perceive only two races: white and political. Following that logic, what could be more apolitical than an ethnostate?

They are banking on his willingness to adapt his beliefs to suit an environment that meets a need. That same need can be satisfied by white nationalism. There are few things more seductive to people who doubt their own worth than being told you are valuable simply for being white. And you can sub in male, cis, straight, allosexual, or able-bodied. It just takes priming: by the time Gabe officially embraces bigotry, he’s already been acting like a bigot for months. The red pill is simply the moment he says it out loud.

Change Gabe’s surroundings, and you change Gabe.

Step Five: ???

The final step in a traditional extremist group would be getting a mission. But that is one thing the Alt-Right can’t do. Once you start giving clear directives, you can’t play yourselves off as a bunch of unaffiliated hashtags and think tanks; you are now a formalized movement accountable to its followers, and can be judged and policed as such.

To my mind, Charlottesville was an attempt to become such a movement, taking things offline and getting all the different groups working collectively. And, as so often happens when these people get in the same space - especially with no official leaders or means of control over their members - it backfired. Their true colors came out before they were ready and a counter-protester lost her life.

This would be the point where, historically, an extremist group starts to disintegrate. Their veneer of respectability gone, they’re now hated by the public, the media wants nothing more to do with them, and everyone not in jail turns on each other or goes underground. This is also the point where the liberal establishment says, “My job here is done,” and utterly fails to retake control of the narrative, allowing the next batch of radicals to pick up more or less where the last one left off.

But to an already-decentralized group like the Alt-Right, Charlottesville was bad but eminently survivable. People retreated back to the internet, with its code words and anonymous forums, but that’s where much of the work was already done anyway. The platforms where they organized kept tolerating them, the authorities still didn’t classify them as terrorists, and any disgraced figureheads were replaced with up-and-comers.

The major change in strategy is that it doesn’t seem anyone has tried to formalize the Alt-Right since.

So where does that leave Gabe? He’s gone through this whole process of largely hands-off indoctrination - and I should stress his journey may look like what we’ve outlined or it may look different in places, this video is not comprehensive - but now he’s swallowed every pill he cares to, he blames half a dozen minorities for everything he sees as wrong with the world, and no one will give him anything to do. You’ve got this ad hoc movement frothing young men into a militant fervor and then just leaving them to stew in their own hate. Should we really be surprised at how many commit mass shootings?

This is a machine for producing lone wolves.

Leaving men to take up arms of their own volition is a way of enacting terror while being just outside the popular conception of a terror cell. There are also, of course, more classic militias that will offer Gabe clear directives - they’re recruiting from the same pool. And Gabe may stop short of this step, settling in a middle layer that suits him or finding the inner layers too extreme. But violence is the logical conclusion of an ideology of hate, and, should Gabe take this step, he can approach violence in the same incremental fashion he approached conservatism.

He can start with yelling at people on Twitter, and then maybe collective brigading, DDoS attacks, sharing dox, leaking nudes, calling their phone numbers, texting them pictures of their houses from the sidewalk. These acts of cruelty become games of oneupmanship within his community. All this can start as far back as Step 2, and get more intense the deeper he goes. Some people join explicitly partake in harassment and violence the way Gabe joined to talk about anime.

But this behavior can serve as a kind of buy-in. The Left and the feminists and the LGBTQs and the Muslims and the immigrants are all, within his community, subhuman. You’ve maybe heard the conservative catchphrase “feminism is cancer”; well don’t treat cancer by having a respectful exchange of ideas with it, but by eradicating it down to the last cell. Cruelty against the Left is framed as righteous.

From any other perspective, posting someone’s bank information is something you might feel ashamed of. Which creates a psychological imperative not to consider other perspectives. A thing that keeps people in is staving off the guilt they will reckon with the moment they step out. Gabe is also aware that anything he’s done to the Left could be done to him if he leaves; some communities even keep dox on their members as insurance. And the things he’s been encouraged to do to the Left will likely make him feel that the Left would never take him now; the radical Right is the only home he’s got. Harassment becomes another tool of isolation.

Steadily, options for Gabe are whittled down to being a vigilante or a nihilist. There are periods of elation: moments the Alt-Right feels it’s winning - or, more accurately, the people they hate are losing - are like cocaine. They are authoritarians, after all. But the times in between are mean and angry. They are antisocial, starved of emotional connection, consuming incompatible conspiracies that may at any point run them afoul of one another, devoted to figureheads who cater to but cannot risk leading them, and living under constant threat of being outed to the Left or turned on by the Right for stepping out of line. Gabe took this journey for the sense of community and purpose, and, but for the rare moments everything goes their way, the Alt-Right can’t maintain either. They can only keep promising his day will come, a story he could get from a $5 palm reading.

The feeling there’s nothing left but to kill yourself or someone else is so common it’s a meme.

But there is always a third option: Gabe can leave.

Pre-Conclusion: For Fuck’s Sake Do Not Make Gabe Your Whole-Ass Praxis

Before we continue, I want to state plainly that Gabe went off the deep end because he found a community willing to tell him that, because he is a cishet white man, the world revolves around him. Do not treat him like this is true.

If a fraction of the energy spent having debates with America’s Gabes were spent instead on voter re-enfranchisement, prisoner’s rights, protections for immigrants, statehood for DC and Puerto Rico, and redistricting, Gabe’s opinions, in the societal sense, wouldn’t matter. Reactionary conservatism is a small and largely unpopular ideology that is only so represented in our culture and politics because they’ve learned how to game the system.

And I get it. Those are huge problems that are going to take years to address, where, if you know a Gabe, that’s a conversation you could have today. And, if you think you can get through to him, it is worthwhile to try. This is a fight on many fronts and deradicalization is one of them. But it is only one, so please keep it in perspective. It sends an awful message when we spend more time trying to get bigots back on our side than we do the people they are bigoted against.

Your value as a lefty does not hinge on whether you can change Gabe’s mind.

Conclusion: How Gabe Gets Out

He may just grow out of it. These communities skew young, and some folks hit a point where hanging with edgy teens doesn’t feel cool anymore.

He may become disillusioned after the movement fails to deliver on its promises.

He may become disillusioned if something goes wrong in his life and his community isn’t there for him, if he feels they like his race and his gender but don’t actually care about him.

He may be shocked if he sees the Alt-Right at its worst before being appropriately conditioned. Charlottesville was a step too far for a lot of people.

His community may turn on him for any perceived unorthodoxy, and he may leave out of necessity.

He may be separated by circumstance from the community - a trip with no internet, hospitalization, arrest - and not be able to top up on the rhetoric. This may lead him to question his beliefs.

His community may disappear, either tearing itself apart or getting shut down by authorities.

He may have incidental contact with populations he’s supposed to hate, and have trouble reconciling who they are in person with what he’s been told about them. In his community, people bond over shared intolerance, but, suddenly, being tolerant helps him make friends. (This is one reason the Alt-Right has made a battleground of the college campus.)

He may form or revisit relationships outside the network, people who can offer him the connection he’s been looking for. This may reintroduce outside perspectives. More importantly, it rekindles his ability to have healthy relationships at all, something the Alt-Right has estranged him from.

As with recruiters, it seems these “escape hatch” relationships can sometimes be parasocial; coming to respect a public figure who is on the Left, or is critical of the Alt-Right.

Someone he is close to may compel him to choose, “me or the movement.” A lot of young men leave to save a romantic relationship.

Hearing stories from people who’ve already jumped may help; there aren’t a lot of public formers, and some raise suspicions as to their sincerity, but it is getting more common, and may be the closest we get to exit counseling for the Alt-Right.

He may become aware of the ways he’s being manipulated, or have them revealed to him, maybe because he stumbled into BreadTube, I dunno. Knowledge that you are being indoctrinated is no guarantee it won’t work - you are not immune to propaganda - but it can help one resist.

And he may revisit a core belief system that used to guide him, be it religion or social justice or a really wholesome fandom, and be reminded of the identity he used to have.

Moments like these, in isolation or in aggregate, can inspire Gabe to jump. They are also good times for friends to intervene. The reach and the impunity that comes with the internet means it has never been easier to fall into reactionary extremism. It has also never been easier to get out. People who exit skinhead gangs often fear for their lives; for Gabe, there’s a chance getting out is as simple as going to a different website. Much of his community does not know his name or his face and he may not important enough to dox.

What doesn’t get Gabe out - not reliably, not that I have seen - is an argument with a stranger who proves all his facts wrong and his ideology bunk. Facts don’t always work because facts don’t care about his feelings. This was about staying in a community, and holding onto an identity, that mattered to him. It was about belonging, and that is something a rando from the other side of the culture war can’t give him and probably shouldn’t be responsible for.

The theme here is human connection. Before he can do the work of disentangling himself, and facing the guilt of what he’s believed and maybe done, he has to know there’s somewhere for him on the other end of it. That the Right hasn’t ruined him. They’ve told him all of history is groups fighting each other over status, and, without his clan, he’ll be an exile. He needs a better story.

I don’t know that lefty spaces are ideal for this, in no small part because bringing someone who’s a bit of a Nazi but working on it into diverse communities is… questionable. And it probably wouldn’t be good for him, either; having just gotten out of a toxic belief system, he’s going to be deeply skeptical of all ideologies. In a perfect world, people who care about Gabe could build for him - to use a therapy term - a holding space. Someplace private - physical or digital - where Gabe can work out his feelings, where he is both encouraged and expected to be better but is not, in the moment, judged. That comes later. It is delicate and time-consuming work that should not be done in public, but we find these beliefs, built up over the course of months or years, tend to fall away very quickly with a shift of environment. Change Gabe’s surroundings and you change Gabe.

But, instead, a lot of people who jump are functionally deprogramming themselves, which is working for a lot of them, but it’s haphazard, and there are recidivists.

If you don’t personally know a Gabe, or have training as a counselor, you may not be in a position to help him. Possibly there are things you can do to disrupt the recruitment process or prevent infiltration of spaces you’re in - I’m looking into it, but talk to your mods - but, elephant in the room: meaningful change will require reform on the part of platform holders. Tools to disrupt this process already exist and are being used on groups like ISIS, but they’re not being used on the Alt-Right because they try oh so very hard not to get classified as terrorists (and also any functioning anti-radicalization policy would require banning a lot of conservative politicians, so there’s that...).

But what makes our story better than theirs is that the fight for social and economic justice, though it is long, and difficult, and frustrating, when it works, it fulfills the promise the Right can’t keep: it materially make people’s lives better. I am not prone to sentimentality, or to giving these videos happy endings. But one thing we have that the Alt-Right doesn’t is hope.

#video essay

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d-xs · 4 years

Text

PROMPT:

Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Catherine Todd

Warning: implied/referenced child abuse.

Jason Todd makes no attempt to eat his burger or even take a sip from his soda, despite the loud rumbling of his stomach. He clutches the bag tightly, bringing it closer to his chest when he sees Bruce staring, like he's afraid Bruce would take offense and demand his food back.

Bruce Wayne does not understand him. His threadbare clothes do nothing to hide the skin stretched over bones. He can see the outline of the boy's ribs through his red hoodie. He is clearly very hungry and going by the way he can't seem to take his eyes off the bag of fast food or even how he keeps taking lungs full of the aroma wafting from it, like if he breathes deep enough, he will be filled. He would bet his entire fortune that this kid has not had a good meal in weeks, or even months. Even one as unhealthy as greasy fast food.

The child is clearly starving. Yet, he has not made any attempt to help himself.

Bruce does not have any experience with poverty or homelessness. Even at the lowest point of his life, he had access to basic human needs. Still, he knows enough about human behavior to know that Jason's behavior right now is not the norm. When he gives a clearly starving person food, they usually devour it immediately.

There are only a few reasons why he would not want to eat the food he had enthusiastically accepted from Bruce. Either he plans to use the food as payment for his safety, in which case, Bruce needs to start looking into gangs exploiting kids, or he has someone, most likely a younger sibling in his care. Considering the fact that Bruce had caught him trying to jack off the fourth tire of the batmobile, after successfully getting away with the other three, Bruce is not sure what is most likely to be the case.

"You going to turn me in now?" Jason asks him, once Bruce's burger is out of sight.

"I promised you I wouldn't," Bruce tells him as earnestly as he can manage.

It doesn't convince the child at all.

"Yeah, right," he scoffs. "That's what you all say."

"Don't you think it would be counter-productive to have you arrested for trying to survive? I'm trying to make Gotham safe for kids like you, Jason. Not put you in jail. I might take you somewhere safe, so you don't have to keep living on the streets, but--"

"I'm not on the streets," Jason cuts in defensively. The fear and worry in his expression is clear now. "I live with my mom and we're fine. If you're not going to arrest me, then I'll be on my way."

A mom. Bruce can't decide if it's a euphemism for Boss. He has seen some awful things since becoming Batman. He also knows some parents take advantage of their kids and force them into crimes as a way to 'earn their keep'.

Jason is most likely taking the food to this person, if he's not eating it, and Batman needs to separate them if the child is being exploited.

The child doesn't wait for Bruce's response before he starts his trek back to the Narrows.

Making a snap decision, Bruce calls out to him.

"Common, I'll drop you off wherever you want," he says, knowing Jason would never let Batman drop him off at home. The child is too suspicious, and rightfully so.

Jason stops in his tracks, but he makes no attempt to accept Bruce's offer.

"It will be morning before you make it all the way across town," Bruce points out. "That's <i>if</i> you don't get attacked for the food."

With that, Jason agrees to let Bruce give him a ride.

Even though he was quiet for the first couple of minutes, Bruce could see the wheels turning in the boy's head. Jason has a very expressive face that tells Bruce he is gearing up to say something, as he takes in the interior of the batmobile.

Jason doesn't take as long as Bruce thought he would.

"You're probably rich, huh?" Jason observes.

Oh God, Bruce hopes this kid is not about to proposition him.

"Not really." Bruce's answer is terse to discourage further probing.

"So it's true what they say?" Jason continues, either missing Bruce's reluctance to continue with this conversation or ignoring it. "That you're fucking Bruce Wayne for money?"

If Batman didn't have such a tight rein on his microexpressions, he would have choked. "That's not language suitable for a child."

Jason turns in his seat so that Bruce doesn't miss the elaborate eye-roll.

"I guess you've had to pay informants, huh?" Jason asks. "You know, like in the stories, where a dude is rewarded for giving the cops valuable information for solving a crime. You do that?"

"Sometimes." Bruce is invested in where Jason is going with his questioning. "Why? Do you have information to sell?"

"Depends on your going rate," the boy sasses.

"And how much do you want?" Bruce asks.

"I read in the papers that the FBI pay up to a hundred grand," Jason shrugs. "Shouldn't be too much for you to match, seeing as you have a rich boyfriend."

"One hundred thousand dollars?" The only reason Bruce doesn't laugh is because he doesn't want Jason to think he's being made fun of.

That, and the possibility that Jason may be trying to get free from his abuser, by having Batman go after them.

"You really think your information is worth that much?" Bruce asks.

"You tell me, Batman." Jason shrugs again. "It was worth enough to cause a war between Penguin and Scarecrow. Enough to make my dad disappear, not that that's a bad thing."

Bruce doesn't think he's supposed to hear the last part, as Jason mutters it under his breath. But the cowl picks up the words clearly.

A criminal and/or abusive mother and mob affiliated but now absentee father. Bruce is debating calling Social Services.

He's also aware of the war between Penguin and Scarecrow. A few months ago, there were rumors of a collaboration between the two factions to take over Gotham, before accusations of betrayal.

If it wasn't for the lives being lost, Bruce would be grateful for their misunderstanding.

Still, a hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money for someone like Jason, and is most likely to draw the wrong attention.

"I'll give you five thousand," Bruce tells him.

"Out of a hundred? Are you really that cheap?" Jason snorts. "You roll around in a ride like this and can't even pay for information? Okay, I'll do you a favor and take seventy."

"Ten," Bruce counters.

"All you rich assholes like taking advantage of poor people," Jason grumbles angrily. When Bruce doesn't budge, he relents. "Fifty."

"Fifteen."

"Fifty," Jason repeats firmly.

"Alright, twenty five thousand dollars and that's my final offer."

"Deal!" Jason agrees immediately.

Bruce watches him spit on his palm before extending it to Bruce for a handshake.

"Come on," he urges when Bruce makes no attempt to shake his hand. "We gotta shake on it to seal the deal."

In the face of that logical argument, Bruce spits in his own hand before clasping it to Jason's in a handshake.

If Jason believes he has information that can help, then twenty five thousand dollars is not too much to pay someone who clearly needs it. The cash in the batmobile isn't up to the amount, but it should be enough to buy the time he would need to get the rest from the manor.

"Alright." He follows Jason's directions on where to park. "What's this information?"

"Wait here," Jason instructs him, undoing the seat belt. "I'll bring it to you."

Bruce gives Jason a minute head-start before he takes to the rooftops, to trail the young boy.

After a few twists and turns, he comes to a stop in front of a dilapidated building. A woman rushes out and pulls Jason into a hug.

"I've been looking all over for you!" she scolds. "Where were you? Chris said some man took you. Is that true?"

She is rail thin, her threadbare clothes hanging off her body, but she sounds genuinely distressed as she checks him for injuries.

"I'm fine, Mom," Jason says in comfort before shoving the food at her. "Look, I got us food and I found a way to get away from the men looking for dad."

The woman -- Jason's mom -- shoves the food back at him, before pulling him into an apartment with the door barely hanging on a hinge.

It's hard not to notice the woman's limp, or the way Jason supports some of her weight as they go.

Bruce takes a second to process everything.

Judging by the environment and what he's seen and heard, Jason isn't being abused, but he's in even more danger.

Whether he plans to pay off his father's debt with the money or not, Bruce knows he has to get mother and son away from this place before they end up as victims of mob violence. Whether Jason really does have information to sell or not.

With that, Bruce hops down to the street from his perch on the roof.

Despite how mindful he is of the door, the moment his fist to connects with the door, it falls off the hinge holding it in place, exposing Jason and his mother having either a very late dinner or a very early breakfast in their one bedroom apartment.

They both jump at the sight of him, and once realization dawns on them, their reactions are wildly different.

Jason's mom cowers with fear, shrinking into herself while attempting to wrap herself around her son, but Jason won't have it. He is livid.

"What the fuck, Batman!" the child hisses angrily. "I told you to wait for me."

"Jason, stop," his mother pleads, pulling Jason behind her.

The boy is unmoved. His mother's frailness is no match for his strength.

"You broke our door! Why the fuck would you do that?"

Despite his obvious anger, they're both careful not to raise their voices. Bruce imagines that getting a visit from Batman isn't a good thing in this neighborhood.

"Calm down," Bruce growls.

Both mother and son freeze where they stand.

"We didn't do nothing wrong, Batman," the lady tells him in a trembling voice. "If you're looking for my husband, we don't know where he is."

"I'm here for Jason," Bruce tells her, registering her distress just before he turns to Jason. "You were taking too long," he lies. "I wanted to make sure you were fine."

This seems to placate the boy a bit, but not his mother, who demands to know what the hell is going on.

Bruce watches silently as Jason explains his plans to his mother.

Apparently, his plan is to sell the information his father stole from Scarecrow to Batman, in exchange for money that will get them out of Crime Alley.

His mom doesn't look thrilled, but she lets Jason climb into the ceiling to retrieve what her husband had hidden there.

"You won't arrest him when you have what you want, will you?" she asks with a fierce look.

Bruce can't help but admire that about her. Not a lot of people have that look about them when Batman is staring them down.

Must be where Jason gets his spunk.

"Jason is a good boy," she continues. "He did a bad thing, but it was for a good reason. His heart is in the right place, I swear."

"Mrs Todd--" Bruce starts, but she interrupts him.

"Catherine."

"Catherine," he repeats. "I don't plan to arrest your son," he continues as calmly as Batman's voice will let him. "We made a deal and I intend to uphold my end."

"So you're just going to hand Jason twenty-five grand?" Catherine asks suspiciously. "Just like that?"

"Yes," he tells her simply. "But I don't have twenty-five thousand dollars in cash right now. I can give you a thousand tonight, and a safe place for the night. Seeing as I broke your door. Tomorrow, you will get the rest of the money and I will call someone to fix your door."

As he talks, he pulls out the bills from his utility belt and hands it to her.

Of course, he has no plans of letting them return here. But if he has learned anything from being Batman, it's that, sometimes, all some people have left is their pride.

Poor people hate being treated as charity.

Siccing Alfred on her would be more productive. All he has to do is make sure they meet. Dick would probably appreciate having someone young in the manor, too.

"And you swear Jason will be safe?" Catherine stresses, eyes flickering between the money and Bruce's face.

"I swear," he vows solemnly. That much, he can promise.

A few minutes later, Jason returns from the ceiling, an envelope clutched in his hand.

"Jason," Catherine calls softly, pulling him into her arms before he can give Bruce the envelope. "Baby, there's something I have to tell you about…"

#cara writes #ojtserversunday #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #catherine todd #Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne #Jason Todd & Catherine Todd #Catherine is a trying mom #She loves her son #Catherine Todd lives

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Precious (One-Shot)

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Choi San (Ateez)

Warnings: language, alcohol use, stripping? (lol is that a warning?)

