#Betty: already recording

[nevertheless-moving]

But Peter Parker (no not that one, the other — yeah that guy) does actually have an OnlyAdmirer’s account though.

He doesn’t remember exactly when he started it — sometime after losing the job at the pizza place and before picking up the tutoring hours; he remembered he was short for one of Aunt May’s prescriptions that month, but isn’t sure anymore which one it was. Sometime during college.

Low ebb on crime that week, which meant he wasn’t making much from the Bugle, but he did have some extra time, enough to take a deep breathand set up the encyptions on his account (he should probably go this hard for all his spiderman stuff too, but eh, it had been fine so far).

He wears a mask (no not that one, though he did consider it because, you know, it would be freaking hilarious).

He pulls...a grand, whopping total of.... $100 a month. Wahoo.

Ok, maybe a little more on average; and sometimes its up to $200! It’s just worth the fees and the time, and after a while he has to admit it’s less stressful than any of his other gigs.

At first he’s paranoid about someone finding out, both in his personal life and his superheroics (he has, like, 10 self righteous rants prepared about the moral neutrality, nay the moral Good of sex work).

(He’s a little disappointed that it never comes up.} Eventually he doesn't think about it, especially not on patrol, not any more than he thinks about the taco shop, or the GrubHob gig, or any of the bazillion odd jobs that come with working class heroics. Eventually he doesn’t think not to mention it, and the set-up was perfect for him to — ok— sue him, he might have been trying to sound cool in front of an X-Man who was laughing at his jokes— He, uh. May have forgotten. How much X-Men gossip. It’s not like it would have been a big deal had the press event not happened two days later, and— why do other people always get a laugh when they repeat his jokes anyway!

Plus! He was on maybe two hours sleep when the tabloid asked him point blank and for a moment he was so wrapped in the euphoria of a non-Bugle rag interviewing him, and also not yelling at him for damages or anything serious, that he forgot he lived in a world where sex-work was stigmatized so— yeah. Good news! His secret identities are still fine, no-one’s even figured out which OnlyAccount is his. Bad news! Because his secret identity’s still intact, and noone’s figured out which twink is spiderpowered, he’s still only going to make $134 this month, which is barely more than minimum wage when you include prep time.

Other good news! Most fun he’s ever had explaining something from the internet to Jonah.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Cab Calloway - St. James Infirmary 1933

"St. James Infirmary" is an American blues and jazz standard of anonymous origin that emerged, like many others, from folk traditions. Louis Armstrong brought the song to lasting fame through his 1928 recording, on which Don Redman is named as composer; later releases credit "Joe Primrose", a pseudonym used by musician manager, music promoter and publisher Irving Mills.

By 1930 at least twenty different recordings had been released. In 1933, Cab Calloway's version anchored the classic Betty Boop cartoon Snow White and his instrumental version introduced another that featured Calloway's related hit song "Minnie the Moocher".

"St. James Infirmary" received a total of 75,9% yes votes! Previous Cab Calloway polls: #130 "Minnie the Moocher".

[mattluvr]

dad!matt, a concept.

best read in dark mode ⏾

🫂🫐🧵 part ii — the labour. . .

⟡ ݁₊ . october 22nd. 6am. exactly one day late, and yours and matt’s daughter is on the way.

you’re nervous, naturally, the mere sight of the soaked bedsheets from where your waters broke moments ago making your chest feel tight; it hadn’t really sunk in that you’d actually have to give birth eventually, the pain slowly creeping its way through your body planting reality in place. even more so when the first contraction grips you.

you move towards matt, seeking comfort in his hold as the pain ripples through you. “fuck, i didn’t think it would hurt this bad.” you mutter through gritted teeth, nails clamping onto matt’s shoulders.

he sighs, rubbing the small of your back in soft circles as his eyebrows draw together. he’s concerned, obviously, but the contraction passes quickly, and he seizes the opportunity to grab your hospital bag and pack you up into the car.

after you did your hair and makeup of course.

⟡ ݁₊ . the journey to the hospital is more dangerous than the one from your labour scare a month ago; matt drives faster with only one hand on the wheel, the other clutched in yours as you use it to ground you through each contraction.

they’re more often and closer together, which you know from the endless pregnancy books you read is a telltale sign of your cervix dilating, and you silently start to pray this also means that the rest of pregnancy goes smoothly, complication free.

although, judging by the death grip matt has on your hand, you’re not sure whether you can rule out the prospect of your boyfriend fainting from pure stress.

he pulls into the hospital’s parking lot in a record time of 10 minutes, at least five speeding tickets with his name written all over them, but does not stop to give either of you time to breathe, a whirlwind as he rushes round to your side, hospital bag from the trunk already resting in the crook of his arm.

you laugh, accepting matt’s outstretched hand as you amble towards the entrance to the hospital. “i’ve never seen you move so fast.”

⟡ ݁₊ . you and matt check in at reception, with only one contraction marring your words, and the midwives are quick to find you a room and gown.

you change in the bathroom, trying your very best to ignore how the contractions make you double over each time, the green pattern on the hospital gown making your eyes hurt alongside the baby. you settle down in the bed and your midwife introduces herself to you and matt as she hooks you up to a monitor, the name betty suiting her grey curls and soft smile perfectly.

although you like betty less when she tells you that you’re only 3cm dilated. out of 10. matt swears your expression could curdle milk in that moment and he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“you’ve got to remember that each birth is different, so this could take a long time or a short time.” betty reassures you as she props the pillows up behind you. “you can help the labour pass by moving around. we can bring in a yoga ball if you’d like?”

matt answers for you anyways. “absolutely.”

⟡ ݁₊ . betty comes in throughout the day to check in on you; she brings you the yoga ball at 8am when you finally dilate one centimetre, helping you lower down onto the contraption, with matt by your side the second a sliver of pain crosses your face.

he rubs those soft circles into your back, and you rest your head on his torso when you bounce up and down. which obviously makes matt laugh, a mindless comment about how this is a familiar sight passing his lips, causing you to glare in turn, claiming that he’s making your contractions worse. that shuts him up.

⟡ ݁₊ . at 10am, you’re 6cm dilated, the yoga ball long abandoned in the corner of the room; you now find yourself on all fours on the hospital bed, rocking back and forth slowly. in your head it’s helping with the pain, but the real soother is matt’s constant presence next to you, the simple sound of his breaths calming you.

he’s already made the respective phone calls to his parents and brothers, nick audibly crying from joy over the phone whilst chris whooped and cheered.

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A NIECE BY THE END OF THE DAY!”

“would you calm the fuck down?” matt had hissed. “we’re in a hospital right now.”

“i wish they could see my death glare.” you had piped up, easing your rocking to look over at matt. he offers you an apologetic glance, hushing a see you later to the boys on the phone before hanging up.

you don’t even let matt apologise, babbling out words before your next contraction hits you. “can you call my mom?”

he doesn’t even hesitate. and that’s why you love him.

⟡ ݁₊ . the next hour flies by, a centimetre passing every 20 minutes, marking you at 9cm dilated by 11am and crying from how badly it hurts.

the midwives have moved you back to a flat position, your legs now in stirrups to give them easier access for checkups. matt is crouched down by your side, pushing your hair out of your face as you blubber in agony.

“i don’t think i can do this, matt.”

“are you kidding me?” matt squeezes your hand, his expression soft as he moves forward to peck your forehead. “you are the strongest, prettiest, most powerful girl i know. i love you and this baby, and i know you can do this.”

the tears from that point onwards are mixed with joy, comforted by matt’s presence beside you.

⟡ ݁₊ . at 11:30am, you’re ready to have your baby girl. biologically, maybe not mentally, your chest tightening as betty tells you with a soft smile that you’re now ready to start the process of pushing. but on the other hand, you’ve gone through at least 20 years worth of pain in the space of 5 hours and want nothing more than to get this baby out of you. so you reluctantly agree.

with matt’s hand clutched in yours, you lean forwards into each push, ungodly screams leaving your mouth in an attempt to cancel out the pain gripping you.

“good work, keep going!” betty spurs you on, her scrubs confined by an apron as she waits in anticipation. “the head’s almost there, a few more pushes!”

you exhale, turning to matt who gives you an encouraging nod despite his pale complexion, the boy about three minutes away from fainting. which almost pushes you on, now desperate to get your daughter out into the world before her dad passes out. you sit up on your elbows once more, vision blurred as you start the final stretch.

the head is out before you know it, and with one more weak push, the rest of your daughter is out into the world, sobs spilling out of your mouth as betty brings her up to nestle by you.

her lungs are full, both your cries mixed together in the thick atmosphere of the hospital room, matt’s own tears hidden as he leans over to observe his baby, shaky fingers reaching out to caress her skin.

he moves back to press another kiss to your forehead. “i told you you could do it.”

⟡ ݁₊ . october 22nd, at 11:33am, your daughter arrives into the world, and yours and matt’s lives are about to be changed in the best ways possible.

taglist. . .

( @aelinslegend, @mattslolita, @emely9274, @conspiracy-ash, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot ) is open!

[lenetaylor]

George and his "Asser"

A letter from George Harrison to Astrid Kircherr, August 1963, on stationery from the Palace Court, Bournemouth, where The Beatles had played The Gaumont, from Monday 19th August to Saturday 24th August 1963.

There is a LOT going on in this letter (George's obsession with photos?, George writing a book??, hate for Mrs. Sutcliffe???, George's aching balls????), but what endeared me was his nickname for Astrid: "Asser", which would be pronounced Assa or Azza. It's true, Hazza and the lads had loads of Northern nicknames for their mates!

My transcription under the cut.

DEAR ASTRID,

Do you remember me asking you in Tenerife to write to me as soon as you get back to Hamburg? You didn’t know how long you were going to stay at Klaus’ house, so you would write to me from Hamburg, then I would send you all the records and fun and games!

Betty (the great) comes to England all fat and sloppy saying, - “Vhy you no write to Astrid,” as if it was my fault, so just shut up. Anyway Asser, I bought you the records I told you about years ago, and they are still at home covered in dust, so if you have decided where about’s you are living lately, then let me know and I will send them to you with some other nice ones that you would like.

Fat Betty has seen all the Happy holiday Photos, hasn’t she? but I haven’t, oh-no. You won’t show them to me will you!

Actually if she had not come to England with King Size, then I would still be wondering which part of the world you where in!

I bought a Jaguar (car) last month, I think you would like it. I will send you a photograph of it, with the records as soon as I get back to Liverpool.

I hope you don’t think I am being funny but…..Could you look through your photographs and find some – or all of the photo’s that have the Beatles, either all together or separately, or that any of us with other people on them, in fact any photographs at all that may be of interest and then if you felt in a HAPPY ASTRID MOOD, do you think that you could either GIVE or LEND them to me. It does not matter if they photographs are terrible, as I won’t tell anybody that you made them, if you want me to.

You know that Paul and John are going to be very rich soon, when they collect the money they have made by writing all those songs, and I don’t think that you would like to see me poor and hungry, so I have decided to make a book. It won’t be a DA SADE type book, but a daft story about the BEATLES, with some photographs in it, and then I hope to sell it to all the nice people and then I can buy food with the money…Can’t I?

I would like to have some pictures that the people haven’t already seen in all the other books, so that is why I am asking you. It would be very nice of you, even if the pictures were old at the Indra and KaiserKeller and Top Ten. I know you are very particular about what you do with all the lovely photos, but if you are nice and send me some with the negatives, then I will kill Mrs. Sutcliffe for you! But if you don’t, then I will pay for Mrs. S. To go to Hamburg and see you for a Holiday!!!

What happened to Jürgen? Do you know his address? Where is Klaus now, as I still haven’t said ‘Thank you’ for letting us live in his house.

How are you Asser? Are you well, because I have been ill all week, feeling tired all the time. The doctor gave me a tonic which is like liquid preludin. My balls have been aching too, and banging around on stage!

We will be in Paris for 3 weeks in January. I will write again with the records cheerio and love from Georgie (your friend who wants the photos)

This was published in the July 2015 issue of Record Collector.

[petr1kov]

until simon's episode on fionna and cake, i don't think i had fully realized just how much simon lacked proper agency and focus on quite literally all previous protrayals of him. he was always presented from someone else's point of view, be it finn and jake's shocked realization of what happened to him for him to become ice king, marceline's pain in seeing her dearest father figure slowly deteriorate over the years, or even betty's single-minded determination of getting simon back to who he was - every instance of this recurring plot was about him, but never really came from him.

we only got to see brief glimpses of his real feelings about his situation throughout the years, like his video recordings from holly jolly secrets, simon's 'i remember you' letter to marceline, or his brief talk with death on the episode betty, where he makes the decision to keep living as ice king specifically for her sake, since he clearly expressed he preferred death over resuming his life as ice king.

this shift in perspective felt especially notable regarding how his relationship with both young and adult marceline was framed. on the surface, it's not very different from what we've seen before, but thus far, we've always seen it from marceline's point of view, from a child looking at her parent and feeling like she's unable to understand or help him. now, the scenes we got were distinctly from a parental perspective, of someone who found purpose and fulfillment in his role as the caretaker of this kid in the past but always knew she would eventually outgrow him, and of someone who has always tried to shield little marcy from the worst of his inner struggles so as to not burden her and continues to do so even now, afraid to ruin her happiness or upset her even more than he already did in the past, and not realizing how he's alienating her from the real him even now

[misshuntereevee]

a ( very ) self-indulgent one shot where Sylus encourages your Taylor Swift vinyl collecting ... because i've been listening to her since i was 7 and you'll have to rip the albums from my cold dead hands.

buy me a ko-fi 🫶🏻

You're splayed out on Sylus' couch, waiting for him to come home. You're completely cozy, his vinyl player playing your favorite album as you read a book. When the door opens with a creak, Sylus steps in silently.

He's drinking in the sight of you. It feels like you are back in his cave, where he can keep you safe. Where he can spoil you. Where all of his treasures lose meaning. After all, all of the shiny things in the world would never amount to you.

"You like the record, I take it?" He muses, finally breaking the silence and announcing his presence. You light up the second you see him, something that is not lost on him. He likes your smile, and he'll spend a million lifetimes trying to put one there.

"Well, it is my favorite album. And the pressing is so pretty. I think I watched it spin for like, 10 minutes before I got cozy on the couch."

He comes to sit with you, and you quickly move to intertwine yourself with him. Actually, that's not quite true. You both move toward each other until you are melded together. Your legs hang over his lap, your back against the arm of the couch. His arm lazily draws patterns on your leg.

"I'm glad you enjoy it, kitten. Next time there's an auction, I'll bring you with me now. You're getting good at spotting value."

You giggle at him. One of your hands comes up to play with his hair. It's soft, and you lose yourself in it, combing through it. "You won't judge me if I use your card to buy my favorite albums? Even if it's Taylor Swift?"

He chuckles. "I don't care what you buy. As long as it makes you happy, go for it, kitten. -- Besides, I already got you a orange original Reputation released in 2017."

"I know, but now I'm eager to find a 'betty in the garden' version of folklore!" You says with a smile, happy that he remember your favorite album was Reputation. He also had gone to great lengths to get you a copy of the Eras Tour movie. It is your favorite type of vintage.

"Mhm," he says, knowing that he'll full well direct your attention away from that particular vinyl. Not because he doesn't like it. No, because it's already gift wrapped and sitting in his office for your anniversary.

He meant it when he promised himself that he'd do whatever it takes to make you smile.

[drabbles-mc]

Off the Record

Danny Lyon x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, drinking, smoking, no use of "y/n"

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: thinking about danny and his cute lil smile always

The best and worst thing was that everyone was just somebody who knew somebody. Anytime a person tried to ask about anyone else, the immediate answer was just who they happened to know, or be married to, or be related to. They were always someone’s friend, some guy that this person knew.

Danny knew that it wasn’t just him that was getting those answers. He knew that people from other clubs would ask Johnny about him, ask who this kid was following them around with a microphone and a camera. They’d ask, understandably so he supposed, why some kid who had to hang onto the back of someone else for dear life had his own set of colors to wear.

Johnny always answered the questions by giving as little of an answer as possible.

“He’s a friend of ours. Good kid.’’

“He takes pictures—can’t ride and take pictures at the same time, now can he?”

“He’s one’a us, the fuck’s it matter to you?”

Danny was smart enough to know that Johnny’s vague, and slightly aggressive, answers to people outside their own club probably saved his ass on more than one occasion. He knew that, was thankful for it too. The frustration came from being on the receiving end of those answers that didn’t do much to answer anything. He wondered if Johnny even knew that he was doing it.

The crowd at the Dayton picnic was massive—bigger than any gathering that Danny had been to so far. There were plenty of people to talk to, more photo opportunities than he had rolls of film. He’d been making his rounds, making sure not to stray too far from the pack that the Vandals had shown up as.