Genre: Action AU; Spy AU

Word Count: 7K

Summary: Choi San is one of the best investigators in PD Kim Hongjoong’s agency, especially when it comes to the baddest mafia gangs. However, despite the inherent risk of his job, nothing could shock him more than the discovery that his wife might be cheating on him with another man!

A/N: This is actually based on a scene from the movie True Lies. Oh, and go hard San, like damn! 👇

San understood the inherent risk of chasing down mafia gangs who always tried their best to test his patience, especially when it involved saving their own ass. However, it made his job much easier when the ones he targeted would quickly betray their own men without any hesitation. For example, when San first brought the agency’s newest scumbag into the interrogation room, he sat him down underneath the low-hanging lamp with his hands tied behind the chair. And San fully expected to encounter another stubborn punk who insisted that he didn’t know anything about the drug cartel that San was investigating. Of course, that would be utter bullshit, but San was also pleasantly surprised to find a man who was balling his eyes out while begging San to spare his life.

“What if I don’t think you deserve to live?” San asked the man, toying with the knife that he held in his hand.

“Please!” the man cried. “I’ll tell you anything!”

“Yeah? Who do you work for?”

“Kim! From the downtown shipyard,” the man said, spilling his secrets as freely as the tears that were falling down his greasy mug.

“That so?” San asked, circling around the man who whimpered when he could no longer see him.

“I’m being cooperative, sir, just cut me some slack!”

San laughed. “What’s Kim doing these days?”

“I don’t know! He’s messing around with some gang downtown, but they aren’t expecting a new shipment until this weekend.”

“What kind of shipment?”

“Cocaine, marijuana, heroin...the usual shit!”

“Who’s he selling to?”

“It’s just a couple of local dealers. He wants them to buy strictly from his organization.”

“Really?” San asked, humming thoughtfully to himself. “What time?”

“Midnight on the East Dock! There’s a boat coming in with the product!”

San sighed because he was somewhat disappointed that the asshole was so compliant. It meant that he couldn’t play with him using his favorite set of knives. “I guess I’ll let the rest of my men deal with you.”

San immediately started for the door, smirking when he could hear the guy calling out to him: “What do you mean!? I told you everything!”

He closed the door quietly, turning to look at his partner Wooyoung who was waiting expectantly with a cheap cup of coffee in hand. “Well?”

“Check the tape,” San said. “He spilled everything.”

“Hell, yeah, dude,” Wooyoung cheered. “I can finally go home before fucking midnight.”

San’s shoulders dropped as he checked the time. “Damn, that means I’m late.”

“Late?”

“My wife was throwing me some kind of birthday party tonight,” San said, already dreading the idea of facing Y/N’s disappointment when he returned home.

“Hey, I’m sure Y/N will understand,” Wooyoung said. “This happens all the time, right?”

San glared at his friend because that comment certainly wasn’t helpful. “Because I have to stay at work all the time.”

“Dude, seriously? Everything’s fine,” Wooyoung continued. “Let’s go tell Hongjoong the good news and then you can go home and make love to your wife or whatever.”

San rolled his eyes, but quietly acquiesced, and he followed Wooyoung as he led them both into the main control room. He was already waiting for them by the time they arrived, and Kim Hongjoong, despite his smaller stature, was one of the most intimidating men that San had ever met. Not only was he in charge of their private detective agency, but he also regularly tracked down some of the most ruthless gang members with ruthless accuracy, leading investigations with a confidence that defined his character.

Hongjoong also spent most of his time at the agency when he wasn’t participating in field work, and San offered him a generous nod as Wooyoung collapsed into one of the leather chairs. “Well?” Hongjoong asked, looking at San with a stern expression.

“He told me everything,” San said, smirking at a video of Park Seonghwa who had just entered the interrogation room on the screen monitor. He could see their unfortunate suspect pleading with Seonghwa as he attempted to slide the chair into the farthest corner of the room.

“Good,” Hongjoong replied. “He didn’t seem very aggressive.”

“He cried like a little bitch,” Wooyoung said.

“Anyway,” San interrupted. “I’m going home, Hongjoong. My wife is waiting for me.”

“Ah, well give her my best,” Hongjoong said, but San couldn’t help but frown at the comment because it was Hongjoong’s fault that his wife thought he was an insurance agent since they were undercover. Of course, San was also responsible because he wanted to keep his wife safe from the mafia gangs that they dealt with on a regular basis.

In any case, San bowed respectfully, and left the two men behind as Wooyoung launched into another story about his most recent exploit involving a girl from a bar downtown.

The lights were off when San finally entered his house, humming to himself because he wasn’t sure if his wife had gone to sleep. After all, she had made the time for his dinner at 9:00 PM, and San was several hours overdue. He could only hope that she hadn’t put too much effort into preparations, but that sort of wishful thinking was quickly blown away when he walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, baby,” San said, hesitating because he noticed that his wife had her arms crossed over her chest, sitting at the table where the remnants of San’s surprise birthday party were waiting in the form of a delectable cake and several neatly wrapped presents. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It was a long day.”

“That’s what you always say,” Y/N replied, and San knew that he was in trouble.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, but the words rang hollow in his own ears because San knew that there would be more nights like this in the future.

“I’m tired, San,” she replied, lowering her gaze to the floor. “We can talk about this later.”

San nodded, and his eyes followed his wife’s form as she trudged up the stairs with an absence of her usual exuberance. He groaned when he sat down at the table in her place, feeling his heart break at the beautiful decorations complimenting the natural elegance of their dining room. He knew that this couldn’t continue, and San needed to do something to convince Y/N that he still cared about her, even if that meant ignoring some of his work-related responsibilities.

Subsequently, the next morning San called the office and asked Wooyoung to handle his morning meetings. His friend protested at first, but San drove a hard bargain when he offered him free lunch for the remainder of the week. Wooyoung was suddenly much more accepting, and San was feeling excited about the suprise that he had planned for his wife. As such, he drove to Y/N’s office to surprise her for an impromptu date to the best restaurant in the city.

As he rode the elevator to the corresponding floor, San checked the time on his watch, smiling when he realized that he would catch Y/N right before she usually left for lunch. He also studied his appearance in the reflecting panels of the elevator, nodding once in reassurance when he stepped out into the hallway, enduring the endless maze of office cubicles to find Y/N’s desk. “Don’t blow this San,” he said to himself before walking in her direction.

He was almost there when he heard one of the assistants mention his wife’s name. “Y/N, your mystery man is on the line!”

San paused, faltering in his steps when he heard Y/N’s voice answer the phone call. “Hello? Mike?”

“Mike?” He whispered to himself, shuffling closer to overhear the remainder of the conversation.

“Today?” Y/N questioned. “Of course, I can meet you for lunch.” San swallowed hard, trying not to jump to conclusions. “I’d love that!” Y/N giggled. “I’ll see you then.”

San quickly darted into one of the empty cubicles, holding his breath when Y/N passed him on the way out of the office. His shoulders instantly deflated, and he could feel a bitter rage churning inside his stomach. “What the hell?” he cursed, reaching for his phone to call Wooyoung because he was nothing short of pissed off and nobody was safe from his wrath.

San watched from a distance as Wooyoung pulled up to the sidewalk, rolling down the window to greet San as he climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Hey, man,” Wooyoung said. “Welcome to the club. The same thing happened to me with wife number two, remember? She was a real piece of work.”

“But this is Y/N,” San argued, still shaken from the phone call. “She wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Hard to argue with the evidence,” Wooyoung said, shrugging like he wasn’t at all concerned. “Look, divorces are common these days. I’ll even let you crash on my couch.”

“It’s not going to happen,” San insisted. “There has to be something else.”

“What did you expect, San?” Wooyoung asked him. “You’re never there anymore.”

The brutal truth hit San like a freight train, and he fumbled with his seat-belt while holding out his cellphone. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not giving up on our marriage,” San said. “I’m fixing this before it gets any worse.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “San, I don’t like that look on your face.”

“Relax,” San hissed, holding up the phone to his ear. He was pleased when one of the agency’s interns answered from the other end. “I’m coming back to the agency. I need someone to help me tap some phone lines.”

“What!” Wooyoung screeched, but San ignored him as he shot off a series of orders to the poor intern who probably had no idea why San was so angry.

“Do it now!” San growled, assaulting the end phone call button before glaring out the windshield.

“San, are you fucking insane?” Wooyoung gasped. “This is a blatant misappropriation of funds! If Hongjoong finds out...”

“He won’t,” San interrupted. “Besides, I’m not doing anything that could hurt the agency.”

“But you’re talking about spying on your wife!”

“It’s not spying.”

“What the hell is your definition of spying, San?”

“Look, I’m just trying to keep this under control,” San retorted. “I would think that my friend might support me.”

“I do support you, San, but this is taking things too far!”

“Just drive back to the agency,” San growled. “I’m tired of arguing.”

San was pleased when several interns greeted him at the main office of their agency’s building. “Mr. Choi, we have the phone wires tapped at the work location and home address that you gave us.”

“Good,” San said, ignoring the way that Wooyoung was trying to get his attention while they entered the recording room.

“San!” Wooyoung pouted, hurrying to match his friend’s pace. “This is insane!”

“Get me some tracking equipment,” San added, throwing the command to the intern who nodded.

“Tracking!” Wooyoung exclaimed. “You’re gonna follow her?”

“Also, make sure that Hongjoong doesn’t find out,” San said, and Wooyoung waved his hands wildly through the air.

“Earth to San! Doesn’t it seem suspicious when you can’t tell Hongjoong about this?”

“He’ll make a big deal out of nothing,” San replied, checking the monitors that were supposed to record his wife’s future phone conversations.

“Nothing? Does this qualify as anything less than treason!”

San turned to look at his frazzled friend, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve got everything under control, okay? And I need you to bring the van to my house tonight. I can sneak out Y/N’s purse and we can stitch in the GPS.”

Wooyoung sighed. “Anything else, your majesty?”

“Less attitude would be nice,” San told him cheekily, leaving Wooyoung to fume quietly to himself. In the meantime, San had one of the interns help him load some equipment into his car, ignoring the curious looks that he received from the other agents. Because whenever they attempted to inquire about the equipment, San would lie and tell them that he was doing some reconnaissance work from home.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth.

Later that night, San made sure that he was home early, surprising Y/N when he walked inside to offer her a gentle kiss in greeting. “San!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re home?”

“Is that a problem?” San questioned.

“N-no,” Y/N stuttered. “But I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“Hmmm...” San grinned. “I’ll be upstairs in the shower. Unless you want to join me?”

Y/N gasped, and her cheeks filled with an adorable blush. “Dinner...”

“It’s alright,” San said. “We can always mess around later.”

Y/N managed a nod which was nothing short of endearing, and San was even more convinced that he needed to keep a closer eye on his wife.

Thereafter, once he finished helping Y/N clean their dishes, they both returned to the bedroom upstairs. San immediately fell across the bed, enjoying the way that his mattress felt against his back after so many long hours at work. He also studied Y/N from the corner of his eye, formulating his next plan of action.

“I thought that we could have lunch tomorrow,” San said, and Y/N paused in front of the mirror.

“Oh,” she said. “I wish I had known sooner, babe, I’ve already made plans with some of my friends.”

“Really?” San asked, keeping a close eye on Y/N when he reached over onto the nightstand to grab her purse. “That sounds like fun.”

“It’s been a while,” she responded, covering her face with a delicate mask that gave San the perfect opportunity to quietly retreat into the bathroom. He immediately found the window above the sink, opening it just enough to toss out Y/N’s purse to an awaiting Wooyoung who was completely drenched from the rain.

“Yeah, thanks,” Wooyoung retorted, and San paused until he was around the corner of the house before returning to the bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” San said, but Y/N was still distracted by the mess that she had made of her face mask. San chuckled to himself, hustling down the stairs to fling open the front door.

Thankfully, the agency’s van was parked in the driveway, and San waited by the door for Wooyoung who shakily offered him the purse. “You know, there’s still an opportunity for us to give up on this ridiculous plan.”

However, San’s silencing glare spoke louder than words. “What?”

“I mean, the GPS is at the bottom!” Wooyoung replied, flinching when San slammed the door in his face.

In the meantime, San had re-entered the house with Y/N’s purse tucked under his coat, bringing it upstairs and returning it to its previous place on the nightstand. “Are you tried?” he asked Y/N, laying back down on the bed as he watched her.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you have to be up early?”

“Not really,” San said, holding his breath as Y/N finally joined him on the bed. He carefully turned over on his side, dragging Y/N closer with one arm wrapped around her delicate waist. “You know,” he hesitated, “I feel really bad about coming home late.”

Y/N stiffened against his embrace. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s okay,” San said. “I should work on that. You deserve better.”

Y/N gave no acknowledgment of his comment. Instead, she muttered something about feeling exhausted because of work, and San simply nodded his head in response. “I love you, Y/N.”

However, Y/N didn’t offer anything in return, and San could feel his heart sinking low inside his chest.

When San arrived to work the next morning, he decided to finally address the mounting pile of paperwork on his desk. It was mostly just an excuse to remain in the office because one of the interns, who he had assigned to watch over the phone lines, might come to him with developing information concerning Y/N. Thus, San was certain that he needed to remain on standby since he might receive an update at any moment.

Eventually, the work was starting to become tedious, and he glared at the clock when lunchtime rolled around, wondering if his wife was going on some kind of lunch date with her “mystery” man. But to San, he wasn’t much of a mystery, just some bastard who thought that he could try and seduce his wife. Which, of course, made him San’s rival, and there was nothing that he wanted more than to confront this man and beat the shit out of him.

His violent thoughts made San feel restless inside his office, and he decided to visit the interrogation office where the interns had been stationed. However, during his brief walk down the hallway, he thought about Y/N and her dismissive attitude towards him from the previous evening. Was his wife really no longer interested in him? Would San have enough guts to give her a divorce if she asked for it?

He shivered at the scenario, but the unexpected sight of Wooyoung talking with his interns provided a good distraction. “What’s going on?” San demanded when he walked into the room, and Wooyoung immediately hid something behind his back.

“San!” Wooyoung exclaimed, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You’re holding something,” San said.

“No...”

San rolled his eyes, cornering Wooyoung against the wall before reaching behind him to snatch away the transcript that his interns had likely created for him. Ignoring Wooyoung’s complaints, San started reading over the words, frowning when he realized that it was a conversation between his wife and Mike. “They’re meeting for lunch,” San said. “I know this restaurant.”

“Oh?”

San turned to address his interns. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” one of them responded, and San reached behind him for the collar of Wooyoung’s well-pressed shirt.

“You’re coming with me,” San said.

“Where?” Wooyoung asked, and San held up the transcript that his friend immediately objected. “That’s really taking this too far, San!”

“Are you on my side or not?”

Wooyoung hesitated, appearing entirely conflicted, so San made his decision for him. He snatched Wooyoung’s familiar car keys from one of the desks, and Wooyoung only had a brief moment of realization before he was rushing to catch-up to San on the way out the front door. Unfortunately, San was beyond reason, ignoring Wooyoung’s attempts at rational conversation by opening the driver’s side door. “Take us there,” San requested, tossing his keys into the air before making himself comfortable on the opposite side.

Wooyoung was grumbling when he switched on the ignition. “This is really low, San.”

“You’re supposed to be my friend and partner.”

“I am!” Wooyoung said, slowly guiding them out into traffic. “Which is why I’m the most qualified to give you relationship advice, and I think that spying on your wife is a hard pass.”

“Says the same guy who’s already been divorced twice!”

“Yeah, and that means I know when you’re doing something wrong,” Wooyoung said. “And that we're doing right now? Wrong!”

“Just drive,” San insisted, and Wooyoung must’ve realized that his friend was stoically determined to follow through with his plan because he started quietly driving the rest of the way to the restaurant. “Pull in at the front,” San instructed him.

Wooyoung turned off the ignition, sighing as he leaned back in his seat. “There’s Y/N’s car.”

“Turn on the audio,” San said. “You put the microphone in her purse, right?”

“I stitched it myself,” Wooyung confirmed, reaching down to twist the knob on the machine attached to the radio.

There was mostly static until two distinct voices filled the rest of the car. “Hey, I’m so glad to see you,” a male voice said, and San assumed that it belonged to this Mike character.

“Of course,” Y/N responded timidly. “What did you need?”

“It’s important,” Mile said. “I think they’re coming for me tonight.”

“Tonight?” Y/N gasped, and San and Wooyoung exchanged a quick look.

“You’ll be there for me, right?” Mike asked, and San wrinkled his nose at the disgusting tone. “I have something to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“I can’t tell you until it’s safer,” Mike said. “Come home with me, tonight. We can talk in a place where they can’t follow us.”

“Damn, this guy moves fast!” Wooyoung laughed, but he immediately stopped when he noticed San’s fierce expression. “Oh, shit, I mean, that sleazy scumbag! Who does he think he is?”

“Just shut up,” San said, leaning in closer to the radio because Y/N was talking again.

“I have work until 5,” Y/N said.

“I’ll pick you up outside the office,” Mike replied, and there was a sound that reminded San suspiciously of the noise that he associated with Y/N’s delicate kisses.

“I’m beating the shit out of this bastard,” San declared, and Wooyoung shivered at his dangerous tone.

“Are we following them later?”

“Absolutely,” San agreed, reaching over to grab the GPS tracker. “I’m putting an end to this bullshit!”

Wooyoung simply nodded because he knew that San was past the point of talking him back from over the edge.

However, San was usually the type who could control his temper. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he had experienced what some might call “blind rage,” but he came pretty close when he watched his wife get in a stranger’s car without any hesitation. Consequently, San was forced to take several deep breaths to clear the red clouding his vision, waiting until he was mostly clear-headed again to open his eyes. Thankfully, Wooyoung was already following Y/N and Mike, maintaining a safe distance so that they wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Keep on that car until they stop,” San instructed his friend, gripping tightly to the dash while they continued to follow Y/N and Mike through the relatively empty streets.

After twenty minutes of tense driving, they finally pulled into a modest apartment complex where Mike pulled in the driveway of one of the units. “He lives there?” Wooyoung asked, driving past their car.

“Turn back around at the end of the road,” San said while pulling out his cellphone. “I’m calling for back-up.”

“Back-up?!” Wooyoung repeated, but it was too late to change San’s mind and he was already ordering most of Hongjoon’s agents off the street to arrive at the complex.

“This is insane!” Wooyoung loudly whispered, stopping his car at the sidewalk near Mike’s apartment just in time to see Y/N walking inside with the other man.

San reached behind him for the gun that he kept on the backseat. “You aren’t shooting him, are you?” Wooyoung asked, but San’s response was nothing but a crooked smirk as he re-loaded the weapon.

Much to Wooyoung’s horror, the other agents were also fast to arrive on the scene, and San greeted Yunho and Mingi who had been dealing with a drug bust downtown. “What do we got?” Mingi asked when he recognized San.

“Some kind of undercover exchange,” San lied. “Clear out the back of the van for me.”

“Do we have any details?”

“Two people,” San explained. “One man and a woman. The dude is complete trash and you can leave him to me, but the woman is innocent, so just try and get her out safely.”

“Yes, sir,” Yunho said, teasing San with the directive.

“Get your agents ready,” San replied because he wasn’t in any mood to joke around.

Graciously, Yunho and Mingi immediately complied, shouting orders into their walkie-talkies while several agents emerged from around the house, completely dressed from head to tie in their uniforms. Actually, the entire complex was surrounded by Hongjoong’s agents with their sleek black cars, and various cases of equipment and weapons ready for their disposal. “Are you ready?” San asked Wooyoung, covering his face with a mask to disguise his identity.

Wooyoung did the same with a grunt. “I’m sure Y/N will never forget this night.”

San ignored him, checking the safety on his gun, before he stationed himself next to the front door of the apartment. He gave a signal to the agent across from him who nodded once, taking a step back to kick down the door with force, and chaos quickly unraveled as the small apartment was filled with dozens of armed men shouting and aiming their guns in the direction of the two people situated rather scandalously on the couch.

San recognized Y/N’s screams, eyes widening when he noticed that Mike had somehow made himself rather comfortable in close proximity to his wife. San grabbed the sleazy bastard who was still between his wife’s thighs, jerking him back by the collar of his shirt. “You piece of shit,” San grunted, tossing the man onto the ground to cuff his hands.

“What’s happening!” Mike cried, struggling against San’s grip. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, right, asshole,” San muttered, forcing Mike to stand on his own two feet again before searching for Wooyoung. “Get Y/N.”

Wooyoung nodded, approaching Y/N carefully because her eyes were filled with fear and she was looking around at all the action unfolding. “Let’s go, Ma’am,” Wooyoung said with a wince, trying his best to disguise his regular voice because Y/N might recognize him.

“Who are you?” Y/N demanded, but Wooyoung didn’t try to explain, reaching for her arm.

Y/N shrieked and fought against Wooyoung’s hold, even as Wooyoung maintained his grip. “Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t be like this.”

“You asshole!” Y/N screamed, turning around to knee Wooyoung between the legs and the younger man immediately collapsed to the ground.

“Holy shit,” Wooyoung cried. “That fucking hurt!”

His loud curse attracted San’s attention, and he brought Mike to another agent with strict directions to throw him in the back of the van. Meanwhile, he ran after Y/N who was flailing her arms while tripping in her high heels. “Damn,” San gasped, fighting for air when he finally caught up to Y/N.

“Who are you people?!” Y/N shrieked, kicking out her legs when San wrapped an arm around her upper torso. He certainly hadn’t expected his wife to fight them so much, especially when she leaned down to bite him. However, he only groaned in complaint and fought against the pain while he managed to drag Y/N back to another agent’s car.

“Take her to the agency,” San instructed one of the other men. “In the interrogation room.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent said, and San waited until he was driving off before he confronted Wooyoung who was still hunched over on his knees.

“Come on,” San said, tapping his foot against him.

“You try getting kicked in the dick,” Wooyoung spat, using San’s suspenders to help himself back up. “God, you stupid prick,” Wooyung howled, still feeling the effects of Y/N’s kick while he flipped off Mingi and Yunho who were laughing at his expense.

“Job well done, gentlemen,” Yunho said, flashing San a quick thumbs-up as he settled himself behind the wheel of the van.

“Ignore him,” San told a still seething Wooyoung before they drove off in the direction of Hongjoong’s agency.

The interrogation room was incredibly high-tech with an indestructible Plexiglas wall separating the room itself from the attached studio which was filled with expensive equipment. Wooyoung and San sat together in the studio, watching Y/N as she stormed around the room, screaming and yelling while demanding to be heard. “She’s something else,” Wooyoung remarked.

“Do we still have the voice changing microphone?” San asked.

“Of course,” Wooyoung said, reaching behind him for the appropriate instrument. “Let me get it ready.”

San nodded, thoughtfully considering Y/N who had passionately refused to sit down even after facing stern directions from one of the interns. She had always been passionate, refusing to give in to others, and it was a big part of the reason why San had fallen in love with her in the first place. It was also impossible to describe Y/N’s beauty because, even after such a long and chaotic evening, she still managed to look good in nothing but casual jeans and a simple blouse.

“Good evening, Mrs. Choi,” Wooyoung spoke into the mic, and his voice echoed inside the interrogation room. “We’d like to ask you some questions. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

However, Y/N appeared less than compliant, and she furiously slammed her hands against the glass. “Who are you! What do you want from me?”

“Calm down, Mrs. Choi,” Wooyoung said, flinching when San abruptly took the microphone from him.

“We found you with an incredibly dangerous man, Mrs. Choi,” San said. “Can you tell us how the two of you met?”

“Dangerous?” Y/N repeated, looking nothing short of confused. “Mike?”

“How do you know him?”

“We met when I was having lunch alone one day,” Y/N said. “He came up to me with a briefcase and said that he was being followed by some suspicious agents.”

“Why?”

“He works undercover,” Y/N explained. “His work seemed really important.”

“So important that you decided to help him?” San asked.

“Well,” Y/N hesitated. “He said he needed me.”

“Needed you in what way, Mrs. Choi?” Wooyoung took over, much to San’s displeasure.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What the hell are you insinuating?”

“Is it because your husband isn’t pleasing you anymore, Mrs. Choi?” Wooyoung asked, whining when San grabbed the microphone from him.

“Let me handle this,” San said, before turning his attention back to Y/N. “Why did you keep meeting him, even though you barely knew who he was?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, throwing out her hands desperately. “I guess it’s stupid, but I kinda liked that he was involved with something top secret. It seemed really special for me to be a part of it.”

“Special enough for you to cheat on your husband?” San practically spat into the microphone.

“Wait a minute! How do you know that I’m married?”

“We know everything, Mrs. Choi,” San said, quickly trying to make-up for his slip. “Did you sleep with him?”

“I hardly see how that’s any of our business!”

“Answer the question,” San insisted. “Your compliance with us could help your case.”

“My case?”

“Of course,” San said. “You were found with a wanted man. That makes you an accomplice.”

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “Isn’t that a little too much?”

San shook his head, determined to get to the bottom of things. “No, I didn’t,” Y/N finally said. “Satisfied?”

“Were you attracted to him?”

“No!” Y/N cried. “What do these questions have to do with anything?”

“I just have one more thing for you, Mrs. Choi,” San said, taking a deep breath as he braced himself for the answer. “Do you still love your husband?”

Y/N sighed, looking around the steel-gray walls of the room. “Yes,” she said. “I still love him.”

“Terrific!” Wooyoung whispered. “She still loves you! Everything's fine.”

However, San still had one more thing in mind. “You want some adventure in your life, Mrs. Choi,” San said carefully. “That’s good because we might have a solution to our problem concerning your association with Mike. Otherwise, we’ll have to turn you into the authorities.”

“Well!” Y/N exclaimed. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Wooyoung covered the microphone, looking at San with suspicious eyes. “What the hell are you planning?”

San smirked at Wooyoung. “If she wants some excitement, then I’m going to give it to her.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but remained silent. “Mrs. Choi,” San said. “How do you feel about doing some undercover work for us?”

After ensuring that one of the agency’s interns could safely return Y/N home, Wooyoung and San drove quietly to the edge of town to deal with Mike. They pulled the van off the road next to a large overpass, dragging him out screaming and crying from the back. But despite his attempts to break free, San held him perilously at the edge of an enormous dam. “Please,” Mike cried. “Don’t kill me.”

San rolled his eyes, even though Mike probably couldn’t tell from behind his mask. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”

“What are you talking about?” Mike questioned. “You’ve got the wrong guy!”

“It’s all over,” Wooyoung said. “Your career as a spy is well-documented.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No, seriously, I’m just a car salesman,” Mike cried. “I’ve never done anything wrong!”

“Why did we find you with that young woman?” San asked. “We overheard you telling her all about your secret as a spy!”

“It’s only because I have to lie to get laid,” Mike said. “I made the whole thing up because I was trying to impress her!”

“A married woman?” San asked.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, and there were actual tears streaming down his face. “I’m the biggest coward in the world!”

“Get the fuck out of here,” San grunted, jerking Mike’s hands free from his shirt.

“As soon as I’m not looking I know that you’re gonna shoot me!” Mike declared, walking backwards as he looked back and forth between San and Wooyoung.

San pushed him out of the way, reaching for the driver’s side door of the van. Meanwhile, Wooyoung turned around to confront the frazzled man. He reached for his gun, firing off a few rounds into the air while Mile immediately covered his head. “Fuck off, dude.’”

One Week Later

The hotel made for the perfect cover, and an ideal situation to carry out San’s plan for his wife, even if Wooyoung was less than enthusiastic. He was currently helping San arrange the room to his liking, moving one of the chairs into the shadows of the curtains. His partner also handed San a tape recorder, and San smiled at him gratefully. “Look,” Wooyoung said. “I had one of the interns record some shit. Just play the phrases whenever you need to talk to her.”

It was a good way to disguise his voice, and sitting in the corner would help keep his identity protected. “Did you arrange everything with her?” San asked.

“We had an agent call the house earlier with instructions,” Wooyoung said. “We told her that she was meeting a man who’d be expecting an exotic dancer. She’s supposed to tell you that the regular girl is sick.”

“What did you ask her to do?”

“We dropped off an envelope by her office,” Wooyoung explained. “Her job is to plant the bug on the nightstand without you noticing.”

San chuckled. “And who does she think I am exactly?”

“A very wealthy man,” Wooyoung said, reaching for his phone when it started ringing. He answered in quietly, stepping off to the side of the room while San finished arranging a bouquet of roses next to the little side table where he would be sitting for most of the night. Despite the fact that this whole night had been his idea, he was still nervous about how his wife would handle everything, and there was inherent risk of exposing his identity that he was trying to ignore.

“She’s on her way up,” Wooyoung announced.

“Then, you should go,” San said, ushering Wooyoung towards the door, even while his partner flipped off the light switches as he passed them.

“I’ll be in the lobby in case something goes horribly wrong,” Wooyoung said. “Since it might considering how insane this entire plan is!”

“Relax,” San said, giving him a friendly pat on the ass. “I have everything under control.”

Wooyoung still appeared doubtful, but he gave his friend the benefit of the doubt, and San made sure that the door was closed and unlocked before he settled himself on the chair that he placed in the corner of the room. He sat down with a nervous exhale, wondering if he should cross his legs or not, and he held the tape recorder behind him. There was no turning back from the plan, and San anxiously anticipated Y/N’s arrival, finally deciding to leave his legs spread out in front of him.

It was only a few minutes later that he heard the sound of the front door opening, waiting with a pounding heart as Y/N entered the room. San swallowed hard when Y/N approached, wearing one of the sexiest dresses that he had ever seen in his entire life. His eyes trailed down the skin of her exposed legs, moving back up again to pause on the tight fit around her breasts. He cleared his throat and reached behind him for the tape recorder. “What’s your name?”

San jumped when he noticed that the recording's voice was much deeper than his, and it was also slightly accented.

“Y/N,” she whispered, and her tone certainly didn’t match the intimidating outfit that she wore. “The regular girl was sick, but she thought you would like me.”

“Let me determine that for myself.”

Y/N nodded, reaching behind her for the zipper, but San quickly rewound the tape. “No, do it slowly for me.”

She was hesitant, but San sat up straighter when she turned around to undo the zipper on the back of the dress, allowing it to fall onto the floor. San cleared his throat, taking in the sight of Y/N wearing a black set of lingerie, and the panties barely covered her ass when she made a complete circle to look at San again for directions. “Dance for me,” the recording instructed. “I want to see how sexy you are.”

Y/N paused while San reached out to turn on the radio, adjusting the volume for the heavy bass song that began to play throughout the room. San waited, taking in a deep breath when her hips started to move, and it was awkward at first, until she finally found the beat, dragging her hands over her gorgeous body. San watched as her hands traveled over her breasts, moving them down sensuously to tease the waistband of her underwear.

At this point, San’s heart was practically leaping into his throat, and the music sounded unbelievably loud inside his ears. Y/N was clearly distracted by her own dancing, closing her eyes as she continued to hypnotize San with the tantalizing way that she undulated her hips. San groaned at the display because he was uncomfortably hard in his black trousers, reaching down to adjust himself as he watched Y/N grind herself against the bed post.

She dropped lower to the ground, pushing her ass out in San’s direction, and every bit of blood in his body had moved south to fill his cock. It took everything that he had not to launch himself at his wife who was using the post as support to sway her body from side to side. San closed his eyes, leaning over to turn down the radio so that Y/N could hear the tape recorder again.

“Lie on the bed and close your eyes.”

Y/N stumbled in her heels at the unexpected order, but she still obeyed, gently lowering herself vertically across the hotel’s king-sized bed. In the meantime, San took a flower from the vase next to him, walking over to Y/N to drag the velvety petals against her smooth skin. He was unable to help himself when he joined her on the edge of the bed, leaning down to claim Y/N’s irresistible red-glossed lips.

He moaned against her mouth, resisting the urge to climb his fingers along her beautiful skin that was practically glowing from the light penetrating through the curtains. It had been a long time since he had kissed his wife so passionately, and he was determined to make her feel good tonight. Of course, distracted by the moment’s pleasures, San failed to realize that Y/N had grabbed the alarm clock from the corner of the nightstand until she was hitting him over the head with the offending object. “Pervert!” she shouted, immediately rising from the bed. San grunted as he collapsed to the floor, feeling the dizzying effects of the hit that he had just taken courtesy of his wife’s powerful aim.

However, he quickly came to realize that Y/N was trying to put on her dress while limping haphazardly for the exit. “Y/N,” San shouted, and his wife paused. “It’s me!” He removed the mask and held up his hands, watching Y/N’s eyes grow wide with shock.

“San?” she gasped, and her entire body was suddenly shaking.

“Yes, it’s me,” San whispered, hoping to calm her down.

“H-How?” she asked, clutching the dress tightly to her chest.

“I’m not an insurance agent,” San said, carefully approaching his wife like she might flee at any moment. “I work for a private detective’s office downtown, but I had to lie because I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“What?” Y/N questioned, pulling at the strands of her hair as if she couldn’t process anything that he was saying. “None of this makes sense!”

“It was me that night with Mike or whoever,” San revealed. “I interrogated you in that room, and I had some of the agents organize this night for us!”

“San, you sound insane right now!” Y/N said.

“I know,” San agreed, trying to reach out for Y/N, but she quickly took another step back. “I’m so sorry for everything, baby. I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt because of the stuff that I did at work, so I made up a cover to protect you!”

“You?” Y/N repeated, and San wasn’t sure if it was a question or just his wife’s attempt to make sense of everything. “Y-you're being honest? This was your idea?”

San nodded. “Look, I have a badge and everything,” he said, reaching into his pocket to extract his wallet, holding it out for Y/N who took it with narrowed eyes. “I’ve been working at the agency for years. That’s I’m always home so late because my cases sometimes are more difficult than others.”

Y/N had taken out his badge, studying it with an expression that he had never seen from his wife before. Finally, she dropped the wallet and badge onto the floor, inhaling once as she addressed him. “I can’t believe you’ve lied to me.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” San said, desperately trying to make amends. “I know it was wrong to keep this from you, but I thought it would help you.”

“Help me?” Y/N spat. “Really, San? Because I love thinking that my husband is an insurance agent who spends all night at his office, but it turns out that he’s secretly keeping another identity from me since he could actually die!”

“I’m hardly ever in danger,” San said, but he realized that Y/N wasn’t quite as accepting.

“And what’s this dancing thing all about?” she asked. “You literally tricked me into coming here so you could watch me dry hump the bed?”

“That’s not it, Y/N,” San said. “I- I heard what you said in the interrogation room. You said that you wanted to do something special.”

“But not after my husband lied to me!” Y/N said, meeting San across the room to sharply push against his shoulders. “Is our marriage a cover too?”

“Of course not,” San said, shaking his head. “Y/N, I love you more than anything else in the world.”

“If you loved me, then we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Y/N said. “I feel humiliated!”

“I’m sorry,” San tried again. “This is all my fault, and you can hate me for the rest of your life, but I never wanted to hurt you. Because I’ve loved you long before I became an agent, and I just want you to know that I care about your happiness, even if sometimes seems like I’m the world’s biggest asshole.”

Y/N sniffled, studying San for several long moments. “I believe that you love me,” she finally said. “And I still love you too, but we’re gonna talk about this! Do you hear me?”

“Of course,” San agreed.

“Especially about this disaster,” she continued. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well,” San said, searching for the correct words. “You look really hot...”

“Shit! I’m still fucking mad at you!” Y/N said, but there was also a carnal energy in her eyes that had San hesitating. “I swear to God I’ll make you pay for this!”

“Is that a promise?” San asked, and Y/N didn’t hesitate to throw her weight against him in a furious kiss as they both landed on top of the luxury bed.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez san #choi san #ateez san fanfic #san fanfic #choi san oneshot #san oneshot #ateez san au

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inkyardpress · 5 years

Text

Excerpt: Don’t Read the Comments by Eric Smith + Giveaway!

Divya

“Mom. We’ve been over this. Don’t read the comments,” I say, sighing as my mother stares at me with her fretful deep-set eyes. They’re dark green, just like mine, and stand out against her soft brown skin. Wrinkle lines trail out from the corners like thin tree branches, grown over a lifetime of worrying.

I wish I could wash away all of her worries, but I only seem to be causing her more lately.

“I’m just not comfortable with it anymore,” my mom counters. “I appreciate what you’re doing with…you know, your earnings or however that sponsor stuff works, but I can’t stand seeing what they’re saying about you on the internet.”

“So don’t read the comments!” I exclaim, reaching out and taking her hands in mine. Her palms are weathered, like the pages of the books she moves around at the library, and I can feel the creases in her skin as my fingers run over them. Bundles of multicolored bangles dangle from both of her wrists, clinking about lightly.

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asks, giving my hands a squeeze. “You’re my daughter. And they say such awful things. They don’t even know you. Breaks my heart.”

“What did I just say?” I ask, letting go of her hands, trying to give her my warmest it’s-going-to-be-okay smile. I know she only reads the blogs, the articles covering this and that, so she just sees the replies there, the sprawling comments—and not what people say on social media. Not what the trolls say about her. Because moms are the easiest target for those online monsters.

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that sign in your room with your slogan regarding comments,” Mom scoffs, shaking her head and getting to her feet. She groans a little as she pushes herself off the tiny sofa, which sinks in too much. Not in the comfortable way a squishy couch might, but in a this-piece-of-furniture-needs-to-be-thrown-away-because-it’s-probably-doing-irreversible-damage-to-my-back-and-internal-organs kind of way. She stretches her back, one hand on her waist, and I make a mental note to check online for furniture sales at Target or Ikea once she heads to work.

“Oof, I must have slept on it wrong,” Mom mutters, turning to look at me. But I know better. She’s saying that for my benefit. The air mattress on her bed frame—in lieu of an actual mattress—isn’t doing her back any favors.

I’d better add a cheap mattress to my list of things to search for later. Anything is better than her sleeping on what our family used to go camping with.

Still, I force myself to nod and say, “Probably.” If Mom knew how easily I saw through this dance of ours, the way we pretend that things are okay while everything is falling apart around us, she’d only worry more.

Maybe she does know. Maybe that’s part of the dance.

I avert my gaze from hers and glance down at my watch. It’s the latest in smartwatch tech from Samsung, a beautiful little thing that connects to my phone and computer, controls the streaming box on our television… Hell, if we could afford smart lights in our apartment, it could handle those, too. It’s nearly 8:00 p.m., which means my Glitch subscribers will be tuning in for my scheduled gaming stream of Reclaim the Sun at any minute. A couple social media notifications start lighting up the edges of the little screen, but it isn’t the unread messages or the time that taunt me.

It’s the date.

The end of June is only a few days away, which means the rent is due. How can my mom stand here and talk about me getting rid of my Glitch channel when it’s bringing in just enough revenue to help cover the rent? To pay for groceries? When the products I’m sent to review or sponsored to wear—and then consequently sell—have been keeping us afloat with at least a little money to walk around with?

“I’m going to start looking for a second job,” Mom says, her tone defeated.

“Wait, what?” I look away from my watch and feel my heartbeat quicken. “But if you do that—”

“I can finish these summer classes another time. Maybe next year—”

“No. No way.” I shake my head and suck air in through my gritted teeth. She’s worked so hard for this. We’ve worked so hard for this. “You only have a few more classes!”

“I can’t let you keep doing this.” She gestures toward my room, where my computer is.

“And I can’t let you work yourself to death for… What? This tiny apartment, while that asshole doesn’t do a damn thing to—”

“Divya. Language,” she scolds, but her tone is undermined by a soft grin peeking in at the corner of her mouth. “He’s still your fath—”

“I’ll do my part,” I say resolutely, stopping her from saying that word. “I can deal with it. I want to. You will not give up going to school. If you do that, he wins. Besides, I’ve…got some gadgets I can sell this month.”

“I just… I don’t want you giving up on your dreams, so I can keep chasing mine. I’m the parent. What does all this say about me?” My mom exhales, and I catch her lip quivering just a little. Then she inhales sharply, burying whatever was about to surface, and I almost smile, as weird as that sounds. It’s just our way, you know?

Take the pain in. Bury it down deep.

“We’re a team.” I reach out and grasp her hands again, and she inhales quickly once more.

It’s in these quiet moments we have together, wrestling with these challenges, that the anger I feel—the rage over this small apartment that’s replaced our home, the overdrafts in our bank accounts, all the time I’ve given up—is replaced with something else.

With how proud I am of her, for starting over the way she has.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.”

Deserve.

I feel my chest cave in a little at the word as I look again at the date on the beautiful display of this watch. I know I need to sell it. I know I do. The couch. That crappy mattress. My dwindling bank account. The upcoming bills.

The required sponsorship agreement to wear this watch in all my videos for a month, in exchange for keeping the watch, would be over in just a few days. I could easily get $500 for it on an auction site or maybe a little less at the used-electronics shop downtown. One means more money, but it also means having my address out there, which is something I avoid like the plague—though having friends like Rebekah mail the gadgets for me has proved a relatively safe way to do it. The other means less money, but the return is immediate, at least. Several of the employees there watch my stream, however, and conversations with them are often pretty awkward.

I’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, I’d get to keep this one thing. Isn’t that something I deserve? Between helping Mom with the rent while she finishes up school and pitching in for groceries and trying to put a little money aside for my own tuition in the fall at the community college… God, I’d at least earned this much, right?

The watch buzzes against my wrist, a pleasant feeling. As a text message flashes across the screen, I feel a pang of wonder and regret over how a display so small can still have a better resolution than the television in our living room.