He had the camera strap around his neck, but he didn’t let it hang and rest against his chest. He was still holding onto it, ready to lift it and snap just the right photo at just the right time if the opportunity presented itself. He was scanning the crowd for just that opportunity when he saw you. You were sitting on the closed trunk of someone’s car, maybe it was yours, not that it mattered to him right then. Your legs dangled over the edge of it, boots swinging slightly in front of the license plate. You had a beer in your hand and a grin on your face as you listened to whatever conversation was happening in front of you, the guys all sitting on the ground around one of the dozens of coolers that people had shown up with.

Danny made his way back towards the crowd, keeping you in his peripheral as he walked up to the table that Johnny was sitting on, Betty sitting on the bench in front of him between his legs. He snapped a quick photo of that before approaching to talk to him.

He slunk up to the table, leaning against it but not quite venturing to sit on it the way that Johnny was. He cleared his throat quietly first and then spoke up. “Hey, Johnny?”

Johnny turned to look at him, one hand on Betty’s shoulder, one hand holding a cigarette. “Yeah?”

“I got a question.”

Johnny chuckled. “You always do. That’s kinda your whole thing.”

Danny smiled, giving a shrug as he nodded. “Yeah. Not, um,” he cleared his throat, “not for the book.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up at that but he didn’t say anything. Danny couldn’t help but to notice the fact that even though most everyone else wasn’t paying attention, Betty had tuned into the conversation as well. What had originally felt like a bit of a silly question to ask, now suddenly felt much more embarrassing and he hadn’t even spat out the words yet.

He fiddled with the camera in his hands for a moment, cleared his throat again even though there was no need to. “Who’s, you know,” he nodded over in your direction, still perched so nicely on the trunk of that car, “over there on the car. With the boots and…” he trailed off before he made a fool of himself more than he already had.

Betty did him the courtesy of not looking directly at him, which is something that Danny was thankful for even if he didn’t say it. But he could tell by the smile stretching across her face that she knew exactly what was going on.

The same couldn’t be said for her husband, though. Johnny looked over at you, knit his brows in thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Ah, she’s, you know, she’s one’a Gina’s friends I think.”

Danny nodded to show that he was paying attention, hoping that it would get Johnny to keep talking. He should’ve known better than to hope for that, since Johnny only ever seemed to carry a conversation in three-to-eight-word segments before passing the baton back off again.

“Right,” Danny said, fighting the urge to twist the strap of his camera. “What’s the—”

“Hey!” Johnny called out, cutting Danny off when he saw an argument starting to break out across the lawn. He gently patted Betty’s shoulder, a cue to let him get up. Whatever Danny was going to try and ask him became the least important thing as he took off to try and mediate the mess that was happening.

Danny stood there beside Betty, both of them watching as Johnny stalked off to try and shut down whatever it was that was happening. Considering that Corky was one half of the argument, it couldn’t have been anything too extreme. A nuisance, probably, but nothing that would result in any fists being thrown.

“She’s sweet,” Betty said, still looking at Johnny.

Danny turned and looked at her. “What?”

Betty finally looked up at him, giving a small nod. “She’s a nice girl.”

Danny nodded as he took in what Betty was saying, the look on her face. He and Betty knew each other, of course, but she didn’t ever seem too keen on interviews. He got some photos of her, some of her with Johnny. They’d chat sometimes, but never with a microphone between them. The conversation they were having now felt even more off the record.

“If you want to know what her deal is, I’d suggest you ask her.” There was a levity to her tone that had Danny smiling despite the blush warming his cheeks.

“Right. I just,” he chuckled nervously, “you know.”

Betty laughed as she grabbed the beer bottle that Johnny had been drinking out of. She took a sip before saying, “Put that microphone to good use.”

He cracked a full grin at that. “Yeah, maybe.”

They both turned to look at Johnny, and whatever the argument had been must not have been that important because it was all done and over with now. Johnny and Corky were walking back towards the table with a couple men from a different club in tow. Danny went to lift his camera up to try and snap a photo but before he could press the button, Betty spoke up.

“Go on. There’s a hundred of these guys runnin’ around here today.”

She didn’t say it, but Danny still heard the unspoken, “So use your film for something worthwhile instead,” that was thinly hidden at the end of her statement. He knew that he’d never stop kicking himself if he didn’t take her advice, because it wasn’t as though she was typically one to be doling it out to the guys in the club. So, he let his camera drop back to his chest, and gave Betty a tiny nod of thanks before turning and heading back over towards you.

The guys noticed Danny approaching before you did. Cal and Wahoo were both camped out, half-sprawled on the ground around the cooler. They were watching Danny, smiles growing as they thought up their greeting remarks. Meanwhile your focus was trained on the cigarette between your lips, or more precisely, the lighter you were trying to flick to life to light it. Something about the concentration on your face, the furrow of your brows, had Danny fighting the urge to pick up the lens and snap a photo of you.

“Look who it is,” Cal spoke up with a wave.

“Came to find your models, right?” Wahoo joked, but the proud smile on his face said that he was hoping Danny would humor him.

Danny chuckled, shaking his head. “Almost outta film. Gotta be careful with it.”

They both made sounds of offense that quickly dissolved into laughter. “This fuckin’ guy,” Wahoo muttered, shaking his head.

There was a beat of quiet, the chatter of other groups around keeping it from falling into real silence. You still hadn’t gotten the flame of your lighter to catch. Wahoo’s hazy focus had drifted to other things. Danny was watching you with that little perma-grin on his face and Cal was seeing the whole entire thing.

He chuckled, sitting himself upright, palms flat on the ground now. There was a knowing glint in his eyes. “Danny, you met—”

“Shit,” you muttered, not meaning to cut Cal off but accomplishing that anyway. You shook your head before angrily pitching your lighter as far away from you as possible. You were about to give up and shove the cigarette back into your pack too when all of a sudden there was another lighter being held up in front of you.

“Here,” Danny’s lighter came to life on the first try, his hand cupping to shield it from the non-existent breeze.

You looked at him, your skepticism shining through for a moment before you leaned forward and lit your cigarette off the tiny flame he was offering you. You nodded as you pulled away, smoke slipping from between your lips as you said, “Thanks.”

He smiled as he tucked the lighter back into his pocket. “Welcome.”

Cal spoke up, not willing to let this die out with a three-word exchange. He looked at you, dopey smile on his face. “This is the guy we were tellin’ you about. You know, making the book.”

You turned and looked at Danny then, really looked at him. Maybe you should’ve known that’s who he was. Not that you tried to make a habit of judging based off looks, but he didn’t seem quite like the rest of the guys in the club. Sure, he was wearing the colors, he had his own little gold earring in his ear, tiny bit of scruff coming in. But there was a sweetness to his face that the rest of these guys didn’t have. Didn’t mean that they weren’t nice, of course, but living rough gave people a roughness about them. Danny didn’t look like he had that.

“You’re the one makin’ these guys think they’re pretty enough to model, then?” you asked with a laugh.

Danny laughed, shoulders relaxing at the apparent success of his introduction, even if he wasn’t really the one introducing himself. “Yeah, that’s me.”

You gestured to the two men on the ground in front of you. “Like these boys don’t have big enough heads already.”

Wahoo spoke up, pointing at you with no actual malice. “My head is perfectly sized.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin as you tapped the ash off the end of your cigarette. “Why don’t you lay off the beer for a couple hours and then we’ll talk about it.”

As the laughter among you was starting to quiet, Cal gestured to the trunk of the car where you were sitting. “Sit down, man. Come on. Stay a while.”

Danny chuckled and shook his head at Cal’s lack of subtlety, but he still looked over to you to see if you were going to protest it at all. A smile curled the ends of your lips before you took another drag off your cigarette. You saw the way that his cheeks started to turn pink, but you decided that you’d be kind enough not to say anything about it. Instead, you made a small motion with your hand to the empty side of the trunk, a wordless confirmation of Cal’s invite.

He sat down next to you, camera now in his lap because of the way that the two of you were sitting. He was looking around, trying not to just stare directly at you. It was cute—so was the way that he was still holding onto his camera like he’d be ready to use it at a moment’s notice. You leaned back slightly, bracing yourself with one hand against the car while the other held your cigarette. You smiled before initiating a real introduction, something a little more informative than the commentary Danny had been greeted with. At least this way he’d actually learn your name.

“So,” you inhaled off your cigarette again before continuing, “what do you do when you’re not on the back of one of these guys’ bikes?”

Danny chuckled, looking into your eyes for a moment before he went back to looking at everything else about you too. Suddenly he was thinking that he should light his own cigarette just to have something to keep his hands busy. He didn’t have the security blanket of a microphone between you now.

“I’m in school.” He held up his camera for a moment. “Photography.”

You smiled, nodding. “Makes sense.” You pulled a final drag off your cigarette before flicking the butt of it away. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

He laughed, the tone of it asking the question of, “That obvious?” without him having to say it out loud. “No ma’am. I’m from New York.”

Your eyes widened, the last tendrils of smoke slipping past your lips and into the air as you reiterated it back to him. “New York? And you decided to come here?” You motioned to Cal and Wahoo, who were now both trying to reach in and grab beer bottles for themselves while moving as little as possible. “For them?”

The smile on Danny’s face was warm, a little bit of a sparkle in his eyes. “It’s been fun. I’m glad I’m here.” He paused. “What about you?”

You chuckled. “I’m from around here, yeah. Not, you know,” you gestured to the field, “here. But back home.”

His cheeks darkened. “Yeah, right. No, I meant, um, what do you do? When you’re not,” he mimicked your gesture from a few seconds before, “doing this.”

Whether it was because you’d been smiling so consistently, or because your smile had just kept growing, you weren’t sure, but either way you could feel the ache starting in your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to dampen your expression. “This how all your interviews go?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t think this was an interview.” He dragged his hand down the side of his face, fingers running through his beard. “Would’ve prepared better.”

“Probably still should have!” Wahoo piped up.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Make yourself useful, will ya? Grab us a couple’a beers?”

He groaned dramatically. “Gonna make me get up?”

You nudged him lightly with the toe of your boot. “Yeah, I am.”

You let the silence stretch for as long as it needed to while Wahoo grabbed beers for both of you. He grumbled the whole time but you also caught the fact that he was trying not to laugh. It was too much fun giving each other a hard time. You were waiting for him to dramatically throw himself back onto the ground, but instead he headed off to where some more of the guys were sitting. It only took a couple seconds for Cal to get up and wander off in a completely different direction, leaving the two of you with some comment about having seen some guy with a bike that had carburetors he wanted to take a closer look at.

Once you took a swig of the beer Wahoo had handed you, you got around to answering Danny’s original question. “I work at a diner across town from The Stoplight.” You chuckled at his slightly confused expression. “That’s what I do when I’m not doin’ this.”

He laughed, nodding. “Right.” He toyed with the bottle between his hands. “How’d you meet these guys, then?” He chuckled. “They don’t seem like the diner types.”

You could feel how ridiculous and cheesy your grin was but you couldn’t stop it, either. “No, no they’re not. Not anymore, anyway.” You paused, bringing the bottle to your lips. “Gina did my nails a couple times. We got talkin’ and she asked if I wanted to grab a drink.” You laughed and shook your head at the mild ludicrousness of it all. “Didn’t think that she was gonna take me to the other side of town and into a biker bar, but it turned out alright.”

“Seems to be a common theme,” Danny commented with a soft laugh.

You shrugged. “Yeah, kind of. But I think it’s, you know, it’s ‘cause they’re just guys. They’re guys with bikes. And yeah, they’ve got,” you gently tugged on the hem of the vest he was wearing, “matching outfits and loud mufflers. But they’re alright. Just…don’t’ look it when they’re all traveling like a pack of wolves together.” You paused and saw that starry look back in his eyes again. “Now this feels more like an interview.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “No microphone. All off the record.”

“Real reassuring, thank you,” you joked, allowing your shoulder to press up against his. You paused. “How long before you go back to New York?”

He shrugged. “At least ‘til I finish school—got a few more years. Why?”

You shook your head. “Just askin’. Making the interview go both ways.”

There was a flutter in his chest when he saw your smile, the glint in your eyes. He turned his torso so that he was facing you more directly. “If we’re interviewing, then I need to take your picture.” He set the beer bottle down on the trunk and lifted the camera instead. “For the book.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, letting it dissolve into laughter as he brought the camera up in front of his face. “For the book, I’m sure.” You watched as he lowered the camera just slightly, enough so that he could look you in the eyes. “What do you want me to…?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want. It’s your picture.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s your book.”

“I almost took one of you earlier,” he confessed without thinking twice about it, “when you were trying to light your cigarette.”

That got a loud but genuine laugh out of you. “Something about me lookin’ pissed off felt photo-worthy?”

He was still just smiling, nodding. “Something, yeah.”

You were laughing, rolling your eyes as you rested your beer bottle on top of your leg, not caring about the condensation soaking into your jeans from the bottom of it. “You are somethin’ else.” Just as you tilted your head back up to look at him again you heard the click of the camera. Your face instantly felt warm. “Do I at least get to see it before you go sendin’ it places?”

“I’ll let you see it,” he promised with a nod.

“Alright. Guess that’s fair.” Setting your bottle off to the side, you wiped your hands off on your jeans before motioning for him to hand the camera over to you. “Let’s see that.”

“What?” he asked, a confused laugh tumbling past his lips.

“Photos go both ways too,” you quipped with a grin.

He hesitated for a moment, but he handed his camera over to you. He saw the way you were practically giddy as you held it carefully in your hands.

“Not usually on this side of the lens,” he said as his gaze diverted off for a moment.

Your smile softened. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine. You can do whatever you want, remember?”

He laughed and shook his head at you. In his time following the Vandals around, he’d come to realize just how easy it was to feel so close to people. There was an immersive nature to the club and the people in it. Still, he found himself getting a little bit of the wind knocked out of him as he looked over at you, watching the way you carefully turned his camera over in your hands to look at it more closely.

You felt the way that he was watching you, and for a moment you thought that he was just making sure that you weren’t about to drop or break one of his most prized possessions. But when you actually looked at him, and saw the wistful expression on his face, those worries instantly faded away.

Lifting up the camera, you pressed your eye to the viewfinder. When you filled the frame with Danny, a little glimpse of chaos in the far-off background but all the real focus on that quirky little smile on his face, you felt like you were starting to understand why he was content to follow these guys around like this. You must’ve been lost in your thoughts long enough to make him wonder, because he gave just the tiniest tilt of his head as he laughed, and that was when you snapped the photo.

Handing the camera back to him, you said, “Gotta let me see that one too.”

Danny chuckled and nodded, red blooming across his cheeks again. “I’ll make sure of it.”

(divider by @saradika-graphics 💖)

The Bikeriders Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists!): @garbinge @narcolini @xxanaduwrites @sirbogarde

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can we get more arranged reader?

Bruce couldn't tell if you KNEW what had been happening or not. All he knew for certain was that you hadn't encouraged it.

If you had, you'd not have been so... rattled. When you'd had your little Dalliance with Batman you'd been cool as a cucumber. Not the least bit worried about what he thought- or about getting caught.

Admittedly though, if Bruce hadn't been directly involved, you probably wouldn't have been. You were good at keeping secrets and too smart to carry on publicly. Do anything other than the expected social flirting and so forth... you knew better. Harvey didn't. He was playing a game and didn't know the rules.

It was all well and good to flirt a little. Compliment you and make a joke that would make you flustered but. Looking at you like that. Getting that close to kissing you. That wouldn't do- Not unless you started it. Because you had the pedigree. You had the connections. He was the toy. And everyone watching knew he was pushing his luck.

"That was- well-" Bruce broke off and pushed the elevator button, "it looks like I showed up at the right time."

"The right time would have been six minutes earlier," you tell him, adjusting your watch, "I was running out of things to distract him with."

Bruce blinked. So you did know. "I got tied up with-"

"Yes I know," you sigh, "I stepped out for a few moments to call the sisters. They're going to help Alfred unsnarl tracking down school records for Dick to get him enrolled properly. Sister Betty is good at that sort of thing. She spent time working in children's homes before she injured her hip."

"I should thank-"

"I've already arranged a donation for them and a gift basket of teas and some cakes. They'll be delighted."

"Don't they avoid luxuries?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They avoid buying them," you answer smiling, "but when the good lord sends a blessing, you can't very well return it. Especially if it doesn't come with a name attached."

[rosielovesspence]

Playing Dangerous- F.P. Jones

Summary: The one where you flirt with a cop after wasting his patience.