THE GALAXY WAITS FOR NO ONE, YOU READY D1V?—COMMANDER (RE)BEKAH

I smile at the note from my producer-slash-best-friend, then look up as my mom makes her way toward the front door of our apartment, tossing a bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll be back around ten or so,” she says, sounding tired. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I always am,” I promise, walking over to give her a hug. It’s sweet, her constant reminders to be careful, to check in, especially since all I generally do while she’s gone is hang out in front of the computer. But I get it. Even the internet can be a dangerous place. The threats on social media and the emails that I get—all sent by anonymous trolls with untraceable accounts—are proof of that.

Still, as soon as the door closes, I bolt across the living room and into my small bedroom, which is basically just a bed, a tiny dresser, and my workstation. I’ve kept it simple since the move and my parents split.

The only thing that’s far from simple is my gaming rig.

When my Glitch stream hit critical mass at one hundred thousand subscribers about a year and a half ago, a gaming company was kind enough to sponsor my rig. It’s extravagant to the point of being comical, with bright neon-blue lighting pouring out the back of the system and a clear case that shows off the needless LED illumination. Like having shiny lights makes it go any faster. I never got it when dudes at my school put flashy lights on their cars, and I don’t get it any more on a computer.

But it was free, so I’m certainly not going to complain.

I shake the mouse to awaken the sleeping monster, and my widescreen LED monitor flashes to life. It’s one of those screens that bend toward the edges, the curves of the monitor bordering on sexy. I adjust my webcam, which—along with my beaten-up Ikea table that’s not even a desk—is one of the few non-sponsored things in my space. It’s an aging thing, but the resolution is still HD and flawless, so unless a free one is somehow going to drop into my lap—and it probably won’t, because you can’t show off a web camera in a digital stream or a recorded sponsored video when you’re filming with said camera—it’ll do the trick.

I navigate over to Glitch and open my streaming application. Almost immediately, Rebekah’s face pops up in a little window on the edge of my screen. I grin at the sight of her new hairstyle, her usually blonde and spiky hair now dyed a brilliant shade of blood orange, a hue as vibrant as her personality. The sides of her head are buzzed, too, and the overall effect is awesome.

Rebekah smiles and waves at me. “You ready to explore the cosmos once more?” she asks, her voice bright in my computer’s speakers. I can hear her keys clicking loudly as she types, her hands making quick work of something on the other side of the screen. I open my mouth to say something, but she jumps in before I can. “Yes, yes, I’ll be on mute once we get in, shut up.”

I laugh and glance at myself in the mirror I’ve got attached to the side of my monitor with a long metal arm—an old bike mirror that I repurposed to make sure my makeup and hair is on point in these videos. Even though the streams are all about the games, there’s nothing wrong with looking a little cute, even if it’s just for myself. I run a finger over one of my eyebrows, smoothing it out, and make a note to tweeze them just a little bit later. I’ve got my mother’s strong brows, black and rebellious. We’re frequently in battle with one another, me armed with my tweezers, my eyebrows wielding their growing-faster-than-weeds genes.

“How much time do we have?” I ask, tilting my head back and forth.

“About five minutes. And you look fine, stop it,” she grumbles. I push the mirror away, the metal arm making a squeaking noise, and I see Rebekah roll her eyes. “You could just use a compact like a normal person, you know.”

“It’s vintage,” I say, leaning in toward my computer mic. “I’m being hip.”

“You. Hip.” She chuckles. “Please save the jokes for the stream. It’s good content.”

I flash her a scowl and load up my social feeds on the desktop, my watch still illuminating with notifications. I decide to leave them unchecked on the actual device and scope them out on the computer instead, so when people are watching, they can see the watch in action. That should score me some extra goodwill with sponsors, and maybe it’ll look like I’m more popular than people think I am.

Because that’s my life. Plenty of social notifications, but zero texts or missed calls.

The feeds are surprisingly calm this evening, a bundle of people posting about how excited they are for my upcoming stream, playing Reclaim the Sun on their own, curious to see what I’m finding… Not bad. There are a few dumpster-fire comments directed at the way I look and some racist remarks by people with no avatars, cowards who won’t show their faces, but nothing out of the usual.

Ah. Lovely. Someone wants me to wear less clothing in this stream. Blocked. A link to someone promoting my upcoming appearance at New York GamesCon, nice. Retweeted. A post suggesting I wear a skimpier top, and someone agreeing. Charming. Blocked and blocked.

Why is it that the people who always leave the grossest, rudest, and occasionally sexist, racist, or religiously intolerant comments never seem to have an avatar connected to their social profiles? Hiding behind a blank profile picture? How brave. How courageous.

And never mind all the messages that I assume are supposed to be flirtatious, but are actually anything but. Real original, saying “hey” and that’s it, then spewing a bunch of foul-mouthed nonsense when they don’t get a response. Hey, anonymous bro, I’m not here to be sexualized by strangers on the Internet. It’s creepy and disgusting. Can’t I just have fun without being objectified?

“Div!” Rebekah shouts, and I jump in my seat a little.

“Yeah, hey, I’m here,” I mumble, looking around for my Bluetooth earpiece, trying to force myself into a better mood. This is why you don’t read the comments, Divya.

The earpiece is bright orange and yellow with white outlines, inscribed with the logo from the game Remember Me, a kick-ass sci-fi adventure with a lady protagonist that I adore. I don’t care if the series got canceled; I wear my earpiece to show my solidarity.

I will remember you, Nilin, you underrated heroine. You deserved better.

“You were really zoned out for a second,” Rebekah says. “Let’s go. It’s time.”

I hear her tapping a few buttons, and suddenly her little screen goes quiet, the video stream of her now bearing a circled microphone with a line through it in bright red. I can still see her, but she’s muted. She won’t appear in video on the stream, preferring to stay behind the scenes for personal reasons that belong to her.

I chuckle as she reaches off-screen and her hand comes back gripping a giant clear Starbucks cup with a huge froth of whipped cream on top, the beverage most definitely filled with pure chocolate and sugar. “Game fuel” she likes to call it.

I swivel in my chair to make sure my room’s door is closed and take a quick peek at my window. Curtain drawn—check.

We’re good to go.

For a minute, I debate breaking out my Oculus. It’s way more fun to explore the universe in Reclaim the Sun when you’re using the VR feature, but then I’d have a giant virtual reality headset covering up my face, hiding my expressions while I’m playing. And all of that, blended with the gameplay, is part of the point of this. Plus, I want to see Rebekah in her side window. Maybe I’ll plug it in later, when I’m gaming solo.

I look up at my webcam and shift around, trying to find the perfect angle for where I’m sitting, the old camera wrestling to adjust the light balance within the room. I keep my outfits on the stream simple—today I’ve got on a dark green T-shirt with a bright white Halo logo in the center, which makes my green eyes look even greener on the camera. Perfect.

I hit record.

“Hey, lovers and dreamers and streamers!” I exclaim, plastering a bright smile on my face. “It’s D1V, coming to you live from the vast universe of Reclaim the Sun. Today we’re going to be exploring the galaxy and seeing what we can find out here in the cosmos. Hopefully, as I’m out adventuring, I run into some of you! Feel free to hit me up on the Reclaim the Sun messaging network at letter ‘D,’ number ‘1,’ letter ‘V’ and join the Armada as we claim planets for our own.”

“As always, the fantastic and talented and beautiful Commander (Re)bekah is on the stream with us.”

I point at the camera. There’s an audible click, and the video stream switches to Rebekah, who gives a faux salute to the camera for just a second, and then switches back to me. Even in that quick clip, you can’t see her face. She saluted while looking down. She’s not a huge fan of the attention and prefers to stay behind the camera, even though she’s got tens of thousands of followers on her various social networks from working on this little show of ours. She mostly posts pictures of her coffee, her cat, Gipsy Danger, or books. She’s big into bookstagram, making beautifully artsy arrangements to photograph and showcase her current reads.

And no matter what game we’re playing, if there’s a customizable vehicle, she’ll name it after a book she’s really into. I’ve seen her share screenshots with authors on social media, and they always seem over the moon thrilled.

“She’ll be on deck running around with us in her brand-new vessel, the Heart of Iron, and recording our exploration from another angle to catch all the action. You can flag her ship, as well as mine, the Golden Titan, and track us as we travel the universe—and, of course, please feel free to join our fleet! Though be warned, if you fire on us, we will be forced to unleash upon you the fury of a thousand suns, as well as the fury of the thousand fans who are traveling with us. Your ship won’t survive against my darling Angst Armada.”

I glance over at Rebekah on the screen and catch her giving me a smile. She’s the one who named our quickly growing fleet, which largely consists of teenagers like us, eager to do a little exploring outside the real world we’re trapped in. And a lot of venting sure does happen on our hashtag and in the game, almost none of which has anything to do with video gaming. School. Breakups. Parents. The usual.

#AngstArmada it is.

Rebekah’s been working on getting patches and pins done up for when we make our appearance at GamesCon later in the summer. She says we can potentially make a ton of money, even if we’re only selling them for a few dollars at our table. I wince at the thought of it—not the patches or pins, which frankly sound awesome and what I’m all about, because how cool would it be to see someone randomly in the mall rocking our fleet badges? And extra revenue to put away for college and help Mom? Yes, please.

But manning the table. Being in public. Sitting in one place where people can come up and talk to me, shake my hand, take pictures. The trolls and their emails and messages… They get so brutal. And the idea of being someplace in real life as D1V and not just as me, Divya, is terrifying.

But if Rebekah can be brave enough to do it, so can I. She’s been through far worse than I have.

“Turn up the enthusiasm,” Rebekah murmurs from her little window, on mute for everyone playing with us and for the stream, but still audible to me. “You sound like you don’t want to be here today.”

She’s awfully perceptive.

“And…we’re in!” I shout, lifting my hands up in the air, fingers wide and open. I beam directly into the webcam.

“Alright, alright, dial it back there on the performance.” Rebekah snipes, and I grin, putting my hands back on the keyboard and mouse. The universe of Reclaim the Sun welcoming and beautiful on my massive screen, an expanse of sprawling black dotted with faraway stars, each a destination that’s possible to fly off to. The fact that there’s no beating this game, no end goal—that it’s just nonstop exploration—makes it all the more fun. There’s no real competition here, unless you’re looking for a fight. We’re all in this together.

I look down at the controls on my ship and take quick stock of what’s on the readouts. I’m still feeling a little bitter that I can’t have my Oculus headset on, as I have to navigate everything with my mouse instead of just physically looking at this stuff. I click on the little video window that contains Rebekah’s floating head and drag it over, placing it atop one of the more useless control screens, there mostly for decoration. Seeing her there makes me feel like she’s my real navigator and in this ship with me. And really, she is—without her, there wouldn’t be a proper show with sponsors and actual revenue or any of that. It’d just be me floundering around in front of an audience, one that wouldn’t be nearly as big as the one we have now.

Or maybe I wouldn’t be doing this at all. I’m not sure what I’d be doing right now without Rebekah’s help, what with Mom and our finances the way they are.

I give my friend’s video window an affectionate little click with my mouse and turn back to the open universe.

“It’s that time, Angst Armada! Our coordinates are as follows… Quadrant Seti Six, 51.7, 92.2, 62.7, in the Omega Expanse. We’ll wait here for approximately five minutes, and then take off and try to find an undiscovered planet. With any luck—whoa!”

The radar screen goes haywire, and Rebekah’s video screen next to it shows her looking far more excited than I’ve seen her in recent memory. A smile explodes on her face, and her voice erupts in my headset, though her video is getting choppy as she talks.

“O-Oh my God, -ere has got to be like, a thousand ships in he—” she screams in my ear, making me wince. “How’s your la-? I swear my sys- go- to cra—”

I check the latency bar, which monitors our connection, and it looks like everything is holding up okay on my end, even as vessel after vessel warps into view in front of my ship. Rebekah’s video stream cuts in and out, her voice getting garbled and then clear and then static again. Spaceships of all kinds and shapes and sizes thunder in out of warp from wherever they were before in the cosmos. Bright neon colors contrast with numerous ships with cold metallic shades, some colored so black, so dark, they practically blend in to the open space. Ships of gold and silver shimmer from the reflecting light of a nearby star, and my radar screen is full to bursting with small glowing dots, each representing a nearby player.

The Angst Armada has arrived.

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eallisnwndrlnd · 5 years

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A New Year. A New Decade.

As I type away, only a couple of hours to go to lead us into not only a new year but a new decade. So many memorable moments that happened this year…some good…some not so much.

2019, a year that began with anxiety and stress as I began my final semester and final year of college and ended it with uncertainty of what the next year will bring with a bit of hope that things will get better.

As I begin to reflect on my 2019, I note that even with all my downs I had a lot more ups and so much to be thankful for this year. As some of my family and friends had many new joys to celebrate there are others near and dear that also suffered a lot of hardships and loss this year. For them I hope that this New Year will bring hope, joy, peace and many more blessings.

I stressed over my academic performance as my college years were coming to a close. As I lost myself in my thesis and trying to complete it and finding that pulling my hair strand by strand may have been less painful of a process. The stress of personal issues happening at home, my deepening depression, and self-inflicted stress from school, led to me smoking a ciggy after being more than 2 years smoke free. Albeit only two lung cancer sticks, but still a moment of succumbing to my go-to distressing vice. I was, however, more determined than ever to survive my senior year being on top. With many late, tiring nights I worked towards ending on a high note. And boy did I. After having graduating high school 19 years ago, I, Ethni, at 37 years of age FINALLY graduated college…as a foreign student…with honors to boot! Can you believe it folks? I actually managed to graduate cum laude. Holy mother of fruitloops, how the frak did I even do that and not go bald? An academic acknowledgement I never dreamed possible four years ago when I started my first year of college. An honor that I can solely chuck up to hard work and determination no matter how much I lacked in confidence or ability. Alas, I finally completed a long held dream to obtain a college degree even if it took me a long time to get there. Of course the dream initially was graduating back home years ago in my dream school NYU-Tish, but hey, there are moments when dreams and goals change depending on what cards you’re dealt with and how you deal with them.

This year I was able to go back home for a visit after being away for five years. Oh how I missed my family and friends and OMG the FOOD. (the latter gifted me 20 extra pounds to take back to the Philippines) As I went back to visit the people nearest and dearest to my heart, unfortunately not having enough time to see all of them, I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. How much has changed in just those five years amazed me. I felt so odd when I visited my old workplace. I hardly remembered the halls I once roamed for three years. It felt so much farther back in time than it was that it almost felt like a dream rather than actual memories. I also found some odd connection to my hometown of Los Angeles that I don’t remember ever having in all the time that I lived there. Perhaps being away for as long I had gave me some new perspective of my birthplace that was something other than being at odds with it and not feeling like I belonged. Basically I can say I don’t hate L.A. as much as I did when I was so desperate to move away from it.

After graduating, I had so many things I still needed to complete before I could even begin to search for my new direction in life. I had to change my student visa status which was a trying and pricey task. I had to finalize the printing and binding of my thesis which I finally managed to do only a month ago…ahh ever the procrastinator that I, at times, can be.

As a part of my student visa downgrading tasks of having to deport myself briefly and return with tourist visa status, I was able to check off yet another goal of mine from my ever changing and growing bucket list. My ma and I made a three day vacation of it in Tokyo, Japan. This was a city I had wanted to visit for years but had to work at convincing my mom to let our trip itinerary be in Tokyo. With her memories of WW2 as a child, I couldn’t really blame her but thankfully she finally said yes. Tokyo is a remarkable city with a lot of history and traditions. We found the Japanese people to be some of the most respectful, disciplined, welcoming and helpful people we ever had the honor of meeting throughout our travels. There were a handful of standout moments like where one young lady even walked opposite of her direction to help show us where our hotel was. I definitely will make plans to return one day but for longer than the three days we were there and make sure that I go to Mount Fuji.

Out of what I had hoped to accomplish from what I wrote last new year, I only managed to check off a few but hey, we all know that even one being checked off is practically a miracle for many of us.

I did get to learn a new language, bombarding my phone with language apps. I have managed to nearly memorize the Hangul alphabet. Now I just need to start memorizing the actual vocabulary and I’ll be good. I can now at least read several of the ingredients on Korean cosmetics and skincare products. I have also added some words in Chinese, Japanese, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, German, Gaelic, and Russian. (I tried Arabic but I need a one on one assistance with that one rather than an app) In one or two more years I hope to at least be mediocre in my ability to speak and understand Korean while learning a few more words from other languages. Of course I sometimes get confused as hell mixing up foreign words and their translations in my head. Some Chinese leaks into Korean sentences and Portuguese gets muddled with Spanish, Italian and French. The proper pronunciations and accents also get flipped around. I already had this issue with my second language, Tagalog, finding itself mixed in with my first language of English (U.S.) With my memory issues also adding to this problem, I may find myself one day accidentally saying a multilingual sentence without realizing it. I already have a bad habit of going Taglish around people who only understand the English part.

I did cook and bake a lot more this year than I did last year to the point that my mother is complaining that I am spending too much money and time on ingredients for my baked concoctions. I even took the time to cook vegan dishes for much of my school lunches during my last semester. I did love to bake more often than cooking this year thus partly to blame for my added weight gain…

As one recent unsolicited comment from a male FB acquaintance said…”u really fat” Yes, darlin’, thank you so much for that ‘oh so keen’ observation (FYI I have a mirror and a plucking scale of my own. I don’t need input I didn’t ask for nor need. Ever heard the phrase “if you ain’t got nothing nice to say...shut tf up”?) . As he so gracefully put it, yes I’ll admit I added a bit more junk in my trunk this year rather than shedding it. And? Yeah so I admit, I piled on the dessert and snacks and revisited my obsession with video games that had me mimic the physical actions of a sloth or an overly blubbered seal to the point that I nearly gave myself tennis elbow and the posture of Igor. It also didn’t help that my fybro kept flaring up on and off this year which made me feel like a Golden Girl could take me down in one fell swoop and outrun me. Not to mention my constant and annoying friend that is called clinical depression and chronic anxiety that kept nipping at my heels that I’m lucky that I can even act like a functioning human most of the time. The fact that I can tell my inner negative voice to shut the duck up most of the time and ignore it, as well as wishing to not wake up at all only twice this year is a frakking miracle in itself. (Seriously though...what is up with some people that feel the need to foist their shallow insights on those that did not solicit it. And the added ludicrousness that sometimes this is supposed to lead into a flirt-on...I mean what kind of hells bells reverse psychology load of horse manure is that?)

Unfortunately I did not read any books this year but I did read more news articles and try to keep myself up to date on current events. (and try tried to stay sane while reading them)

My writing progress stalled and I only have a long list of story ideas to show from it. There is one story I recently started outlining that I find hopeful. I think it has the legs to be a decent script if I can manage to focus on its development. That will be a big focus this coming year…to gain some momentum in my writing.

(currently being distracted by the onslaught of illegal fireworks popping in my neighborhood, hoping my house and neighborhood manages to survive these irresponsible idiots.)

The promise to keep up with my daily checklist died a hollow death early on in the year with my senior year and thesis weighing me down from being able to stay consistent. Well there’s always next year.

Sadly I didn’t get any higher in Gurushots but I did get one of my shot viewed along with other peoples work at a showing. Yay for the small things!

I did sell several of my clothes and accessories but still way more to go before I can say I am done. Like a HEEP load. Every time I see some clothes I want to buy I have to keep repeating “no more clothes” over and over again. I just try to picture Hasan Minhaj’s piece on fast fashion to control those horrible habits of mine.

Even though I didn’t successfully check off a lot of what I wanted to complete for this year, I still look back to this year as a decent one even with my ever present depression and anxiety looming over me. Dude, I graduated college, I learned a new language, and I knocked off Tokyo from my bucket list. I think that was enough to make my year above meh and almost a big YAY!

As I near the close of this annual report of mine, I list these goals and hopes not set in stone but in rainbows (oh yes I just went there into ridiculousness!!!)

May I find a job I actually like rather than what I just deem as a necessary obligation to obtain a paycheck.

I will learn enough Korean to be able to legitimately claim that I am multilingual.

Finish reading the books that I have collected on my shelf before I leave the Philippines.

Cook and bake with a bit more flair and add more complicated dishes to my repertoire.

Sell and clear out more of my shit to prepare me for our move back stateside if all goes according to plan.

If I manage to shed enough off my caboose to fit in the jeans I already own that will be a small victory in itself and the only goal that deals with my rollipollies for the year. If any extra manages to come off along the way that’ll be just an added bonus.

Hitting reset on my daily checklist and will do my best to let it last longer than last year (I can say that now as it is currently past midnight and officially 2020 in my neck of the woods)

If I do move back stateside this year I will start saving towards my future goal of getting me a tiny home. (Seriously the perfect solution to my wanting a permanent home but not a permanent address and thus my added reason to shed the burden of most of my crap)

Complete my story outline and treatment and finalize the first draft of a 45 minute script.

Delve a bit more into my art and photography as well.

Get more sleep…(crappy sleeping habits I can lay blame to my current gaming and ongoing kdrama addiction and mindless internet browsing habits)

Begin volunteering once again.