It was hard to  be friends with the Archie group when they constantly got you into trouble with the law. It became easier when you got used it, and once you all turned 26. “Come on Y/n, we’re adults we can handle this!” You scoffed staring at Archie, “Exactly! We’re adults, we shouldn’t doing childish shit like this! We can get in trouble with the sheriff! Just cause it’s J’s dad doesn’t mean we can’t be arrested!” The group had been in your kitchen for about an hour, trying to convince you to help them break into some warehouse they swore they needed into. “Please Y/n? You know, we can’t do it without you” They were persistent, and Betty was whiny. “Fine, but if I get arrested you assholes are bailing me out.” 

You had somehow gotten in with no problems, finding nothing however you glared at the group from over the shoulder. “Oh look, nothing here.” You leaned over on a box, staring at Jughead, “What did I tell you?” He just awkwardly shrugged, “It has to be here, something does.” Just then the door slammed open and you all turned. “Shit.”

You sat in the back of his cop car, groaning, god of course you got arrested for those fucking idiots.”Everybody knows i’m a good girl, officer.” You stared at him through his back window as F.P. stared back. “Mhm, sure sweetheart.” You bat your eyelashes subtly, looking for something to get you out of his car. “Do you always work alone so late?” He wasn’t working alone, the others had been picked up in the other cars, but FP picked you up. You assumed he’d get Jughead and Betty. “Stop with that. Those try-hard doe eyes.” You wanted to scoff, God older men were dicks, but you just looked down. 

“The door was already open when we got there, you know.” You were trying to justify yourself. “Oh yeah, then tell me princess, why was the lock broken?” He had looked back at you for a moment. And somehow you didn’t find it repulsive, usually the princess comment would off-put you but from FP it felt weirdly like-able. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that, that’s for sure. The door was already open, I swear i’m not a liar.” He stopped to stare at you, your melty puppy eyes as you tried the sympathy approach. Unlike other men his age though, you couldn’t get what you wanted, he wasn’t as creepy, he didn’t fall as easy. 

You expected to end up in a cell for the night, cursing your stupid group, but you had stopped at the station. He had uncuffed you and led you into his office. Now you were confused. As you sat down awkwardly, trying to be still as delicate and princess-like as you were in the car, hoping to convince him to let you go home. “So we’re still on the princess act.” He noted as he sat across from you. “So, what was a group of kids doing in a warehouse?” You had finally snapped and let out a small scoff. “I’m a full grown adult, thank you very much, 26 almost 27.” FP smirked, he had gotten you to break. “I know, calm down, our birthday is next month.” You froze, why would he know that? He didn’t even have your records out. “So, we wanna try again? Why were you there?” 

You wouldn’t spill, sitting in front of, arms crossed over your chest as you held your tongue. “Y/n. Just tell me, I could just throw you into a cell, it is my job.” You looked up at him, a playful glare, you had a new approach to getting your way, and with the way he stared, you were winning. “Fine we can stay here all night then.” He began to pull out paper work. “Yay, I like your company.” He stared at you, your sarcasm soaked words floating in the air. “Brat.” You wanted to yell, you hated being treated like a child, but you held your breath because it also did something else to you. Any insult you had thought to throw back had been lost when he looked back up, staring into your eyes with that kind of intensity. “What, lose your insults?” You pushed your hands onto your lap, looking down, embarrassment flooding your brain. “Jesus, I’ll take you home.” You had realized he was staring at the clock, and the fact that it was now 1:37 in the morning. “What about my information?” He chuckled, “You weren’t gonna give it to me anyway.” You smirked, “True, I might give you something else though.” He stared at you, your words being sudden and out of nowhere. “Hey, maybe a kiss.” He laughed quietly, assuming your words a joke. But when placed a kiss to his lips, he was stunned. “I can walk myself home, unless you want to drive me.” You gave him that gushy smile, that 20 minutes ago was aggravating as hell, now, he was enjoying the lingering stare. “Yeah, not a chance, I’ll drive you.” You grinned, “Good choice, officer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@b0nes-phobic​

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 26/05/2023

Ohh, what a week!

So, my plan was to start expanding on the overall plans for the beginning, middle, and endings. This is usually how planning works for me is that I just gradually expanding them and things start to come together and can see where I can fit in the events I want and need to happen.

But what happened instead was the story was just…flowing! I began planning out the beginning, and I was gone! The story events were just popping up in perfectly natural places in the narrative as well as character reintroductions!

For example, my thought was to have certain characters show up at the very start to get those reintroductions in so as the story could continue. And it was good, I was happy with it. BUT as I was planning an amazing point popped up that is SO SO much better. It blends with the story of Book Four as well as getting into their branches at the same time.

There’s definitely something about this book already that feels like it really wants to be told!

And the now-named baddy definitely wants to be written and get some attention, hehe! 😃

We also managed to record the Book Three debrief/chat this week! That was seriously fun though we got a bit carried away chatting, so it ended up much longer than originally intended, hehe! We’ll be chunking it up into parts so as it’s not as overwhelming to listen to. The first part will be up on Patreon later this month. It felt good to really be able to chat about that and almost kind of, like, put it to bed. Now I’ve got all of that out of my head I can really move onto the next!

Nai has been working on typing up the character sheets for me this week with all the updated information needed from Book Three. It’s so strange to look at how I originally intended some of these characters to be from the start and how they’ve actually ended up coming to life when I got writing them!

Next week is another May Bank Holiday on Monday, but the rest of the week will be the same as usual: Book Four planning! Hoping it goes as smoothly as it is going now! 😃

I just wanted to say as well thank you so much for all the wonderfully kind and supportive messages I got about the bunnies! Betty is on medications and will be having some more blood tests taken a few weeks from now, so I’ve got all my fingers crossed for a positive outcome!

Hope you all have the most incredible weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so we’ll talk to you all again soon! <3

[sensei-venus]

Serpent-Cide (1/?)

(Unedited) (Reader secretly hates everyone, she just wants to go home. Number one #fuckthenorthsiders fan Reader. Reader is just a loner who tolerates everyone’s bs.)

(Part One|Part Two|Part Three|TBA|)

Reader didn’t want to think about school. She didn’t want to think about having to walk the halls along side the stuck up students. The cheerleader, jocks hell even the geeks of the school where assholes. It was like the north side was a target for producing shitty ass people.

Just about everyone in the whole town could be labeled a horrible person.

It was like they where breed here, raised here, meant to start a life long relationship with hurting others. Both physically and mentally, hell even emotionally.

Half of the kids at that school where skilled at emotional manipulation.

“Reader you will be assigned to the welcoming committee. You don’t have any community hours for this semester so this should give you quite a few. Make sure you meet in the hallway tomorrow morning, 8:00 sharp. The new transfer students from SouthSide High should be arriving by then.” One of the volunteer heads said. Reader slumped in her seat a little and rolled her eyes. Great, now she had to deal with not only the stuck up northsider kids but now the southsiders.

Moments later the bell rang for first period and everyone in the community room slowly started to leave. She waited a moment until just about everyone was gone. Slowly grabbing her bag from off the floor she made her way to class. The hallway was crowded as she maneuvered around the crowds of students. Flooded with kids, pushing and shoving each other.

The sound of something hitting lockers, hard, filled the hallway and made her look around. She pushed past the people around her. Hoping to just get to class. She didn’t need to get into anyone business, know anything she really didn’t need to. It would just be a reason for her to keep thinking about the people who lived, breath and love this shitty ass school. All she wanted to do was get to class.

Sadly her luck wasn’t on her side this time, it never seemed to be.

Her eyes caught the one and only Reggie Mantle as he shoved some poor kid face first into a locker. Their eyes only met for a moment before him and his friends went back to what they where doing. Messing with some bottom feeder kid who probably just looked at him wrong. The urge to just go the other way she came started to bubble into her gut. So that is what she did, turned right back around and went with the flow of the opposite direction of traffic. It would take twice the time to get to her class but she didn’t have to worry about bumping into that jerk. She huffed as she was shoved deeper into the crowed.

Why did this school always have to pull the worst shit over on her.

The next morning didn’t go as planned at all. The bus she usually took to go to school broke down and she had to walk. Instead of waiting around to get a ride she decided to just walk it. She ended up having to jog just to make it on time. All she needed was some stupid mark on her record for “trying to skip a volunteer credit” or something from the leadership board.

Huffing she enters though the front of the school where she was meet with a few different faces. Most of which made her even more exhausted then she already was.

Archie, Veronica, Betty and even Cheryl stud around the almost completely empty front hallway. It was almost as if half of the student body didn’t want to be around the southside kids. She kinda understood where they where coming from, then again she didn’t really care. Stereotyping a whole group of people they had never even meet before wasn’t really something she had hopes of doing. The southside was bad, shady and drug filled. But as long as these kids didn’t mess with her like the kids at this school, she would be ok with them.

Hopefully they would just cut her some slack and leave her alone for the rest of the year.

Or, her worst nightmare, they picked up on half of the schools ideals for bullying people, no matter who they where or what they did.

“Hey Reader you made it! I was scared you would have skipped the introduction.” Betty said in a whisper as they walked to a more casual spot in the hall. Reader just sighed, looking at the closed front doors of the school. She had to admit that her nerves where a little on edge. Being around people for her was hard, even people she knew. Betty was a okay person, a little preppy and a bit of a good girl but she was nice enough In Reader’s opinion.

She wouldn’t say they where friends per say but rather good acquaintances. They worked on a few projects together, sat with each other at lunch a few times, borrowed books from each other when they checked them out of the library. Nothing huge to make them good friends but decent enough that Reader didn’t see her as a issue to deal with.

“Stupid bus broke down and they wanted me to wait for a whole hour for another one to show up. All I need is that community leader to try and say I was trying to skip. It’s always something with this school…” she trailed off. Lazily she checked her phone, Betty only nodded saying “I get it…this school definitely sucks some times.” Reader snorted, sarcasm laced her voice “Puff that’s the fucking understatement of the century…” she pushed her phone back into her pocket. Betty only gave a small half smile before walking off to go see Archie.

For a good few minutes she just watched them. The two teens where talking about something and then Veronica joined them. She raised a brow as she glanced over at Cheryl who looked to be glaring at the other teens. It was funny to see the “Queen of the school” not be invited to their little party. Even if that party was three other people talking without her. Stuck up bitch. A smirk passed her lips for just a split moment.

Suddenly the door of the school entrance opened with a huge bang.

Some kids that were still in the hallway scattered at the mere sound, some from the sight of who walked through those big doors. The braver students stayed in their place, a hand full, mostly the jocks. They slowly started to creep up from the back of the hallways. Slowly inching closer and closer. Inching in towards new pray, or more like an even foe.

The southsiders were making their way into the northsiders territory and threatening their sickly little teen livelihoods. The big dogs were about to get pounced on by a whole bunch of serpents.

A whole herd of students walked through the doors, stomping up to the small group of teens. Reader was reluctant to join them, not because she was afraid of them or like most of the other kids still sticking around wanting to harass them. She just didn’t want to act like she was alongside any of these people.

She was quick to notice that one of the leaders was actually Jughead, which was a little shocking but not by much. Jughead was just as much of an outcast really as she was, maybe a little more popular seeing as he was Archie’s best friend.

The look on his face was insanely similar, mostly because it mirrored hers. The look of both boredom and disgust crossed his face quickly. As soon as he stepped close to Cheryl it seemed to double by ten folds. Out of nowhere, Reggie made his appearance from one of the hallways, a few cheerleaders and half of the team of jocks followed close by. He stepped up and stood behind Cheryl who only smirked at Jughead.

“Listen how about you and your little “serpents” go find another school to destroy. We don’t need your low IQ’s muddying up our school. We can only expect our test scores to start dropping dramatically in the next few weeks because of you and your little trailer trash bunch.” Reggie bowed up “Yeah and your little junkie friends. Bet we will start finding needs all over the hallways and burnt spoon in the trash cans.” Some of the jocks and cheerleaders laughed. Cheryl only smirked, her cherry-red lips only seemed to grow at the words.

Two of the kids behind JugHead almost growled at them, bowing up but then being held back by Jughead.

One was a girl, slight brown skin with long dyed pinkish purple hair with a serpent jacket on. It also my swamped her shoulders in the thick leather material. Her face was twisted up in a nasty scowl as Jug held her back.

The other person was a tall boy with black hair and a good-sized snake tattoo on his neck. Reader couldn’t help but look him over in curiosity. The tattoo stuck out to her as she scanned him over, the bob of his throat, the glimmer in his eye of pure hate. It was…interesting. She was glad that she stood off to the side. Maybe no one would notice her gawking at the bean stock of a boy- slash that, man.

Reader almost jumped a little when the boy broke free of Jugs arm. He marched up to Cheryl and Reggie and basically growled right in their face. Jughead was quick to grab him by the back of the jacket along with the help of the girl. Both of them use a good amount of strength to pull him back. It wasn’t easy as he fought back against their attempts to reel him back in. His height and weight alone kept him from even flinching at their pulls.

Lucky he seemed to calm only by a little and stepped back. He bared his teeth at them, almost in mocking and anger.

This did nothing to phase Cheryl and only made Reggie more riled up. One of his eyes twitched and a vain popped from under his collar. He stares all of the southside kids down, trying his best to some how intimidate them. Believing that somehow it was going to do something to them.

It failed miserably as the other southside kids held their ground.

“Love how I’m gone only a little while and I come back to this, the same loving treatment as before. Great job keeping your mutts in line Cheryl.” Jughead mocked with crossed arms. His gaze shifted from her to Archie for a moment. A look of displeasure corsages his face. Maybe even a hint of sadness threatened to form. But it was quickly gone within moments of appearing. Archie gave a small smile back hoping to show his feelings on the situation. Jughead seemed to take it with a grain of salt.

“Can we just stop fighting for once. We have to share our school and it’s only fair that we at least try and be civilized.” Veronica said getting between the two groups. She put both hands out to stop the two groups from getting any closer to each other. There was a small table a few steps over, she walked over to it and grabbed a few papers.

Looking them over before holding them up, she looked back toward the serpents. She cleared her throat saying “Over here you will find your class schedules, locker assignments, and a map of the school. We will also be assigning small groups of new students with some of our volunteer students. They will help you with any questions you may have about the school, show you around, and also help you figure out any resources you may need.”

There was some mumbling among the group.

Betty and Archie walked over to the table and grabbed some of the papers. Betty read over a few things on one of the pages. The other girl shoved a new paper into her hand making her roll her eyes. She looked it over and raised a brow.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yep, it’s right there. Start grouping up after they all get their schedules.”

Suddenly Veronica’s gaze shifted over to Reader. She cocked her head to the side and just stared at her. Reader felt herself clam up a little.

This was definitely not going to be a day to go down into the good history of the school.

It was going to be a literal blood stain by the looks of it.

(Will be continued, will be cross-posting to AO3!)

[offender42085]

Post 1258

The victim's father expressed compassion for the young defendant, who stood to the side of the courtroom in prison garb, with his hands cuffed.

Alan Faynzilberg, New Jersey inmate 821030E, born 1997, incarceration intake December 2017 at age 20, released November 2023

Vehicular Homicide -- Reckless Driving, Manufacture/Distribution/Dispense of Controlled Substance

In October 2017, a Belleville New Jersey man was sentenced to eight years in prison for a drunken head-on collision that took the life of a young father of two in May 2016.

During a somber afternoon hearing in Superior Court in Newark, the judge said he had seen other victims' family members express forgiveness toward their loved one's killer. But none, he added, had ever done what Pietro Davila did following the death of his son, 33-year-old Luis Davila.

"I've never had a victim's family member come before me and request that he be put on the defendant's visitation list," said Superior Court Judge Ronald D. Wigler.

And while Wigler wished defendant Alan Faynzilberg, 20, success in eventually turning his life around, the judge was not as forgiving as Davila's family, and refused to reduce the 8-year sentence recommended by prosecutors in a deal that led to Faynzilberg's guilty plea earlier on June 26.

Faynzilberg was jailed for 10 months following the incident, then released, but has been back in custody since the prior week, when he turned himself in on what was supposed to be his original sentencing date.

Pietro Davila, 59, of Jersey City, was one of three people who made victim impact statements. But rather than condemning Faynzilberg, DaVila expressed compassion for the young defendant, who stood to the side of the courtroom in prison garb, with his hands cuffed.

"I feel content, because we are Christian," Davila said through an interpreter. Turning to Faynzilberg, he added, "This young man, Alan, on my behalf I forgive him."

The victim's sister, Giselle Davila, was equally compassionate, telling Faynzelberg, "I hope that when you complete your sentence, you change your life for the better."

Assistant Prosecutor Betty Rodriguez said during the hearing that Faynzilberg admitted using alcohol, marijuana and the tranquilizer Xanax prior to the crash. She told the judge that in that and prior arrests for drug-related offenses, Faynzilberg had repeatedly shown "a complete disregard for the law."

With his lawyer, William Fitzsimmons, at his side, Faynzilberg made an emotional plea for leniency.