With my final moving destination still unknown dependent on the job prospects I get, pretty sure I won’t be able to mark off any other travel destinations or adventures for the coming year.

Just be healthier not only in body but in mind and soul overall. I need to work on alleviating my health issues that aggravate my fybro as well as my anxiety. If my brain could shut the frak up and calm the frak down, and keep my ma’s schizophrenic outbursts and episodes to no more than an hour a day at least once in a while would be oh so lovely.

As long as I keep going and progress even in baby steps I will eventually get there.

For those that know me and my political ideology, they know what I especially hope for this year. Please oh please if there are any actual deities that exist or even if there isn’t…please let that outcome be a good one.

Now I end my annual New Year musings with a Happy New Years greeting to everyone. May we all find good and peace in this new year and may we have a better decade than the last one.

Goodbye 2019, I can’t say I’ll really miss thee. And goodbye to another decade.

Hello 2020, be better dammit and I promise that I will strive towards making it a positive and productive one for me, my family, my friends and with that, some decent contribution to this world we all live in.

#happynewyear #newyearsresolution #newyears2020 #goals

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scarecrowandmrking · 5 years

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Gotta Raise A little Hell

I started dancing at The Dive when I was just 16 years old. It beat staying at home, getting my ass beat by my dad when he got drunk and listening to my mom making excuses as to why she had married such a worthless dirt bag. This isn’t one of those stories about how I was destroyed by my circumstances, turned to drugs, went on to live a life of crime. Truth is, I work damn hard to get where I am in the world. At 24, I have a place of my own, a nice car, all the spare cash it took to keep me in nice clothes and also working my way through college. The owner of the place, Mo, was a real piece of work. Always talking trash about the place and the girls who worked there, but he had your back when the chips were down. I can’t say the same for some of the chicks I worked with. Stripping was a business. At the end of the day, we were all selling a product and trying to make sure we got our piece of the pie. You had to be nice and go along to get along, if you knew what was best for you. It’s not good to have too many enemies around here. But, deep down, you couldn’t keep from having your favorite girls. There were the ones you looked up to. The ones you watched every night do their thing, wishing you could dance the way they did. Make the kind of money they did. Then there were the girls who would cut you, but you envied how nobody ever fucked them over. And if anyone even tried, they would end of walking away with a limp. I was about fifteen minutes late to the club, which got me an ass chewing by Mo. “You know how many bitches want to work here? Get your shit worked out.” I rolled my eyes, moving past Mo towards the back of the club. Something caught my eye as I did so, and I turned my head towards the stage. My mouth dropped. Sitting at the front of the club, long legs stretched out before him and a pair of shades obscuring his eyes, was the actor Mark Pellegrino. I fought back a squeal of excitement. Lucifer was my favorite character on Supernatural. Mark played him with such a sexy, seductive flair. My eyes roamed over his long, muscular body. He was decked out in a nice pair of jeans and a black t shirt, a gray jacket over that. His attention was fixed on the stage. I felt a faint twinge of jealousy as my gaze wandered to the tall, ebony beauty dancing to a fast beat. Perfect breasts bounced, pert nipples grazing the pole as Shandra went through her routine. I have always liked the dancer, admired her grace and way with the patrons. Tonight, she had chosen a school girl ensemble, complete with pig tales and ruler. As I watched, she mimed smacking Mark on top of the head with the ruler, giving him a sly smile. “Play nice,” he tells her, his voice low and husky. The ultimate daddy dom voice. I felt myself starting to get wet. I turned to Mo. “Tell him to meet me backstage.” The owner of the club raises an eyebrow at me. I’ve never asked him for anything before. I could tell he found the idea interesting. “You know the rules,” he warns me. I think he knows I won’t be obeying them tonight. But he’s long since realized to give a little on some things. Keep the peace with the girls. I nod. Then turn and run through the door that leads into the back of the place. When I get in the changing room, some of the dancers try to catch my attention. Everyone is eager to tell me the latest gossip, who was fucking who, who had dropped money on this or that, where everyone was when they weren’t working their ass off on the pole. People outside the life never got how hard it was to be a performer. How difficult it was to be in the life and still do the things you wanted to when you were off, body tired and just wanting some good sleep with nobody pawing at you or jerking off onto the floor. I ignored everyone, running to my stuff and grabbing my she devil costume, complete with horns. The flimsy piece left little to the imagination, having a mostly open chest and being entirely crotch less. I went over to my make up station and applied some heavy red eye shadow and ruby lipstick. My mind was already going through the moves I would be making a couple of minutes from now. The music I wanted. Just how far I intended to go with all of this. I knew Mo would respect my decision. He didn’t mind having a stripping 16 year old in his club years ago, so I understood that his grasp of the law wasn’t exactly rock solid anyway. The VIP room in the Dive consisted of a round room with a low ceiling, it's only furniture a heart shaped couch pushed up against the wall. A pole had been erected in front of the couch, kept wiped down and cleaned by one of the maintenance dudes, who’s job I never envied. Mark was waiting for me on the couch when I came into the room. He’d tucked his shades into his jacket pocket. A crooked grim lit up his face when he saw what I was wearing. I could tell that he appreciated the reference. “What’s your name, kitten?” I ignored him, waiting on the music to start. A second later, the first cords to Dorothy’s Raise Hell came in over the speakers.

Gotta raise a little hell Young blood, run like a river Young blood, never get chained Young blood, heaven need a sinner You can't raise hell with a saint Young blood, came to start a riot Don't care what your old man say Young blood, heaven hate a sinner But we gonna raise hell anyway

I felt the music work it’s way into my body, into my bones. I kept my eyes on Mark, loving how his gaze moved over my writhing body, taking in my full, heavy breasts as they swayed to the rhythm. My long black hair, streaked with blue, swept back over my shoulders and flowed down my back. I spread my legs on the bar, using my hands to hold myself in the air. I had been doing this since I was a teenager. It was as easy as breathing to me now. I knew when to dismount, draw out the routine for the maximum effect. I could tell that the routine was working. There was a definite bulge in the actor’s jeans when I had finished. As the music stopped, I moved to straddle Mark. “Easy there,” he stiffened as my weight came down upon him, my hands reaching out to stroke his shoulders. “I don’t think this is allowed.” “I’m the Devil,” I say, kissing his cheek. “Fuck the rules.” I was surprised when Mark gave me a big, open mouthed kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth. I felt my pussy clench instinctively. Fuck, his body felt so damn big and good between my hands. I could feel his erection rubbing against my bare pussy through his jeans. I rocked against him a little, rewarded when he moaned into my mouth. I pulled away, taking a moment to enjoy the look of lust on his face. He had a raw, wonderfully nasty about him when he was turned on. Like he wanted to bend you over his knee and do all sorts of terrible things to you that would leave you raw and satisfied when he was done. I let my thoughts wander to just what those things might be as I pulled his shirt up, running kisses down his broad chest while at the same time unbuckling his jeans. Mark closed his eyes and let out a deep, guttural moan as I took his entire length into my mouth, all the way down to his balls. I kept things slow at first, working him up as I learned what he liked and how fast he liked it. I reached under and played with his balls. My tongue moved over the top of his glans, swirling in a circle around the very sensitive tip. I wanted to swallow his nut. I never did things like that. But, with this sexy as hell man sitting here, cock in my face, I wanted nothing more but to deep throat him as hard as I could until he filled my belly with his seed. A second later, another need pushed its way into my thoughts. It had been around 14 days since my last period. That special window when nature made sure things happened. Maybe that was another reason my pussy was so hot and wet. Why I was so close to orgasm, when his cock wasn’t even in me yet. I got on top of him again, not giving him much time to react before I took his cock in my hands and moved him to my wet opening. “Please,” he groaned, head thrown back, eyes only partly open. I struggled to get the head of his cock in me. He was bigger than any partner I had before, but I loved the soreness his cock made as he stretched me to my breaking point. I moved into three slow, deep thrusts, enjoying the long orgasm that rippled through my body. I whispered his name against his chest, hiding my face there. It was so intimate, having an actual climax in front of someone for the first time. How many guys had not even been able to make me cum? And yet he had done it without even trying. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mark grabbed my ass, holding me still so that he could pound the fuck out of my dripping cunt. I grabbed his shoulders and hung on, begging him to go faster, harder. I couldn’t get enough of him. The scent and taste and feel of him. He was like an addiction I could see myself giving up everything for. I cried out, bit him, kissed his neck. There was something so freeing about this experience. About taking charge and fucking who I wanted to. Being the aggressor in a world where I was always treated like the prize. I could tell when he was about to come, I felt a deep thrill go through me as I leaned back and took in the sight of his teeth clenching, his eyes squeezed shut. Most guys looked ugly when they came. But not him. “Fuck,” I heard him blurt out a moment before I felt the warm spurts in my pussy. I groaned. God, he could really fill a girl up in more ways than one. I ran my fingers through his hair, soothing him as he finished coming inside of me. His body still shuddered, but his breath was slowly coming back to normal. He looked up at me, the sly smile back on his face. “You're good at breaking the rules.” My mind drifted to how much enjoyment I would have jerking off with his cum later. I could already feel the gooey slick dribbling down my legs and turning me on again. “You have no idea,” I replied, kissing him on the cheek.

#mark pellegrino fan fiction #mark pellegrino

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rogue-snorunt · 6 years

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Can I still be nosy? 7, 8, 16, 18, 19, 31, 43, 44

i’m shook because someone actually wanting to get to know my doofy ass ; u ;7. Do you have tattos?Yep! got 3 tho tech one is a two-parter: +The Great Chain from Bioshock with “A man chooses, a slave obeys” quote on left wrist.+ Assassins Creed feathered insignia from the second game on right wrist.+ White ink skeletal angler fish on right side of left calf with its angler wrapping around to left side turning into a branch in which a cute ass fluffy owl sits as its lure.8. Want tattoos?Yep, and I want to get more : Gene’s star tattoo from Outlaw Star; Cardinal and some Daisies ( nana and great nana’s spirit bird and favorite flower) and a crow (my favorite birb) done in a mixed style of abstract and geometric shapes. The Marker from Dead Space with possible “Altmen be Praised” But both a phobia of needles (ironic i know but the tattoos i have already I did as a sort of self forced exposure therapy) and money currently prevent them,16. I’ll love you if…You treat me like a decent human should treat others; give me food, are patient, I am able to relate to you due to similar likes and interests. 18, Most traumatic experience:strap in- this is gonna be long and I apologize:

three years old- dad chasing and holding me down and forcing piercing my ears with a needle and an ice cube.six years old - the cat I’ve had an lived since birth and was my only friend: scratching me in the face , it was my fault as I pulled his tail like dumbass kids tend to do, resulting in the cat running outside and getting ran over by my day. i lost my best friend and my right eye that day.16 years old - accidentally getting left behind at a gas station in new jersey because I had to pee and left my phone in the car.

17 years old - Let my fathers dog - Milkshake out before taking a quick shower only to get a knock on the door a few minutes later by a random dude who informed me he had hit Milkshake. there was nothing anyone could do and no place was open so on christmas day I laid in the snowy road with Milkshake while she choked on blood for a couple of minutes and than died. 19 years old - 3 months into driving, a deer running out infront of me and I swerved to miss it resulting me to go off the road on a steep guard rail-less hill. my car got air and I popped all four tires; the frame got shifted 4 inches to the right, bent the control arm, it flipped on its side and my 50 pound toolbox getting thrown my backseat, missing my head by a few inches and smashing into my windshield. my car landed a few feet from a metal pole in a ditch. the only reason I was able to get out was because I happened to have the sun roof open that day and managed to fit through it. Instead of going to the hospital after, like the intelligent person I am, I just went home and slept for 3 days.22 years old - getting rammed from behind doing 75 on the highway by a white truck while trying to pass a semi-truck while driving home for the weekend from college. fishtailing then doing a couple 360′s managing to not hit the semi truck besides me or the truck behind me and stopping inches from hitting the guardrail, facing the opposite direction. again, did not go to hospital; went to my friends restaurant where I worked at the time and just went to sleep on the dining room floor.22 years old - crossing the crosswalk on my way to my friends restaurant and assuming the suv coming down the hill would abide by the laws of this land but instead getting double-tapped by an old lady. No hospital - went to restaurant and went to sleep in the hallway to the house above the restaurant.23 years old - the head gasket in my 88′ Ford Bronco exploding while driving back to college on a dark and very stormy night. I had to stand in a downpour next to a giant fireball for 2 hours waiting for the cops to come.25 years old - moved to Wisconsin for a bit and while riding the bus to work, a man apparently disapproved of how I was sitting and punched me.Few months later a finch flew into our apartment building and I tried my best but it died in my hands.26 to 27 years old - Moved back to new york; where my step mom died and her appearance at the wake still fucks me up.Than I began working at a bakery and worked with an unstable man who would black out; scream, throw and break equipment and threatened to hurt/ kill me and lock everyone inside the bakery and burn it.and finally 27 years old: on january 31st - my friend was driving me home before a bad snowstorm hit and we hit black ice and slammed into a tree. the airbag broke my hand; face and glasses and fucked up my ribs, left lung and have a damaged nerve in my neck. The feeling of getting the air knocked out of you and not being to breath and the agony of trying to was the worst pain i’ve ever experienced in my life and I was in and out of the hospital for 5 years with pancreatitis, kidney stones and infection, ulcers and organ shut downs all at the same time. last: having to put my dog with prostate cancer down after he wasn’t getting better. he died in my lap and it still haunts me.19: a fact about your personality take away the silly manner of speaking and vocab; puns and dumb jokes, pop culture references and goofy mannerisms : I’m just a dumb emotional asshole. 31. Last text message“I can’t help that I’m a slut for grade a memes and maple candy, stop shaming me”43. Sexiest person who comes to mind:tbh, i havent had a thought like this but now that I am @life-is-no-sugarlicking ‘s roy ; gage , dean winchester and ryan goslin come to mind.44. random fact:alot of food advertised as gluten free is naturally so already. Companies like advertising that and repackaging it to sell at a higher price just because they slapped “GLUTEN FREE!” on something they been selling already for years. and its a trap alot of people newly diagnosed with celiac’s are victim too. Rice; Veggies, Meats, Potatoes, Corn starch, Corn Tortillas, Cheerios, Rice Chex, Fruits, marshmallows, chocolate and gummi worms/bears/etc, also oatmeals are naturally gluten free so you don’t need to buy that special overpriced junk.if it requires a rue (thickener like in gravies and chowder) / is a soup/ requires a binder such as meatballs and meat loaf/ needs to be baked or fried / beer or other alcohol like that = 99% chance its gluten, don’t eat it! vodka; rum; tequila, i believe gin and apple ale are all gluten free.you can use corn starch in lieu of flour for making gravies and soups Advice? Read the labels for everything. Personally, as long as it doesnt actually contain wheat/wheat by products or gluten, I can have things with “MAY contain..” but everyone is different and more sensitive than others. just be careful and read everything. (soy sauce and corn pops are fucking traps because soy sauce is alot of the times made with soy AND WHEAT so check!!! and corn pops are shitheads because you think “oh! CORNpops! I must be able to have it! cause its CORN pops! FRIGGIN CORN-POPS! CORN!!” NO YOU CANT BECAUSE THOSE SNEAKY MUTHAFECKERS USE WHEAT AS LIKE THE 2ND INGREDIENT AND I AM REALLY SALTY ABOUT IT)

#ask a rogue a question #car accident mention #traumatic mentions

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gxldentrio · 7 years

Text

i know you know it’s gonna be something sweet

The mailman keeps mixing up our houses and delivering your packages on my doorstep and dude, why the hell did you order 30 tubes of super glue (after a billion years, it’s finally here. thank you Nai (@hiddenpolkadots) for the wonderful prompt, I love you sm)

or three times James doesn’t ask Lily out. not really

~3.5k

ao3 | ffn

One.

Let it go on record that Lily doesn’t usually go knocking on people’s doors, especially not after getting completely toasted on wine. At least, she doesn’t make a habit out of it. If it helps her case, it has only happened once before, and Benjy was an awful good sport about it. Especially considering she’s moved in all of three months ago and that was the first time she actually spoke to any of her neighbours.

This time, however, it’s different. Because to be fair, she’s had a really shit day, what with Hestia messing up the deadlines and scheduling meetings for when she knows Lily can’t be there and. Ugh.

You see, the thing is that most of the time, Lily actually enjoys working at the Daily Prophet. The paper gives her a platform to speak out about important issues, stuff that actually matters, and she’s proud to be a part of it.

But then there’s the days when she feels like she’s running a marathon against the world, when she’s tired and exhausted of fighting the same fucking battles, and it gets really hard. Don’t get her wrong, Lily knows that being white makes her privileged, but her mother was still an immigrant and so with everything that’s going around, she can’t help but feel a bit unwanted. Then, she turns on the telly and sees a new Trayvon Martin, and she swallows the damn frog in her mouth and gets back to work.

The point is, some days, when Lily gets home after hauling ass at the office, all she wants to do is take a bath and maybe (definitely) drink some Merlot (maybe a little more).

This is one of those days.

She picks up a package at the front desk, not even bothering to read the label. Her feet are blistering and she feels suffocated in that damn pencil skirt, and so the first thing she does when she gets home—after taking her bra off, of course—is get into one of her dad’s old t-shirts. Then, she grabs a frozen curry she got from Tesco and throws it in the oven. Hopefully, she doesn’t burn it, but to be fair, her expectations are low. This is why she’s got Papa John’s number on speed-dial.

The knots on her back only unravel when Lily sinks completely inside the bathtub. The water is scalding hot, and there’s a few too many Lush products inside, which in turn makes it a pretty disgusting shade of brown. It does smell pretty fucking bomb though, and so Lily lets it slide. There’s a glass of wine in one of her hands and a magazine in the other, and for a few minutes, Lily is content.

And then the fire alarm goes off. Stupid curry.

It seems that there’s someone up above deliberately messing with her life, because just as she’s stumbling out of the tub, she accidentally kicks the glass and it spills wine all over her white robe. Whatever, she’ll deal with the stain later.

After struggling for a while, the smoke detector is finally silent, and Lily rings up the pizza place and asks for the usual—a medium spicy Italian. It’s delicious every time. Then, Lily glances at the kitchen counter and the package is still there, untouched, and for some reason she feels mocked.

She marches—or stomps, really—to the fancy looking, glorified slab of marble she bought off the IKEA sale (or was it Home Sense? She’s not sure.) It only takes one look at the label to send Lily over the edge.

Because there, in bold black letters, is the straw that breaks Lily’s figurative camel’s back.

“PRIORITY MAIL 2-DAY™

TO: James Potter”

You see, if it were anyone else—and Lily really does mean anyone—she’d be perfectly fine with simply going up a couple of floors and giving back the package to its rightful owner, but the mailman is constantly mixing up Potter’s and hers addresses, and more often than not she comes home to a package of Amazon Prime that in reality, isn’t actually for her.

She also doesn’t make it a habit to open up other people’s mail, but it’s late, she’s tired, Potter’s too attractive for his own good, and besides, she’s curious as to how the bloke can afford to order so much shit. Amazon isn’t as cheap as they say, and especially not if you’re ordering stuff every other day. Shit adds up.

She pierces through the brown tape with a kitchen knife, and part of her actually isn’t surprised at what she finds.

She takes the lift and makes her way to 5C, and after ringing the doorbell, she sees him. At this point, Lily is so annoyed she doesn’t even have it in her to acknowledge his attractiveness.

Instead, she says, “Dude, what the fuck did you order thirty tubes of super glue for?”

If Lily were in his shoes, and someone came to her house with a foul attitude and an even fouler mouth, she’d probably slam the door in their faces. For some reason, though, Potter doesn’t, choosing instead to lean on his door jamb, looking… amused?

It annoys her even more. And it makes her feel vulnerable, for some reason.

“Do you always open up other people’s mail or was this a special occasion?”

“The mailman keeps mixing shit up and delivering your packages to my floor. You can’t help that a girl gets curious.”

“More like nosey,” he snaps back, but his smile is softer now, less of a smirk and more of a grin. All the tension is suddenly replaced with something else. Lily can’t pinpoint with what, exactly, but it’s good.

Lily laughs. “Yes, that too. Besides, most of the time it says on the package, and let me tell you, you buy some weird stuff.”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“This girl still hasn’t forgotten the five litres of neon nail polish from last month. It always leaves me wondering what kind of stuff you get up to.”

Potter-from-5C sighs.

“My best mate is unconventional in his madness.”

Lily raises a single eyebrow, lips twitching to form a smile.

“Admittedly, the super glue was all me,” he concedes. “Would you like to come in?”

She shrugs. What does she really have to lose?

As they make their way through the house, Potter adds, “Mum’s in town and she can be a bit pushy, but I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like.”

“That sounds nice, actually. What do you have?”

“Just about everything. Take your pick, really.”

“Will you judge me if I ask for breakfast tea?”

“Only a little.”

Then there’s shuffling and a small woman—Potter’s mum, Lily assumes—appears on the doorway. She’s tiny, really, and her saree is impeccable. Almost as beautiful as the one Dorcas from HR wore to Mary’s wedding the past fall.

“Good evening, dear, how are you?” Mrs. Potter asks, sporting a kind smile and a twinkle in her eyes. Then, she turns to her son and adds, “honestly, James, you aren’t even going to introduce us?”

Potter—James—is quick to oblige. Well, almost.

“Mum, this is—uh, I’ve just realised I don’t actually know your name.”

“I’m Lily Evans, ma’am,” Lily adds, offering a hand to Mrs. Potter, who in turn pulls her in for a hug. “I live in 4B.”

“You can call me Euphemia, dear. Have you had dinner yet?”

An alarm goes off in Lily’s brain. Papa John’s. “Actually, I should have a pizza arriving soon, so maybe I should get going. Some other time?”

James’ eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “Another time, then. Let me show you out.”

The corridor feels much smaller this time. Maybe because Lily doesn’t really want to leave.

It’s especially strange considering not over half an hour ago, she was ready to off the bloke and sell his bits on Ebay.

Then, she feels something graze her ankle, and it’s only after noticing the way Potter’s doubled over in laughter that she realises the shrill sound she heard was herself shrieking.

“That would be Algernon,” James clarifies.

“Algernon?”

“My cat. He’s lazy and orange and can’t fetch for shit, but we love him anyway.”

“Potter,” she stops, turning to get a better look at him. “You do realise most cats don’t fetch, don’t you?”

“Algernon is not most cats.” He says it so bluntly, that Lily can’t really find it in her to argue about it anymore. “Mum wasn’t joking about dinner, by the way. She’ll have my head on a silver platter if I don’t come through.”

“I’d like to see that happen, funnily enough.”

“Ah-bloody-ha. You’re hilarious.”

“I know, I try, thank you.” It’s only then Lily remembers she’s currently wearing a wine stained robe and not much else, and soon her cheeks are as red as her hair. Staring at the ground, she pockets her hands and adds, “so, about that super glue?”

“Another time, Lily,” James reminds her, and it only aids in the darkening of her cheeks.

“All right.” Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she gets a little closer and gingerly places a kiss on James’ cheek. It’s warm, and softer than she expected, and it throws her off a little. “Well, goodbye then.”

Two.

The next time Lily sees him, she’s fully clothed. It’s late in the afternoon, and she’s still frazzled from her journey through Central Line. Apparently, rush hour in high heels isn’t very comfortable. Who would’ve thought?

As soon as she finally gets to her overpriced apartment complex, she takes off her shoes and walks her own personal walk of shame to the lift.

Mrs. Figg from 1A is holding the lift door open for her, and Lily wheezes out a thank you. The sturdy stainless steel doors are just about to close when a brown hand forces them open.

“Evans,” James greets her, his trademark smirk plastered on his face.

“Potter.” She nods. Then, she feels her own lips stretch into a grin, and she adds, “so, how’s Mama Potter doing?”

“Oh, she’s doing grand. Waitrose had thirty-percent off on all chocolate bars and so she went a bit nutty.”

There’s a pause.

“Get it?”

Lily’s jaw drops open, but then she hears Mrs. Figg—lovely, cat-loving, cabbage-smelling Mrs. Figg—clear her throat and it snaps back closed.

“Are any of you going to push the button or?”

“Right, sorry.”

The ride up is a somewhat awkward one. Luckily, Mrs. Figg gets off early in the journey, and soon the atmosphere becomes much more relaxed. It’s a shame their apartment complex actually invested in fast lifts.

“Do you wanna come in for a second?” she asks, the steel door closed enough so that it’s not in the way, but open enough so that they can talk without having to worry about the lift going up. “They’re supposed to be playing Scorpion reruns tonight.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me just go up for a bit to feed Algernon and I’ll head down after.”

“You can bring him, if you want. My sister hates cats, but luckily I don’t live with her anymore.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.” James winks, and after letting go of the door, Lily takes a deep breath.

Oh boy.

Then, she’s rushing to unlock her door, chuck her pumps somewhere in her room, and make sure there’s nothing super embarrassing lying around, like old pictures from before Lily had braces or a stray bra.

Sooner than she could have expected, she hears the familiar sound of her doorbell, and when Lily opens the door, she’s met with James, who’s carrying the fattest cat she’s ever seen, and a bottle of expensive champagne.

Lily knew there was a reason she liked him.

“Thought we’d make things a little more interesting. I don’t know about you, but I could use a proper passing out.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. Awful corporate of me, I know, but it’s not half bad. Most of the time, that is.”

Lily shrugs. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” James nods. “It could be.”

The night ends with an empty glass bottle, and a sleepy James Potter on Lily’s couch. It’s a good thing the next day is the weekend. Biting her lip, Lily sneakily snaps a picture of him and sends it to her friends’ chat group. Mary goes insane, and Lily goes to bed with a smile on her face.

She wakes up to the smell of coffee and toast.

“Morning,” James says, now wearing the comfiest-looking pair of grey sweatpants (had he run back to his flat to get them?). “I was aiming for pancakes, but couldn’t find your pans. Sorry.”

“Hey, toast and caffeine feel like a five-star hotel meal compared to what I usually bother with. You didn’t have to do this, so thanks.”

“I kind of did, though. You have the softest sofa.” Lily laughs, careful not to spit coffee anywhere. “I can assure you that if you were the one sleeping over, you’d have the worst back ache in the world.”

Suddenly, Lily’s cheeks are the colour of her hair and she almost feels burnt. She swallows what feels like a too large piece of bread, and chugs down a glass of water. Then, she pulls out her phone, and starts snapchatting. She has to say, credit where credit’s due, and James Potter looks fine with the puppy filter.

Three.

It’s not a date.

Sure, they’re having dinner at James’ place, and she actually has his phone number now, but his mum and best mate—Sirius, he tells her—will both be there, so it’s not as though it actually counts.

And if she spends a little extra time fussing over how she looks, well that’s her business. Besides, the first time she met both him and Mrs. Potter, she was wearing a dirty bathrobe and her hair was pulled up in a messy top knot. Lily figures she should at least put some effort in this time.

She hears the faint ping of her phone, and of course, of course it’s him.

5C to Red: what’s red and bad for your teeth?

He’s nervous, she can tell. It’s gotten to a point where she actually knows James well enough to be able to tell. Maybe he’s hoping this non-date date will lead to something more, too.

She’s not stubborn enough that she won’t admit she’s started to fall for him.

Red to 5C: I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking—what?

5C to Red: a brick

Red to 5C: That joke was awful. Like, even for you.

Red to 5C: Just terrible, really.

5C to Red: you get what you pay for

5C to Red: and im free

Potter, she texts back, because even though she’s grown accustomed to his terrible humour, it’s not like she can give him the satisfaction of knowing.

Red to 5C: You’re actually not, may I remind you

5C to Red: shhhhh. stop it.

5C to Red: i kno u like it

Red to 5C: I really don’t. I’m only in this for Algernon.

5C to Red: dinner’s gonna get cold if u don’t hurry up

Red to 5C: You’re so impatient, oh my gOD

Red to 5C: Leaving

She adds a kissy emoji, partly because she’s feeling a little out of her wits, partly because she likes seeing him frazzled. It’s always the highlight of her week.

This time, Lily takes the stairs. It’s only one flight, and besides, it helps her take some of the edge off. The soft tacking of her heels against the smooth marble is comforting in the same way a ticking clock would be. Consistent, dependable, grounding.

She’s at his door before she knows it.

The doorbell seems too shrill, the corridor lights too yellow, the air too tight. Still, she looks killer in her dress, and even if the bobby pins are harsh against her scalp, Lily knows she’s got it.

“Are you caught up on Grey’s?” Lily asks, twirling a bit of pasta in her fork.

“Please,” Sirius scoffs, taking a sip of his wine. “I know that show like I know my own family tree.”

“Not at all, then?” James replies, smirking, and the ease, the familiarity between the two of them is palpable.

“You know me too well.”

“Well, duh. I’ve put up with you long enough.”

It’s… different than what she’s used to, for sure. Lily wonders what it must be like to have that kind of relationship with someone, where a simple glance communicates entire speeches and every sentence seems laced with inside jokes. She has her friends—Mary, and Donna and Alice from work—but it’s not the same. She wouldn’t trade the sleepovers, the nights out, the wine-sipping, getting ready sessions for anything in the whole world, but a part of her still wishes she had that with someone.

When James places a hand on her shoulder, she wonders if she already has.

Four?

They’ve made plans to visit this fancy bar in Chelsea together. It’s in a weird part of town but apparently their Martinis are to die for, and James has had a rough week at the office and could use the distraction. Lily, of course, is up for it, but she’s already so far gone that she would have done pretty much anything James asked her to.

The goal is to meet him at the lobby, head for the tube and get shit-faced drunk together. Lily can definitely work with that.

She isn’t, however, prepared to deal with the butterflies in her stomach, which seemed to erupt in a frenzy at the mere sight of James. He’s wearing dark slacks and a burgundy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and looks, to be perfectly honest, like a fucking snack. No, scratch that. James Potter is a full five-course meal.

“Potter,” she says, appearing much more confident than she feels, “you clean up well.”

If she were to look in the mirror, Lily’s positive her pupils would be blown wide beyond proportion. The spots on Lily’s arm James touched are tingling, and if there was some sort of thermal scanning machine nearby, she’s sure it’d be able to pick up on it.

Just as they’re leaving Charing Cross, the train lurches, causing Lily to uncomfortably knock into James. She’s already nervous—even though she shouldn’t, really, because this is James but at the same time this is James—but the fact that she’s also in four-inch heels nearly sends her flying to the floor.

Luckily, he’s there to catch her fall.

He’s cradling her arm and her hand is on his chest, and is it just her, or did it suddenly get really hot? Lily could have sworn that cologne scent wasn’t there before.

It’s a good thing they’re almost at their stop. She’s not sure how much more she can handle.

Between the exposed forearms, the crooked glasses and the hair, it’s safe to say things have become quite hard for Lily. And when Lily notices the way James proper gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat, she’s about ninety-percent positive James is feeling the same.

When they reach The Leaky Cauldron, it doesn’t take long for Lily to get a little more than tipsy, having started by downing her drinks like no other, wanting to rid herself of some tension. Looking back on it, she’s sure it wasn’t one of her best decisions. After all, she may be able to handle more than James, but at heart she’s still a lightweight.

It almost seems inevitable at this point.

It’s nearly Christmas, and the lights are shining over James’ face, and his eyes are glowing a million different shades of gold—it’s all a bit too much, if she’s being honest with herself.

She’s wearing her short-as-fuck black slip dress, and her hand is on James’ shoulder and his hand is on her thigh and of course they end up making out in the girl’s bathroom.

She feels seventeen again.

Her body flush against his, lips touching, hips grazing, eyes closed, mouth open, gasping for air.

“I wanted to do this right,” he sighs into Lily’s ear, making her shiver.

She shushes him. “Don’t worry,” she says, and then she’s clutching his jaw and kissing him again. “You are.”

James replies with a grunt.

It’s unconventional for her, of course, but she loves it.

Lily knows that James cares about her—she isn’t completely clueless. She’s just glad they’ve finally stopped dancing around each other and actually done something about it. However things turn out in the morning, they’ll deal.

She’s positive.

#jily #jily fic #hp #fyeahjamesandlily #hiddenpolkadots #mine #my fic #fetchalgernon #my writing #snapslikethis #yulbos #prongsno #alrightevans #ravnclaws

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bamanamilk · 3 years

Text

Nighttime psychiatry with myself again.

Almost 3am and here I am crying over my upbringing. I know why I am the way I am. Why I thrive when I'm alone but also hate being alone for too long. I know why I've done things the way I have.

To put it simply, I was never truly listened to by most people in my life. There are some now that have, sure, but boy I wish I had them back then when I needed them most.

My dad, while a very good hearted man, mostly did his own thing. He loves me very much and has definitely treated me to yu-gi-oh card packs once every couple weeks during his physical therapy, but as far as emotional support or someone to have a solid, serious talk to, nah. I know and understand that he was always dealing with his own life and choices, but growing up, I really wish I could have depended on him more than just for the occasional fun treat.

Recently I came to realization that if it wasn't for his previous girlfriend, before he moved, I would have likely received less care. She was the reason I got new glasses that one time I desperately needed them. She pulled his teeth to convince him to get them for me. I only realized this because I remembered her son was with me getting his the same day I got mine. We didn't live together. She also made sure I ate. She was a lunch lady and would bring home extra food that was left over. She always made sure I could get in her house and help myself or take some home. We never talked about much because I was younger. Around 15 is when I met her and practically grew up nearly alone most of the time in that house.

Little by little we had less and less furniture. It honestly looked abandoned most times. He was rarely home. I would occasionally sell some of my things to have a "good dinner" which was usually taco bell. He just seemed totally checked out as far as parenting went. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad but damn dude... the older I get the less funny the joke we made about me being the parent to him is. He would buy and work on mini bikes all the time; keep some, work on and sell others and with that money buy more. He spent his time and money on that and his girlfriend and her son. I wasn't without. Christmas and birthdays I would get a few games sure, until it got so bad a couple years he got me pez and a hello kitty clock, but you know I appreciated them just as much.

I knew he had his own life, but I won't lie, I was a little bitter at times. Like, fuck dude.. it just... I don't know. It's painful sometimes to remember and fuck, if my mind doesn't LOVE to crack open that box of pain when I wish I could sleep. But it's tough because I love the heck out of my dad.

And my mom? Well, she barely was there when she was physically right next to me. I felt like a bi-product that she had to cart around in the shopping basket. She had her own thing going on and I was just a thing that was there until they divorced. Then she barely made an effort to see me. She never seemed to care to want to know me and when she "did" I was never good enough. I wasn't her picture perfect, hand crafted model daughter. Living with my dad, I had the freedom to think for myself and be me, but I know 100% that if I lived with my mom I would never have been able to have my own life until I was a bitter, empty, middle aged woman who by then would have felt wasted.

I wanted to love her. I wanted to have a mom. I tried really hard but she never listened or cared about who I am as an individual. She saw me for what I didn't have and looked down on me, promising that I could never be happy.

Here I am, in the happiest days of my life. I am me, I am loved greatly by the most wonderful person in the world to me, I am safe, I am completely free and allowed to be simply me. I'm laying in a warm bed next to said person and here I am writing out my fucking mental troubles. Things that I know and have identified and keep trying to heal from. I just want to sleep soundly at night. I'm tired of being haunted by all the crap in my past. Hell, I didn't even mention the past relationships I've endured. Or the "friends" I've had. I'm writing this for no one but myself and I've let off what I needed to tonight. Gonna try to sleep now and hopefully be okay enough to wake up in 4.5 hours.

#mp #dont read unless you really feel like reading a journal entry #perhaps i should write these elsewhere someday but this is the easiest thing for me to write in when this stuff happens

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xonemi · 3 years

Text

Bored So I'm Here to Rant

4 o'clock in the morning. I have been sleeping all day yesterday, and woke up around evening time. I saw my typewriter keyboard and have realized that I haven't been using it much.

Reasons for not using it. I mainly use it to type on my journal app called One Day. I haven't been able to do that because the journal app One Day is an iOS app and is not available for windows. My current laptop that I have is a Windows laptop. My Mac laptop that I have is being borrowed by my sister who lives far from me. Oh well.

I could just get a windows journaling app, but as it turns out I looked up the best journaling apps and Day One was number 1 and the next best one that can be used on Windows you have to pay monthly for premium. I am not paying for another journaling app. I already paid a one time deal for Day One.

Anyways, my rant is not about that. My rant is about pyramid schemes. In today's techy world, I am amazed people are still being BAMBOOZLED into pyramid schemes. Like hello? Google that shit maybe? Idk.

Look, I understand that not all pyramid schemes are scams, but they are still fucking pyramid schemes, which just doesn't seem right to me. BUT WHATEVER.

So I had a coworker friend who asked me to go with him to this "business" meeting with him. I thought it was just his aunt trying to sell some random crap. I know there are some people out there who need to do presentations on selling a product but they don't actually need everyone in the presentation to buy the product.

My initial thought was okay, go to this so called business meeting, listen to the presentation and then leave. But boy was I fucking wrong.

Days before the business meeting, my friend sends me and a group of people a link about the product. I look up the company, and I see articles about it being a pyramid scheme.

Already my mind is closed off. Like there's no way in hell anyone is going to get me into some damn pyramid scheme. I don't care if he is a really good friend, there is no way in fucking hell.

I stopped doing any more research because that is all I needed to know. Pyramid scheme. Nothing else will change my mind. But I still made a promise to my friend that I would go to this meeting, so I didn't back down.

Friday, I had to do overtime at my work. My plan was to only work 8hrs so that I could get some sleep because the stupid meeting was in the morning.

The weekend shift didn't have a properly trained person working the laboratory so the shift supervisor asked if I could stay the whole shift which was 12 hrs and ended at 4:30 in the morning.

I was livid, not because I had to stay but because someone who actually works that shift, is always going home early. I wanted to go home early, but couldn't yet this mother fucker was allowed to? And what makes me more mad is his reasons are lies. One time he used the excuse that his girlfriend's grandmother (who lived with him and his gf) was depressed and needed his help. If she really needed help, why the fuck is his gf partying it up? Posting vids on social media of her drinking the night away. It just fucking makes me so mad that this fucker gets away with anything… It's not my shift but still... Whatever.

Back to the pyramid scheme. I worked until 4 am. Got home and went straight to bed. I was hoping I could sleep through the morning meeting because I was so tired and I know that my friend won't be mad because he knows I worked until 4:30.

He ends up calling me after 9 am. I somehow wake up. I ignore the call cause my eyes literally wouldn't stay open. He leaves a voicemail saying that it's okay if we arrive at 10. My subconscious is starting to feel guilty. I did make a promise and I hate breaking promises. Since he said 10 was okay, I got up called him back and said okay I will leave now.

This foo goes, "don't leave yet because I still have to pick up our other co-worker, that way we could arrive at the same time."

I should have taken that moment to go to starbucks and get breakfast and coffee because what happened afterwards was just a shit show.

I get ready and leave after 10 mins. My GPS says I will arrive at 950. I get there and my friend calls me. He asks where I am at and I tell him that I was at the location already. This mother fucker tells me he's barely on the way. It will take him 30 mins to get to the location. LIKE BRUHHHH. Are you fucking kidding me?

I'm tired. I am a very cranky person in the morning. I am definitely not a morning person despite working 1st shift for 6 yrs. (I now work night shifts) I was fuming mad. But I stay calm. I look at instagram for awhile, I try to stay awake while I wait.

20 mins pass and this guy tells me that his uncle will pick me up and that I should just go ahead without him. This mother fucker gives him my phone number (I don't want calls from these people in the future, I might have to change my phone number.) and calls me telling me where to meet him. He takes me to their like lounge eating area. I sit there for almost another 20 minutes. My friend arrived almost fucking 11. They go to different area. Turns out the presentation already started. Thank goodness I didn't go there from the beginning. After 10 minutes of listening to the guy do his presentation, I was already over it.

This guy had no good selling points. I was squirming in my chair the whole fucking time. My other coworker brought her 5 year old son with her and he was dying of boredom. I looked at him and was all "you and me both man"

I really do believe that their product works. It seems to be a legit product. But that foo wasn't selling the product, he was selling the business. I am not an entrepreneur. Although I like money, I do not have the social skills to go around selling a product and a pyramid scheme. So this presentation was not geared towards me. I wanted to leave so badly.

The guy's selling point was that you had to pay $2500 and get 4 other people to pay $2500 and you could start making $500 a month. And from there it could only go up. First of all. I do not save money. I am a spender. There is no way I have $2500 in the bank on hand. That's not me. I barely have $300 at most, most of the time. The only reason I have actual money saved right now is because I am waiting for my speeding ticket. That is the only reason I have money right now. Once that speeding ticket is paid, I am back to being a broke ass bitch because I will more than likely spend the rest of the money left over after the ticket is paid.

Looking around the room during the presentation, the people there were mostly people over 50. Only me, my friend were under 40. It just blew my mind that they were all just very into the presentation. I felt like I was in a cult or something. They were really buying this dude's sell. Which understandably, I could see it. He made it seem easy to earn money through their program.

It really did seem easy to earn millions in a year. But this is where my problem lies. You have to go out there and recruit people. Recruit people to pay $2500 so that they can recruit people to pay $2500 so that those people could recruit people to pay $2500. Those older folks, could easily find people to spend that kind of money because they're old and probably have savings that could be used to pay that $2500 and have cultivated lots of friends, but me? Someone who has limited friends, who is shy, hates any social event, like bruhh, you're barking up the wrong tree here.

The second guy who spoke in the presentation, he was even worse than the first guy. He said "i'll make this short. 10 mins top." This fucker speaks for another 30 mins. Only stopped because the afternoon session started walking in.