"Let me express my deepest and most sincere apologies for May 27, 2016," Faynzilberg said, sobbing at that point and others during the hearing.

"I'm sure it was sincere," said Wigler, the presiding criminal judge in Essex County.

That said, Wigler told Faynzilberg that, under his plea deal, the prosecutor's office had already agreed to downgrade the vehicular homicide charge against him from first degree to second degree, sparing him several years in prison under sentencing guidelines.

Wigler added that Faynzilberg's prior record included two drug arrests, one in which he avoided a criminal conviction by being accepted into a pre-trial intervention program, or PTI, on April 15, 2016 -- just six week before the drug-fueled crash that killed Luis Davila.

"What's concerning is you don't learn from your past mistakes," Wigler told Faynzilberg. "And a family was destroyed."

A friend of the Faynzilberg, Alexandra Roth, made a statement on his behalf, assuring the court that he would have the loving support of his family to help him overcome his drug dependence and reintegrate him into society upon his release.

"The level of remorse that he felt was not of the kind, 'What's going to happen to me?' but truly of the magnitude of what happened," Roth said.

4y

[bambi-kinos]

loved ur recent post on paul whump !! besides the linked one(which I've never read so thanks!) do you have👀👀 any recommendations👀👀👀👀

tl;dr - it's slim pickins out there.

First let's bring back an old differentiation: there's physical whump and then emotional whump, and that was an important distinction back in the day. I have looked for both and while there are some good emotional whump pieces, there is no readable physical whump besides the su!c!d3 fic. Physical whump is more of an action movie thing and in general Beatles fandom is not terribly interested in action and adventure so they don't write it. And the thing is, that's fine, that's a valid choice that anyone can make and we should write about the things we enjoy and not what we think others expect. But it also means that Paul whump fics basically don't exist in modern fandom as we know it. There are probably some on LJ or in the Google Docs McLennon archive since Stargate and Smallville were so big on LJ at the time and there was more x-fandom pollination but I don't want to Snipe hunt right now.

(For the record, I do have something in the works to fix this hole but it won't come out until next year if we're lucky.)

Emotional whump is more plentiful and there's well written stuff out there for sure. Most of the emotional whump I've enjoyed is centered around John's suffering and while Paul's misery is apparent it's not the focus of those pieces. So this took some digging into my bookmarks and memory. What I like in a good Paul whump fic is how his own arrogance and narcissist tendencies come back to bite him OR he's having to put up with John's shit when John is being horrible.

In that spirit, here are my recommendations for decent emotional whump focused on Paul:

Barcelona - Selena. I enjoy this one because Selena let's Paul be a whole person here. It's not just John and Brian bothering him, it's the fact that he's trapped with someone who reminds him of what he's lacking and how this hurts him, both now and in the past. Parallels to the Barcelona situation are subtle and well drawn so you get all of the agony without being hit over the head with it. John is opaque to Paul who doesn't understand why he's acting like this which is a nice change from what we often see in fanfic where John just blurts out what he's feeling. Here we see how much Paul suffers when John is trying too hard to be clever.

A Hole in the World - RosalindBeatrice. Linda bears witness to the aftermath of John's murder in Paul. Easily the absolute best fanfiction on this list.

Birthday - Selene. Love this one because Selene writes Paul as an actual character instead of the heteronormative girly thing he often gets slapped with. Paul is once again bitter, angry and unhappy because the boy he fell in love with has already disappeared. He is forced to be the adult in a room full of manchildren and he hates it...but he also sucks it up and does it anyway. Because he is Paul McCartney and being the foundation of The Beatles and cleaning up John's messes is exactly what he signed up for and he will do it because no one else can. I think of this one all the time. It lives rent free in my head.

Red Sky - thinkpink20. What I appreciate about thinkpink20 is that she is brave enough to let John be absolutely awful but she also humanizes him so you can see his inner pain and confusion driving that horribleness. This is a nice one where John is no where near to figuring himself out but Paul is, and then when Stuart's living shadow gets into the mix, no one is happy.

From Barcelona To Santa Cruz - thinkpink20. Another post-Spain fic but this time John articulates his defense well which of course humiliates and angers Paul even further because John proves he is human and capable of empathy, which Paul didn't want to write into the equation.

the crane wife - mynamesbetty. Betty was showing me the first drafts of this one and all I could say was: "Paul is a horrible person. He's a fucking homewrecker. He deserves this." That's what I like best about this story. Paul is a selfish asshole and he hurts everyone and himself by being self centered, petulant, and cowardly. Every single awful thing that happens to him is strictly the result of his own actions. He manages to make himself the Coyote in a Looney Tunes cartoon including the bit where he runs straight off the cliff, doesn't realize it, and then looks down just as he starts falling before he shoots the viewer a look asking for help. And then the ACME anvil falls on him.

So those are my recommendations on Paul whump. It ended up being a longer list than I expected so that's something. Hope you enjoy the recommendations and please check out the other fanfics by these authors, they're all great.

[madsworld15]

Letter to Gavin Creel

Dear Gavin,

I was in the middle of a major website project at work on Monday when I heard that you had passed away. For the first time in my life, I actually sobbed hysterically at the death of someone famous. When I say sobbed hysterically, I mean unable to focus on anything because my eyes were too wet and my chest was too tight. I hadn’t cried like this since the day my grandmother died four years ago.

You see, I don't usually get this visibly upset when people in the public sphere pass away. Sure, I was sad when people like Sondheim, Betty White, and Robin Williams died. But I've never been so upset that I couldn't function. That is just your impact on the world, for me and so many others.

The last time I saw you in person was in 2017 at the stage door of She Loves Me. Despite it having been years since then, I believe that if we’d met at a stage door or other event today, you’d still recognize me. Because that is the type of person you are. I guess were, now that you’ve passed, but I can’t find it in myself to talk of you in the past tense. It just doesn’t seem real that someone so full of life and immortal is no longer here with us, dancing through this thing called life.

You don’t know this, but I got to see you perform in my favorite musical, Into the Woods, when the tour came to Philadelphia in April of last year. It was a last-minute decision that fell on a weeknight, so I couldn’t stay late afterward to stage door. Of course, I thought to myself that I’d have plenty more opportunities to see you work your craft. Now that you’ve passed, I wish I had said “fuck it” to having to be at work the next day and stayed to chat with you.

Like so many of those who looked up to and admired you, I first discovered you when I was in HS watching Eloise at the Plaza. As a child, I had adored the Eloise books, so naturally, I was excited to see a film made about the precocious girl. Back then I had no idea who you were, just that your name was attached to the character of Bill. I adored Bill and his silly, over-the-top theatrics and became obsessed with watching the movie just for him – though Eloise was great, too.

Then, as a freshman in college, I started talking to this person from New York City through a mutual fan group on Facebook. She encouraged my very limited knowledge of musical theatre and introduced me to so many new things. One of them was a bootleg recording of Hair from 2009. The energy you exuded on stage was palpable, even from the grainy 2000s video.

At that point in my life, I was sure I would never get out of Kansas. I knew I was different and didn't fit in with the other people in my small-town Kansas community. By the time I left and moved to NY in 2013, I still wasn't sure what my identity was, but I was certain I belonged to the queer community. Upon arriving in New York, I quickly found myself immersed in the musical theatre community there.

One of the first shows I saw was The Book of Mormon. I would visit the theatre at least once a week, sometimes even twice. I didn't really have the finances to do that, but my mental health demanded comfort, and that show was where I found it. So, once or twice a week, I would play the lottery or do standing room.

By the time you moved from The Book of Mormon on the West End to Broadway, I was ready for you but also hesitant to love you because your predecessor, Nic Rouleau, had had such a profound impact on my mental health and self-worth. From the moment I met you, though, I knew I could never have any feelings other than love for you.

Sure, I already knew I loved you as a performer from the years of watching bootlegs of your performances, listening to your EPs, and loving you in Eloise. However, my connection and attachment to The Book of Mormon was so great that each time the leads switched, I had a hard time adjusting.

It was different with you, though. You immediately took me under your wing and made me know I was important to you. That first night, you forced me to hand over my phone for our photo, and you scrolled through filters until you found the one you wanted. Then you insisted we do silly faces, that serious faces weren't needed. It was as if you knew I needed comfort more than a professional stage door selfie.

Over the course of the year you were part of the Broadway company, we interacted many times. Every time you saw me, your face would light up, you'd insist on a silly photo, and then you'd ask me if I was doing okay and how work was going. You genuinely wanted to know. It was something that got me through those extremely dark days of working a job I hated but not knowing any other path I could go on.