He went on to talk about the types of people you needed to recruit. He used an acronym... He wrote EMPOWER on the board. So this is the type of person you need to recruit. E for Entrepreneur M for Motivated, P for positive, O for Open minded, W for Willing, E for Enthusiastic, R for (i forgot, i legit started tuning him out after awhile because I was bored and hungry and sleepy.)

First of all. My friend made the wrong choice in trying to get me into this. Even until now he is trying to convince me.

If there's one thing you should know about me is I am a very negative person, and the funny part is my friend knows this about me. Why he thought I would be POSTIVE here was actually a surprise. Open minded? YEAH NO. FUCK THAT. There is no way in hell I will ever be open minded about Pyramid scheme. I was open minded about their product, but definitely not their business structure. I am the type of person who loves to spend money on myself and others, but NOT ON PYRAMID SCHEMES. And then there's WILLING. Bruhhh I am so fucking lazy. The fact that I was willing to go to this business meeting in the first place was already too much for me. How many times I almost tried to cancel. If he wasn't a good friend to me, I would have done everything in my power to get out of it. But yeah me willing to put in any effort on a pyramid scheme is soooooooo not going to happen. Enthusiastic???? HHAHHAHAHAHHAH I had a sour face the whole time. You aint going to catch me be enthusiastic about any type of pyramid scheme.

I dont know. I still can't fathom why anyone would join a pyramid scheme.

A few hours ago my friend messages me before he went to sleep saying he was sorry he knew that I didn't have much sleep. I was fine. I just love to complain a lot (part of my negative vibe I am trying to put out into the world) anyways, I went to it that's all that matters to me, that I was able to keep my promise... but then this foo saw my "pyramid scheme" story on social media, and he sends me a video link titled "Is *COMPANY NAME* a scam?" I didn't watch the video. I went straight to the comments section. Of course the top comments are from "users" and "reps" of the company boasting about how great the company and the product is. All the way at the bottom was the real comment. The commenter said something about how the person on the video didn't mention anything about the company and their business structure, he was just selling the product. So was the video link my friend sent me proof that the company isn't a scam? NO. I never told him I thought it was a scam, i merely mentioned it was a pyramid scheme, and like I have said somewhere in this post that not all pyramid schemes are scams... I just don't like pyramid schemes.

Anyways, Pyramid schemes aren't for me. Nor will I partake in any form of joining them.

Side story which is funny and stupid... I didn't want my friend to look bad so I went straight to that stupid meeting without eating breakfast... when the person came and took me to the lounge area, they had donuts and coffee provided, my dumbass thought they might have put their product into the donuts or coffees so I didn't eat or drink anything there. hahahahha. I feel bad for my friend if he actually joined, hopefully he will be able to bamboozle someone else. that isn't me. He shouldn't tell our coworkers if he tries to recruit someone else from work that I went to that meeting, because let me tell you, there's no way I am lying to them. I will tell them not to join. AHahahhaha

#pyramid scheme #rant

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murlinxmaverick · 4 years

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Max-Q

This is the start. We just made a decision that we must keep. I cant remember exactly what it was but I thought out the whole idea and it was beautiful, sexy, spontaneous, and all that great stuff. But its gone. I cant remember it any more so this is my attempt to remebering it as it was in that moment of escapism. This blog is for you. This is the start of becoming the person you are today, a letter from your past self. I’m making changes to this shit life. I started writing this thing like 6 days ago or something and I cant remember wtf I wanted to say. We had a revelation of what the future can bring if you just put everything into it. I want to break the boundaries and go above the limits of this shit life.

user912968235, you are no longer bounded to your role. You are free to do anything. lets go to the fucking stars because we are literally ripping the mental shackles off. i can actually feel pain in my arms as im writing this. its probably from the way I’m sitting but I will not let the irony just slip by like so many other opportunities have. And right now what we need to focus on is the shit memory we have, or maybe by now, I have. I want this life to be writn by your hand and not the hand of an other. take control of this narrative, write a fucking campaign like some mad scientist on shrums. Lets fuck shit up. Lets find the love of our life. lets build a home where everyone wants to be, a place where people come and ask to stay. never turning down those you love. family, friends and just great people.

Lets stay humble and work hard every moment we get. but also take breaks and let loose when the time is right. dont be lazy. because you had loads of time and youve wasted so much of it. But we are at a critical point, Max-Q aint no joke, we can really fuck it up here. We must start to plan out our future. I’m talking self image, ladies and career. we are starting at rock bottem because thats where i am. but not for long. this starship is not going to stay grounded for long. (starshitp just crashed) I’m talking werried i know. i must think about what I say before saying, my instinctive verbal responses are never wha people want to hear, lets start thinking. I have some serioius mental issues and the mind is so powerful. It should be functioning at max capacity, or else whats the point. i need to send this bitch to the garage because its not working right. Im going insane. like you cant stay focused on one thing and because of that you cant remember shit. like wtf dude, just slow down and live in the moment. remember to acknowledge yourself and the little victories. You hear this all the time and its kinda true. buit the difference is no one has your life and no one will ever have your life so no one can tell you what is right. you must decide. i must decide. and i have. i have decided to be an artist, a scientist, a pornstar, and teacher, a great son, a great brother, a great friend to those who are great. Im tired of esisting, i want to live.

Lets do a recap: 2020 has been shit. I cannot remember shit because most of it you would rather forget. For instance, all the masterbation, the porn watching. you do it too much for not to be part of your income. Be a journalist for playboy or something. like please, get something out of looking at these computer ladies all the time. Diahann got away. that fucking sucked. We tought about contacting Erika, just get her to be a voice actress in you movie. that is your oplan on getting her back. uhm what else. look at how low dropping out of college is on this thing. why? like I really dont care, do I? so yeah we got to get back to that and finish. because we need to be done with it. just make sure to keep practicing and well finish. You did! Music still isnt a big part of our life. the world is at your fingertips and all you can seem to view is shit like google, and social media. this year youve gotten closest to drawing by searching things that influence you. We are going to sell advertisments. but we must build outr protfolio. you Just made the email adress today. that had to have been the easiest and hardest step you have taken. (the first little acievement acknowledged) What else... IDK whatever. time to focus on the future.

So the plan is to not put somuch pressure on yourself, time to give yourself less to think about. stay busy. dont let anytime go to waste and use it on fewer things. or more things, idk , you dont do much as of right now. But yes. the remainder of 2020 will be used to plan for the future, we want hot chicks lots of money and true happiness in our future. lets get organized and lets change it up. i want three comics done, wake up being the focus, then that adult comic you have in mind with the black market and buying a girl. idk some crazy shit. just do it. let your demons free. think of the craziest shit and hide it in plain sight. fix your car and make it worth driving. because its kinda shit. focus your story to being about reusing. education, and storage. Maximize your brain and push it to its limits. do let the time slip. Time slippage is damaging your tools to grow. Plan on remembering more information. read. write. film. photograph, invest. do it. you cant continue like this. Plan like you are the person you want to be and you will becomethat person. And most importantly, you must reflect, that is the most important part rightnow. Work on a play. Make it powerful. that can be a form of reflection. but make sure you are planning a future that you want. you cannot be successful if you do not.

The girl: this is probably the biggest part to you rightnow. she is going to be everything you want. and you must be everything she wants. so think along those lines and do what you need to do make that happen. she going to be beautiful and you are going to keep being reminded everytime you look at her, and she will know by the way you look at her, wha you say and what you do. fuck her till she cant form sentences. Be that guy, thats who i want to be. i wnat small tits. please. you know!

And take it one step at a time. just try to be productive with your time. Keep learning. today Diana thanked me for opening up to her because when she asked how i was feeling i replied with” stressed horny tired and depressed” instead of the usual “ok” and she really liked that. i need to be better at talking to her but also choose your words wisely, she loves to talk. I dont trust her to keep a secret. that might be a friendship thats worth keeping though, i think her and Nani will get along.

i am broken in so many ways. and a lot of is is simply neglect. pay attention to it all and fix it. start exposing yourself the be best and become the best. Train the brain everymoment you get. because right now its starting to feel like a burden. like your thoughts are holding you back, but instead they are whats propelling you forward. i am proud of who i am regardless of my past mistakes. Keep yout back straight and head up.

Ihate doing something and it not being perfect. that is what is keeping me from doing anything, and now i have done nothing. i need to react to not doing something perfect differnetly then i have because i cant keep doing the same things, its whats keeping me back. you are gemini. what ever the fuck that means. if you need someone to hold you accountable, then stream your shit and act like someone is always watching you. Do porn. (<jesus fuck im funy) .

that brings me to the topic of astrology. i am going to study this shit like its some kind of science and im going to use this knowledge to fuck hot women. i swear its going to be a mind fuck of total satisfaction. yes.

This is going nowhere at this point. back to future me. Adopt a kid and mold that mother fucker into a fucking jem. and be the kind of guy he will always look up to and he will become someone you look up to. acknowledge his ideas as an equal. and get strong. we gotta be able to protect them from anything.

gotta look good too, start buying like you know who you are. you are everyone and everything is going this way for a reason. i wnat to be responsable and i need to look the part.

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notanotherbaptistpodcast · 5 years

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Matt’s Big Announcement – Transcript