I didn't ever tell you this, but those moments kept my suicidal thoughts during that time at bay. Knowing I could swing by the stage door at any time, whether I'd seen the show or not, and talk to you was what got me through. We never talked about anything profound or world-changing, but you asking me about my day and encouraging me to find my passion changed my whole life.

After you left Mormon, I didn't see you again until the final days of She Loves Me. I fully expected you to not remember who I was, but you did. Once again, your smile grew at the sight of me, and you made a joke while wiggling your face to emphasize the mustache on your face. I wish I'd taken more time to tell you about my life that day. To connect more with you, but I didn't.

I had no way of knowing that would be the last time I would see you perform for many years. Not long after that, my finances took a major hit, and I moved to NJ, making trips to Broadway a bit harder to accomplish. So, I wasn't able to see you in Waitress or Hello, Dolly. But, man, did I want to. I did have the chance to watch clips of you in these shows and bask in the glory of your singing voice and stage presence, even if it was from afar.

I started to understand myself more clearly and made friends who helped me find an identity that made sense to me. Then, 2020 hit, and I suffered quite a few losses in my family. I struggled to keep my head above water, but my queer friends reminded me that there were things worth living for. Through these friendships, I started to find my way out of the mess I was in and found joy in musical theatre again. I started to listening to your personal music and the cast albums of your shows. It wasn't the only music I listened to, but it helped me get through the most.

Then, Into the Woods happened. By this time, I had started to be a co-leader in a local Tri-State Queer group. We would all get together and talk about TV, Broadway, Music, and Movies. It was so rejuvenating. A group of us got tickets to see Into the Woods on Broadway, but I couldn't be part of that due to finances. However, my best friend works for Ticket Philadelphia, so he promised that I could go with him when it came to Philadelphia on tour.

And that brings us to the close of this letter. I got to see you exude that joy all over the stage one last time in Into the Woods on Tour. It was one of the best nights of my life. Your performance of Agony will live on in my memories forever. As will your performance of I Believe in The Book of Mormon.

I never got around to telling you this in person, so I will say it now: Thank you so much for all the moments in my life that your presence or your voice got me through. Your passion for life and love was always awe-inspiring, and it's what I will carry with me through the years. We all deserved to see you do so much more in the world of Broadway, musical theatre, and beyond. Life truly is unfair, but I'm grateful for what I was able to experience with you.

Rest easy, dance often, and spread your sunshine from the beyond.

Mads

[ghosttownheart]

HoW was Redneck Rehab:

If you want to equate the house of wind to rehab then you have to recognize the fact that Cassian was taking advantage of N/esta. If the house of wind in rehab then Cassian is a rehabilitation couselor who had sex with a patient. A rehabilitation counselor being intimate with a patient is sexual misconduct. So no.. saying that the house of wind was rehab does not justify what they did to N/esta

This was a post sent to me a little ago and I have some things to say.

First of all, that is not what a rehabilitation counselor is - the term op is looking for is an addiction/substance abuse couselor.

According to the cleveland clinic and ttuhsc, the role of an addiction counselor is to provide and coordinate services for people with a range of substance use and other behavioral addictions and health problems.

According to hazelden betty ford graduate school, the responsibilities for addiction counselors are as follows:

conduct group and individual therapy - this also means that counselors not only work with the patients but with parole officers, families, law enforcement, courts, etc.

develop individual treatment plans - treatment plans would address each substance use disorder and would be adjusted depending on patient's progress; this is usually done in the conjunction with other medical professionals

perform assessments - this entails gathering information about your patients and engaging with them to determine the severity of the addiction, readiness for change, existence of co-occurring mental health disorders, problem areas that may affect treatment, and other needs and opportunities

work with patients to avoid relapse - counselors need to determine risks for relapse and develop prevention plans. this includes helping patients identify their triggers and often working with families to teach them effective ways to support their loved one cope with addiction

refer patients to other support sources - counselors act as a bridge between the patient and outside resources that will also be vital in recovery; for example, one might refer a patient to an outside drug or alcohol support group, or to clinical care

keep records - documentation is essential to helping addiction counselors and medical professionals, as well as patients and families, to track the progress and treatment; then evaluate, and refine, treatment plans on an ongoing basis

If you've gotten this far then I'm guessing you've realized that Cassian is the furthest thing from an addiction counselor.

He washer trainer, yes, but he did not perform daily assessments on her addiction, did not develop individual treatment plans (other than workouts), did not work with her to avoid relapse, did not refer her to other sources of support (in fact, he was her support source for maintaining physical health), did not keep records, and did not conduct any individual/group therapy sessions.

To say Cassian out of everyone had played a part in Nesta's mental healing is laughable - I love him, but he did not do shit for her when it came to her mental health. And she didn't do shit for him for his clearly deep-seeded resentment towards himself.

The HoW-rehab comparison is not 1:1 - it never was. It literally can't because there were no medical professionals. It was what i call 'The Bootleg, Redneck Version' and 'We have rehab at home'

Without it, Nesta never would've met Emerie or Gwyn, she never would've fought in the Blood Rite, she never would've become a Valkyrie, and she likely would be dead.

And most of the people I read that say the House of Wind was this horrible horrible thing are the same people I see say Rhys can't be mad at Nesta because Feyre forgave her; so I use your own logic against you:

You can't be mad at Feyre, Rhys, etc. because Nesta already forgave them for this a long time ago.

[imreallyloveleee]

Where do you think it all went wrong with Riverdale?

honestly, part of me is like, the show's over and nothing but fandom matters. so who cares?

the other part of me loves to complain about Riverdale and will continue to do so until the day I die in the parking lot of Michael's Diner in Montgomeryville, PA at the age of 86. so, long-winded answer under the cut

I'm tempted to say it's the s4 b*rchie kiss. It was so wildly out of character for both Betty and Archie that it's laughable. You know how you can tell when something is just blatantly OOC with no justification? They...don't justify it. They find ways to dance around any interaction that might offer clarification. They mute the reactions of the characters who should be devastated by it. And then they jump ahead 7 years so it's easier to just handwave it away as something that happened a long time ago.

but the thing is, I did keep watching after that. I thought: okay, at least we should get an exes-to-lovers arc out of this, which is one of my favorite tropes. there is no way they would spend 4 seasons developing Bughead as this loving, supportive, communicative, sexy, and almost-unbelievably-compatible couple just to tear them apart and never do anything with that dynamic again. maybe it'll be even sweeter seeing them come back together after so much hurt and longing.

boy was i wrong!!!!!!!!!

so, the episode that actually made me stop watching for good, with the exception of some standalones like The Jughead Paradox and the finale, was the s5 musical. that was when i realized that this team of writers was 100% willing, maybe even eager, to completely drop storylines they themselves had been building over the course of a season - do a 180 with all of the characterization and relationships - and then act as though the buildup they wrote never even happened.

in this case, i'm specifically talking about the Bughead reunion storyline they dropped in s5. i'm not going to pretend like it was a GREAT buildup - and it was mostly on Jughead's side, Betty's character in s5 was basically an emotionless misery bot that had sex sometimes - but it was there. Jughead told Tabitha he had unresolved feelings around Betty. that's followed by an entire episode that lays out Betty & Jug's time jump relationship, and how Jughead still believes she's the one who saves him from himself. they work on a case together, they start opening up to one another. Jughead's so worried about her he can't eat.

and then...you know what happens.

(i'll also note here that there was random bts stuff that strongly indicated the musical ep storyline had a drastic last-minute rewrite: lili tweeted a blue dress, suggesting the song with that line was meant for her character; RAS said cole had to do last-minute recording sessions; supposedly crew members have confirmed this was the case, too. since none of it's 100% confirmed you can take it all with a grain of salt, but i believe it.)

it was so fucking insulting as a viewer to give my time and attention to a show made by people who would not only randomly drop the threads they set up, but torpedo them altogether, and then behave like the fans are the ones somehow at fault for expecting a story that actually follows through on its own emotional and plot beats. we're just shippers, so our opinions are dumb and biased! it's just a tv show, so who cares! get over it!

so, i stopped watching, because i knew they would continue to write without any thought or respect for their characters or their audience, and therefore inevitably write themselves into another corner. and, shocker, i was right. they did it again, whisking everyone away to the 1950s because actually resolving any of the scenarios they set up was ToO hArD. why bother when you could just make every single character Righteously Angry and Incurably Horny all the time, lecture the audience about social issues that have already been mainstream progressive for the last several decades, and call it a "love letter" to your fans?