Matt: Welcome to Not Another Baptist podcast. A weekly podcast about what two pastors are learning in the trenches of church revitalization. My name is Matt Henslee and I'm the pastor of Mayhill Baptist in Mayhill, New Mexico, and the managing editor of LifeWay Pastors. And I'm joined as always by none other than- Kyle: Kyle Bueerman, pastor of First Baptist Church of Alamogordo, New Mexico, director of Replanter Development for the North American Mission Board. And I am proud to carry the banner, to wave the banner saying that we need to return to 1920s fashion in the 2020s. Matt: Hey, man, I bought three suits while I was on vacation. Kyle: I saw that, man. You're going like ... Yeah, up there. Things are about to get spiffy up on the mountain, man. Matt: Going to get spiffy. So, is part of that fashion going to involve suspenders? Do I need to get those too? Kyle: So, I'm planning on getting some matching suspenders and bow ties, yes. Matt: Okay. Kyle: Because that is ... So, if you just kind of Google like 1920s fashions, that's a lot of what pops up along with like tweed suits. So, vests, if you have a vest, matching suspenders, and a bow tie. Matt: Well, I should have kept that in mind when I bought the suits that are not tweed nor do they have a vest. But I was kind of snarky and I asked my mom, "What did people wear in the 20s?" And she just looked at me and said, "I'm taking you out of the will." To those that are listening, my mom was born in 1938, but the ongoing joke in our family is that she was close personal friends with Moses growing up. So, yeah. And speaking of, dude, I just got out of the car. Kyle: Mm-hmm (affirmative). Matt: From 550 miles. From VFW to Mayhill. And do you know what it's doing outside right now? Kyle: It's snowing. As a matter of fact, it is snowing. Matt: It's snowing. Kyle: In the desert, believe it or not. Well, I think I walked into my family and I said, "Hey, guys, it's s-raining." And everybody was like, "What?" I said, "Well, it's like a rain/snow mix." Yeah. I'm on my way back home from the church, there were definite snowflakes mixed in with the raindrops on my windshield here in New Mexico. Matt: What I can say is outside of our house right now, it is totally white. It's sticking. Kyle: That's awesome. Matt: And it's like a Christmas miracle and it I love it especially. I think that was one of my grievances is the fact that anytime I go out of town it snows, and it did this time. Kyle: I would say. And a big one, right? Y'all get a big snowstorm- Matt: A big one, yeah. Kyle: ... out there. Matt: And then, I came back and was expecting it to be like a thousand degrees and no snow in sight, but it is very cold, and it's snowing. Kyle: That's awesome. Matt: And so, I don't know. I guess we need to go back and record another Festivus episode. Kyle: Oh, don't worry. I have grievances on this one. Matt: Oh, yeah. I'm sure you do because ... Is Jason Garrett still the coach? Kyle: Yes. Jason Garrett, after like five meetings with the Cowboys. Yes, he is still the coach. So, I'm retracting my Festivus grievance. I kind of tempered that. No, I'm offering a full retraction. The Cowboys are at the top of my grievance list at least until today. We'll get to that in a minute. I have other grievances after today. Matt: Oh, man. Oh, man. It's so good to be back. My mom and dad's house is like 80 degrees, and so we came home, and I had forgotten that I turned the heater down because we'd be gone. Kyle: Right. Matt: And I came in and it was like 55 degrees in the house and I was like, "Oh, this is amazing." And then my girls are like all wearing their jackets and stuff. They're like, "Daddy, can we turn on the heater? I was like, "Uh, not yet. Not yet. Let's just savor this moment for just a second." Kyle: So, I actually have a story about when we were up in Clayton in the northeast part of New Mexico, it got cold up there. And we left for our Christmas break or something and same thing. I turned that heater way down to like 55, 60 degrees. I don't think we had any pets at that point except a fish we left behind, and somebody came in to feed it. I did not consider the fish when I turned the house to like 55. And so, this fish's name was Ranger because he was red and blue, and I think I froze Ranger to death over that Christmas break because it got too cold in the house. So, yeah. Matt: It was just a metaphor for the ongoing Ranger's play-offs. Kyle: Yes. Yeah, yeah, that's right. Yep. As dead as a floating fish in the tank. Matt: Did you have a good Christmas? Kyle: I did, yeah. We went to my in-laws, Michelle's parents, in northeastern New Mexico and we saw quite a bit of snow. It was one of those ... Man, it was great. So, we got to their house. We drove up on Christmas day and got to their house, and I did not leave their house until I went to go fill up my truck with gas on Saturday morning before we headed back. So, it was great. Just one of those Christmases where you're just with some family and have a good time. Lots of cards, lots of dominoes. We had a great time, so. Matt: We don't do any cards, we don't do any dominoes. It's pretty much just football on TV. And it doesn't matter if it's high school, college, pro, it's just on 24/7 for my dad. And you'll ask him what the score is. And this time, my dad, there were moments where those that are listening know my dad, his health is failing pretty quickly, and there's times that he's just kind of there and somewhat vegetable. I mean, he doesn't really talk, he won't really respond. But I mentioned, I was like, "What's the score?" And he said, "Well, you can see the score yourself." I was like, "Whoa, that's the Dad I remember." Kyle: That's good. Matt: We had a good time. And what's always nice is my mom is ... She like forces Rebecca and I to have dates. And because of where we live and some of that kind of stuff, we don't often get dates unless the girls are in school, things like that. But my mom wanted like unhindered time with the girls to clean, and they learned how to iron, and cook, and all that kind of stuff. Kyle: Oh, hey, that's a productive trip. Matt: Yeah. And then we just went to- Kyle: So, for a homeschool family, we count those as school days where those things happen. Matt: Yeah. No, you count that. Yeah, totally. Kyle: Like when we were at Disney, we went to the Hall of Presidents. "Okay, kids, this is a field trip now." We're checking off all these days. Matt: I love it. But we had a good time and I went to Whataburger twice. Kyle: Oh, wow. Matt: I went three times over Thanksgiving, but just twice this time. I was trying to "new year, new me." I didn't want to overdo it. And we did go to In-N-Out to have a lesser burger along the way, and that slider was just what I expected. But yeah, it was a good trip, so. Kyle: Good, good. That's awesome. Matt: Yeah, we're glad to be back. And as soon as we finished recording this, I think I'm going to take a nap. I'm tired. Kyle: That's great. Well, hey, speaking of the trip that you made today, there was some news that broke while you were driving, I believe, if I'm not mistaken. Matt: And it wasn't Jason Garrett getting fired? Kyle: No, it was not. Sadly, it was not. Matt: No. And I don't quite know what the news you're talking about, but I'm sure it was great. Kyle: Okay, fine. So, I'll share it. So, earlier today, our friend Dr. Bart Barber, pastor of First Baptist Church in Farmersville, Texas announced that he is nominating you this summer in Orlando at the 2020 Southern Baptist Convention. He is nominating you to serve as president of the 2021 SBC Pastors' Conference in Nashville, Tennessee. And so, my first item of business is to say that we need to have Bart come on the show because I have many questions. Yeah, in fact- Matt: The first one is- Kyle: For recording, I know we don't have video for this, but I'm legit drinking out of my RC. Sproul "what's wrong with you people" mug right now because I thought that was appropriate for the announcement that came out today. Matt: Yeah, yeah. And let me just say, it's a wonderful thing with just the timing of it was that I drive from Dallas to Abilene, and to get us out of the traffic, all that kind of stuff. Kyle: Yeah. Because y'all left early this morning too. Matt: Oh, yeah. Kyle: You were on the road early. Matt: Yeah, we left about 5:45. And so, we got to Abilene, saw a dear friend of mine who's a pastor there, and visited with him. And I sat in a Corvette that has my name on it, but he won't sell it to me because he's trying to save me. He doesn't want me to die. But yeah, I sat in it. But the best part of that story is I set the alarm off because the windows are down and it was locked, and so I just reached in and like unlocked it. And then in the middle of this showroom, people are trying to make sales and all kinds of stuff, and it was just honking uncontrollably. They couldn't find the remote for it. And so, it's just honking and honking and honking and there's Matt Henslee sitting in it like, "Hey, guys." So, yeah, it was fun to sit in, and we had a good time, but all that to say then she gets in the car, Rebecca drives from Abilene to Artesia because there's absolutely nothing. Kyle: Nope. Matt: So, there's very little ways for her to get lost because there's really no turns or anything like that. So, she just drives that part. And then I get us back up the mountain, and of course that was through some snow, so that was fun. And we made it home. But all during the time that the announcement happened, it was while I was in the passenger seat when I was going to take a nap, but my phone is just going absolutely- Kyle: Well, so I do feel better that you were texting me and responding on Facebook and Twitter while you are not driving. So, kudos there. So, I was slightly worried. I was like, "Man, he is responding a lot. If he's driving, we're going to have a talk." So, okay, good. Good job. Matt: Yeah. So, I didn't do that, but I have to tell a story that's kind of off topic. But regarding driving is I did the first part of the drive. Three of the girls were in the back. So, we still have our car in the shop. So, we took the truck, which meant we spent like $10,000 in gas. But three of the girls are in the back, and then Gracie, our youngest, was sitting in the middle between Rebecca and I. Rebecca is sound asleep. The other three girls are sound asleep and I think that Gracie is asleep. And we're driving along, and the next thing I know, she screams at the absolute top of her lungs, "Daddy's speeding. I just saw the sign, it's 70 miles per hour and you're going 73." And I about had a heart attack. And so, yeah, I said, "Go back to sleep." Matt: So, we're raising a few legalists, I guess. Kyle: Well, I will say, Matt, that if you drive the speed limit, you don't have to worry about that. Matt: This is true. This is very true. And I also know that if we did get pulled over that the first person to speak would be that daughter, "Yeah, he was speeding. Kyle: "Daddy was speeding." Matt: Yeah. Kyle: "I told him to slow down, but he didn't listen." Matt: Yeah. But it was really awesome and encouraging because ... Not of the sense of, " Hey, hey look at me" or anything like that. But people reaching out to say, "Hey, we're excited." Because my heart, as you know, is of course for the local church. But for fellow pastors that it doesn't matter if you've got 50 in your church or 5,000, there's great, phenomenal days of ministry where it's just downright magical. And then there's days of ministry where you're barely hanging on by a thread. And probably that's the lion's share of those days. And so, at times, especially those, you're in a small town. For New Mexico, you're in a big town, but it's still comparatively a small town. I'm in an unincorporated town of like 60, and it's easy to be isolated. Matt: And so, the fact that you can encourage pastors of all ages, all sizes, all backgrounds, all that kind of stuff, to really be the [inaudible 00:13:37] of one another, lifting each other's arms, and saying, "We're in this together." I mean, we have one goal. Kyle: Yeah. Matt: Whether we're in a church of 5,000 or 50 is that's to advance the kingdom. And so seeing that, it had nothing to do with me, but seeing that from people of championing one another and in encouraging fellow pastors. Kyle: Yeah. Matt: That's the only reason I'm still on Twitter, I mean, because there's not a whole lot of redeeming quality at times. Kyle: Right. Matt: But to say that I can send a tweet or a direct message or a text to somebody that's in Hot Springs or somebody that's in Florida or all over the country and just say, "Hey, it's worth it. We're in this together." Kyle: Yeah. Matt: And so, to kind of have an opportunity for that with this has been an encouragement. So, it made the drive go by very fast. It also meant that my phone stayed plugged in the entire time because- Kyle: I'm sure it did. Matt: ... it was just non-stop. Kyle: Oh, man. All right. So, let's talk about this nomination just a little bit. So, we know that right now you are serving and have for the last three years at Mayhill Baptist Church in the booming metropolis of Mayhill, New Mexico. Matt: Yes. Kyle: So, tell our listeners, because we've alluded to some previous ministry experience that the both of us have. As we've shared, we have 33 combined years in ministry. But just tell us a little bit about what that ministry history looks like for you. Matt: So, it's been just about everything, whether it's student ministry, music ministry, both of us have similar kind of past into the pastorate or at least a senior pastorate. And in one very brief stint as a children's pastor, but God graciously saved me out of that. But no, we love children's pastors too, but that was not what God had called me to. And but the- Kyle: That was a sanctifying experience is what you're telling us. Matt: Yes. Yeah. So, I really started at 16 with an opportunity to help launch a contemporary service at a local church in my hometown and as a music minister. Probably too young to be doing that kind of stuff, but it was great. It was at my memaw's church. And she's like, "I don't like the music that you'll be doing, but I think you'll be a great fit." Kyle: "I don't like these folks music either, so let's just send you over there." Matt: Yeah. And so, that's how it kind of started. And even before then, I was fortunate to really be raised as a pastor, for lack of a better word, by the associate pastor of my church growing up, where we spent every week in hospitals or nursing homes. And he constantly said then, he said, "I don't know what you're going to be called to do at 30 years old or 50 years old or whatever, but you'll never outgrow the need to remember those that are often forgotten." Kyle: Yeah. Matt: And so whether that was these old folks in a nursing home or people ... We've told the story about the person that was not deathly ill, but when I prayed for him, I said, "God, if it's your will that they die, let it be a peaceful." Kyle: Yeah. Matt: I think you remember that. But spending that time with him really kind of set that DNA for me of the forgotten people, whether it's nursing homes or hospitals, that kind of thing. Even as a youth pastor at 21 or 25, I was spending time in nursing homes and retirement homes and so forth because it's just easy to forget, because out of sight, out of mind, that kind of thing. But they need to hear the gospel and they need to continue to grow. And so, to pour into them with the free time that I had them. And so, that kind of charted the course for all of my ministry, it was always kind of a ... I don't want to call it well orbed in that I was doing a great thing, but I might've had the calling to be the youth pastor at this church, but I was still serving these people that were kind of in the shadows. And so that, I guess, just was just kind of ingrained in me. Matt: So, then now as a pastor, of course there's still the nursing homes and hospital visits, all that kind of stuff naturally as a pastor that you're going to do. But because of that just upbringing in the ministry, I've also thought of the pastors that are in the middle of nowhere. They don't necessarily have somebody in their corner, their church might be struggling. We've talked about it before. Maybe the waters of the baptism or the baptistry haven't flowed for a while and you're trying to figure out, "Why am I even doing this? Nobody even cares." That kind of thing. To remember that's why we wrote the book, of course. Kyle: Yeah, that's right. Matt: Is that God is doing an amazing work in Dallas Fort Worth and he's doing an amazing work in Mayhill, New Mexico, he's doing an amazing work wherever. If there are people there, they need to hear the gospel, and so we can work together and encourage one another. Through that, the opportunities with LifeWay Pastors and some of that came up where I can write for the pastor of the church of 5,000 or the church of the 50, and encourage all of us to work together because we ... Southern Baptists are at their best when we're worshiping together, when we're working together, when we're advancing the kingdom together. And so, it doesn't matter if you're preaching from a pub table as you do or the actual pulpit as I do, or the church that has four hymns or a church that's all contemporary. All of us, wherever we're at, we get up on Sunday morning with the same calling and that's to preach the word. Matt: And so, to encourage guys, whether they're in the middle of nowhere, whether in the middle of city, whatever, to fall in absolute love of Jesus in proclaiming his word that can say that I am doing a good work, even if nobody else notices it. Matt: And because I'm doing what God has called me to do. I'm caring for these people that others have forgotten or look past. And so, that I guess kind of brings us up to today is it started at 12 years old in the nursing homes and the hospitals. And then now is pastors of all sizes, all ages. It's nothing but just encouragement and reminding one another, as I need to be reminded, what you're doing actually matters. Whether there's a hundred people or a thousand people, it matters. And that those, a hundred people on Sunday need to hear the gospel just as faithfully as the church of 10,000 or whatever. And it doesn't that matter how big your flock is that there is no insignificant pulpit. And because all of them are significant because all of them are used by God to push back darkness and advance the kingdom. Matt: And so, it's neat to kind of come full circle, I guess, now, and see that though I'm still very young in the ministry that I hope to still be doing that at 70 years old or whatever. When I'm as old as Bart at 80 years old or something, still loving on and encouraging pastors younger than me, older than me, in bigger churches than me, smaller churches than me, all of that. And so, that's a neat opportunity with this nomination. Kyle: Yeah. And as we've talked many times here on the show, both of us are serving in normative churches, meaning, so kind of the definition of normative church is under 250 in worship on Sunday mornings. And the normative churches are over 90% of the SBC. So, you coming in as the Pastors' Conference nominee, you're coming from a place, I think, where most of our listeners, most of the SBC is guys who are not preaching to thousands every week, but are preaching to, like you said, everywhere from 50 to a hundred, most of our SBC churches. And again, we don't discount the mega churches. They do some incredible work for the kingdom and they have some incredible resources that all of us benefit from. But I think it's important that we hear from a normative guy. Notice I said normative, not normal. That's not a term I would ever use to describe Matt Henslee. Matt: This is true. Kyle: Normative. Matt: Yeah. Kyle: All right. And again, I'm a pastor serving in a normative sized church. So, as a normative sized church pastor, tell us just a little bit about kind of your goal or your vision. And I know it's early in the process, but what are you kind of ... How do you envision the Pastors' Conference going if you are in fact elected as president in June? Matt: Well, I think first we should maybe coin a new term. That I am normatively abnormal. How about that? We'll go with that. Maybe that could even be the theme of the conference. Kyle: I'll allow that. Yeah. Matt: No. Kyle: Normatively abnormal. Matt: Yeah. But so, as I shared, there there's no greater joy than serving the local church, and I would be tickled pink if God would allow me to stay here until I'm 75, 80 years old. I love this town. I love this place. I love the people, and it's a great joy to serve. God has also given me a heart and I believe a calling to serve and encourage pastors in the trenches, like I said. Whether urban or rural, which I can't even say that word, but the middle of nowhere people. All over is one of my greatest joys because I really want to see myself as a friend and a champion of pastors of all stripes. Matt: And, as we know, ministry is awesome, but like with anything, there's ups and downs. It's a roller coaster. There's times when it's great. There's times when you're like, "What am I doing?" Joys and sorrows and all of that, and I believe we can put together a Pastors' Conference for the guy on cloud nine, that life is great, church is growing, God is clearly at work. As well as the guy barely hanging onto a thread to remind him that, yes, God is still at work, that God still is working in and through and perhaps in spite of me, and even in all of these struggles. And so, I wholeheartedly believe that the Pastors' Conference can be relevant for the "nobody" as well as the somebody. The guy in the middle of nowhere, the guy in the middle of the growing city. Matt: Because as I said, Southern Baptist are at their best when we're worshiping together and what a joy to come together for a Pastors' Conference of a room full of pastors and their wives and maybe lay leaders, all of that together, all different. It's a little small taste, an appetizer, I think, of heaven. We're going to worship together. We'll sing together, all of that kind of stuff. But also come together for that simple call to cooperate and advance the kingdom. Matt: And because no matter what your size is, we all have the same job description. And so, it's not just other duties as assigned by the deacons. It's the call that we've been given by God to push back the darkness and advance his kingdom by proclaiming Christ. And so, I realized that pastoring and can lend itself to isolation, especially those of us that are kind of in no man's land. And so, my prayer is that it will be a time for kind of like that [inaudible 00:26:39] of lifting each other's arms up and saying, "We're in this together, we're going to fight together. We're going to have our disagreements, we're going to have our differences, but we're going to come together around unity in this endeavor, this call to reach the world as we preach the word." Matt: And so, whether I have a beard when I do that or not, that still remains to be seen. Kyle: That was going to be my final question, by the way. Matt: That was the Bart's thing. I've said that I've given up the autonomy of my beard to Bart Barber, and that's kind of scary. Kyle: But to be fair, Bart doesn't drink coffee, so I'm not sure his opinions can be trusted on facial hair. Matt: This is true. But then we could wonder if we should even care for his opinion for the Pastors' Conference. Kyle: That's true. Matt: I'm kind of worried, like what does this do to my cred? I mean- Kyle: He has no facial hair and he doesn't drink caffeine. He doesn't drink coffee. Matt: He's a Cardinals fan. He hates the DL. He hates coffee. He doesn't just not drink it, he hates it. Kyle: You mean the DH, the designated hitter. Matt: Yeah. He hates all of these things and he doesn't even not have a beard. He doesn't even have sideburns, man. So, you could not find a more opposite, like odd couple than Bart Barber and Matt Henslee. But I did, hey, I got to say I burned them back. As he said something about, I made the comment, I said, "Yeah, my cheating Astros or whatever." He said, "Hey, there's always room in the National League for another fan of the Cardinals." And then I just responded with "Mark Maguire." And then he said, "Fair. That's fair.' So. Kyle: Oh, goodness. Well, this is going to be a fun six months as we lead up to June, and I will give you time to a win me over as a supporter, to win my endorsement for your Pastors' Conference nominee. Kyle: Man. So no, let them be the first to say congratulations and this is a big deal. I'm excited for you. I'm excited, first of all, to have a normative sized pastor be nominated for this role, and I'm excited that it's you. And so, I think it's going to be a lot of fun to get to see this process unfold in the next few months. Matt: I appreciate it, brother. Kyle: Mr. Nominee, are there any closing thoughts that you have today? Matt: It's still snowing. Kyle: Oh, nice. Matt: Yeah. Kyle: It's still snowing in the desert, dude. I'm telling you, this is like a New Year's miracle. Matt: It is. Kyle: This is the way to kick off the 20s, right? Matt: Yes, it is. Kyle: With snow on the ground. Matt: The roaring 20s. Forget that, it's the snowing 20s, baby. Kyle: The snowing 20s. Matt: I think we can enter the ice age. Kyle: Hey, if that means that there is skiing that can happen often, I'm down with that. Matt: Yeah. Kyle: If it means there's not snow in the desert, but there is up on the mountain, and I can be up there in 30 minutes and on the slopes, I'm good with that. Matt: Yeah. Kyle: So. Matt: And I do need to remind you, Kyle, we don't pay the bills for this podcast. And so- Kyle: Oh, that's right. Matt: ... I need a moment to also think Southwestern, not just for their sponsorship of this podcast, but also for the way they have trained me at Southwestern, through my Mdiv, and now as I pursue my doctorate with them in expositional preaching that they've really helped me become the pastor that I am. People like Dr. Queen, we've talked about it before, Dr, Priest, all of these guys that are there, they truly are practitioners and they get it. And so, it's not this ivory tower of academics, but these are people that have been in churches and are in churches. I think of Dr. Darnell, probably one of the leading systematic theologians in the SBC, if not the leading systematic theologian, yet he's also preaching at a church and leading in that way. And so, to be a part of that seminary has been a joy and so we encourage you to check out SWBTW.edu after the show. And I don't know how- Kyle: And in your ... Oh, go ahead. Matt: I don't know how all of the ins and outs of the Pastors' Conference works, but if there's a way for this an official word of [inaudible 00:31:14] for the Pastors' Conference, I can also promise you it will be the CSB. Kyle: Hey, that's your first campaign promise, right there. Matt: It is. CSB bibles for all. No, I don't think I can say that. It would be awesome if the CSB wants to do that for us. But if John the Baptist used the Christian Standard Bible, if Jesus used the Christian Standard Bible, if the apostle Paul used the Christian Standard Bible, then for crying out loud guys, get a copy of the CSB, baby. Kyle: Let us remember, you are being nominated as the SBC Pastors' Conference president and you cannot spell SBC without CSB. Matt: Hey, well done. Kyle: There you go. Thank you. Matt: So, visit not SBCbible.com but Csbible.com after the show, and you can find the translation that Kyle and I both use in our devotionals and our sermons. My sermons are better, but still same Bible, same word. And we're grateful for both of them and the way they have helped us bring this to your ear holes. Matt: And so, until next time, visit us at Not Another Baptist podcast. Follow along on Facebook for more news as the Pastors' Conference, all the news so forth comes out for that and other encouragement that we'll put on Facebook or on Twitter at NAB_podcast. And since I still have not made coffee since my return and you are drinking coffee in your coffee mug, why don't you send us out, brother? Kyle: All right. Well, as I'm drinking in my "what's wrong with you people?" mug from RC Sproul, may your coffee be as black as night and as black as is mine. It's a sharp mug. And as bold as the gospel you declare. Matt: See ya in Orlando, baby.

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a-running-bean · 7 years

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A hospital gift guide

So you have a friend, family member, loved one or acquaintance who’s sick or injured and has been hospitalized. You want to bring them something special to cheer them up, but you don’t know what in the world they could use or enjoy while they’re stuck in the hospital. I’d love to recommend, from personal experience, some gifts that were especially useful or enjoyable while I was hospitalized for 3.5 weeks!

- Socks: Use your imagination! These could be warm wool socks, slipper socks with grips on the bottom, fuzzy spa socks, or socks with images or sayings on them. They will keep your loved one’s tootsies warm and cozy (especially if they only have one sock-wearing foot, like me), and will also lift their spirits. I received a special pair from my boss, Jill, that read “I’m a girl - what’s your superpower?” Those socks inspired me to start Funny Sock Fridays when I was in inpatient rehab, where I wore one interesting sock every Friday to serve as a conversation starter with therapists and nurses. I also received a beautiful striped pair of extremely soft socks from my BFF Rya, which have kept my one foot super warm and happy while I recuperate in my parents’ freezing cold house. If you know they have a cast, consider buying some oversized socks — or really stretchy socks — so that their exposed toes and the end of their cast can be covered as well.

- Blank cards, stamps and a nice pen: I was completely overwhelmed by the love and generosity that I received from so many different people when I was hospitalized. I wanted to write a thank-you note to each and every person who visited me, mailed a card, or sent flowers or a gift. (I was also on a pretty heavy dose of strong painkillers for quite some time, so it was a major struggle to even remember who sent which of the five floral arrangements in my hospital room. Oops.) I was gifted a variety of blank cards and some stamps from my best friend and her mom, Shelby and Judy, as well as my dad. Those came in handy when I wanted to send mail to thank someone for their gift, write a birthday card for my boyfriend (yes, both of us had our birthdays while I was hospitalized... bummer), or connect with a new pen pal (hi Jessi!). Although your loved one in the hospital may not “have it together” enough to write thank you cards to everyone on their list, giving them the tools to send out some mail could be much appreciated. (Hot tip: Target often has blank note cards in their $1 section near the front of the store!)

- Blank journal and pen: While I have chosen Tumblr as my platform for working through the ups and downs of my rehabilitation process, others may want to put their experiences down on paper instead. Gifting a nice notebook and a pen will give your loved one the opportunity to chronicle their own journey through illness or injury. They may want to document the event or illness that landed them in the hospital in the first place; remember the names of favorite doctors/nurses/therapists at their facility; keep a log of gifts and cards received (for future thank-you note usage); develop a schedule for taking medications or completing their prescribed exercises; or write down goals for their recovery and for the future. Those blank pages hold a world of possibilities.

- Lip balm and lotion: I have never felt more dried out in my life than during the 3.5 weeks I was hospitalized. It could have been the hospital air, it could have been the hearty pain medications... whatever the cause, my skin and lips were flaking and peeling like I was trapped in the desert without water. Trust me, males and females alike would both be reaching for the moisturizers if they were in my position, so don’t fret if your hospitalized friend happens to be a dude. Just get them the goods. My favorite lip balms are the original Burt’s Bees (peppermint flavor) or Chapstick (cherry flavor). For an amazingly non-greasy, quick absorbing hand and body lotion, I recommend Gold Bond Ultimate Healing Lotion with Aloe. It has a nice light and fresh scent that’s perfect for either ladies or gents, and it works like a dream.

- Books or magazines: This one’s a little trickier, because you have to know what kind of reading material they prefer. Knowing their hobbies and interests helps, because you can bring magazines or books on related topics. I can give you a reading list that’s a mile long, if you need personalized recommendations.

- Pajama pants, yoga pants, or sweatpants: These don’t have to be my favorite $98 yoga leggings from Lululemon... just an inexpensive pair from Target or TJ Maxx will do! Pajama pants, yoga pants and sweats have a loose, wide leg opening. These are usually easy for your loved one to put on in bed and will definitely fit over a cast. Once the patient has regained more strength and mobility, they may want to wear bottoms that are slightly more form fitting, so leggings or track pants could be a good option.

- Tumbler or water bottle: While I was in the hospital, a fresh Styrofoam cup of water was delivered to my bedside every few hours, whether I had finished the previous cup or not. Styrofoam... nature’s best friend... NOT! Help your patient save the planet and gift them with reusable drinkware, so they can ask their nurse to refill that instead of filling a trash can with unused foam cups every four hours. I had the good fortune of receiving a cup holder for my wheelchair, and my mom bought me a cool sugar skull tumbler from Target, so wherever I went, I had my own water cup. It was awesome.

- Hat or headbands: Gotta hide that bedhead and/or third day hair grease! I received two nice wide Buff headbands from my friends at The Summer Camp Society and they were AMAZINGLY HELPFUL while I was at Mary Free Bed. When I was first learning to shower myself again, I was scheduled for night showers and didn’t have the energy to blow-dry my hair before bed, so I’d wake up with crazy bad bedhead. I also didn’t want to get up early to get pretty for a long day of physical and occupational therapy (who did I have to impress in rehab??), so being able to run a brush through my hair and slap on a nice wide headband was awesome. I have a big, round head, so headbands usually slide off, but those Buff headbands stayed. put. I also love wearing hats, especially when I have “day three hair” (ladies, you know what I’m talking about), so my birthday gift of a Roga Cap came in handy a few times. Thanks Mom and Dad! (If you are a runner, know a runner, or just love insanely comfortable hats, get a Roga Cap and thank me later.)

- Dry shampoo: This is helpful for guys and gals alike. Just ask my boyfriend — I’m pretty sure I’ll have to start buying 2 cans of Batiste at a time because he uses mine so frequently. If you don’t use dry shampoo now, you should become a convert. It is life-changing. (I recommend the Bare scent if you want something light and fresh, or Wild if you want to keep catching whiffs of your hair all day and thinking about how great your head smells.) Having this in the hospital was wonderful because I could give my hair a quick touch-up to make it last until my next shower. After a certain point, you start to feel like yourself again, which means all of your silly vanities return — like plucking your eyebrows and worrying about if your hair looks too dirty.

- Bath products and nail polish: On a similar note, a small luxury like nice bath products or nail polish can make your loved one feel like a million bucks. I would have LOVED to use smelly-good shower gel instead of the standard issue hospital soap during my 2.5 weeks at Mary Free Bed. If she is able to shower in the bathroom, ask her what her favorite Bath and Body Works scent is and bring in some shower gel. (This gift may not be appropriate if your patient is still taking sponge baths in their hospital bed.) One of the first things I wanted when I got to MFB was a manicure... but I couldn’t leave the hospital just yet. Fortunately, my amazing friend Sophia came by and gave me a mobile manicure. She did an incredible job; my nails were chip-free and flawless for the entirety of my stay at MFB. That did so much to lift my spirits and make me feel normal and pretty again. (If you live in or near Grand Rapids, call up Manic Muse and make an appointment with Sophia ASAP!)

- Gift cards to their favorite stores: Let your loved one do some online shopping from their hospital bed! A gift card is not a cop-out... sometimes it’s nice to let them pick out what they want, instead of trying to guess. Go with an Amazon gift card if you’re not sure what they like, so they can order books or gizmos or new sweatpants. Online shopping is like a gift to yourself because, even though you know exactly what you ordered, it’s very exciting when your package arrives. Everyone knows the feeling. I was so grateful to receive a Oiselle gift card from my Michigan Volée teammates while I was staying at Mary Free Bed. Because of them, I was finally able to order a shirt I had been wanting for months. Thanks, birds!!

- Cozy throw blanket: Michael brought me our furry, fuzzy Michigan State throw blanket from home, and it made my hospital bed feel so much more like MY bed. Stores like Target, Home Goods (TJ Maxx/Marshalls), or Meijer sell inexpensive, cozy throw blankets that will brighten up your patient’s room and give them something to snuggle with in their bland white hospital bed.

- Some of their (or your) favorite snacks: Snacks are nice to fill the space when hospital meals aren’t cutting it. Although I initially thought MFB had a great menu, I quickly got tired of eating the same few palatable options and found my tummy rumbling in the afternoons. Fortunately, I had a whole drawer full of snacks to choose from, thanks to wonderful friends and family members who brought food during their visits. My friend and coworker Tesi gave me a hilarious gift when she visited: a Trader Joe’s bag full of her family’s favorite snacks, along with the instructions to report back on what my favorite snack was. (Nutty Bits for the win!) Ask them what they’re craving — for me, it was extra toasty Cheez It’s — or bring them a few options, both savory/salty and sweet, if you’re not sure what they like.

Hopefully you will find something on this list that will turn out to be the perfect gift for that injured or ill special someone. And send them my best wishes when you visit! xoxo

#hospital #gift guide #shopping #hospital gift guide #wish list

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