#how does andrew tolerate going out with him in public

[oh-my-gufking-god]

friendly reminder that Neil josten canonically wears jorts

[dvrcos]

Aaron may not have an eidetic memory like Andrew does but he has a damn good one and he can remember anything he puts even the smallest amount of effort into remembering.

After everything that happened in Baltimore Aaron starts to note every small possibly important (and unimportant) medical fact about the foxes. And he’s not even totally conscious he’s doing it.

He consciously remembers Andrew and Nicky’s blood types. He knows Nicky’s allergic to penicillin and he knows Andrew doesn’t react well to doctors so it’s best for everyone if he can be administered some kind of sedative right away.

And then he thinks he should probably know this stuff for Kevin, and begrudgingly Neil, because they’re part of his strange little family that Andrew’s created. So he quickly and easily finds this information on them (because he’s a Minyard and he just knows how to find the things he needs to know). So he knows their blood types and he knows Kevin still feels residual pain in his left hand but doesn’t show it and try’s to ignore it. He knows Neil heals annoyingly quick from his all too common injuries but he also knows he aggravates those injuries easily by pushing himself too soon.

But it doesn’t stop there, there’s a small itch in the back of his head driving him to find out the important medical facts about the rest of the foxes. So he allows himself to remember their blood types and allergens and tells himself he needs to know incase of an emergency.

But he also notices that Matt has a high tolerance to pain medication whenever he’s being treated by Abby for an injury during practice or a game. And he notes the one type that works for him and keeps multiple bottles on him and in their room. (It’s also the only type that works for Kevin and works best for Neil so he stocks their room with it too)

And he notices that Allison is a slight germaphobe and applies hand sanitizer anytime she has to touch a public door handle or they go out to eat. So he opens as many doors for her as he can despite the confused look he gives her every time and he just glares right back at her. He keeps an extra mini bottle of hand sanitizer in his backpack for her as well and silently passes it to her when she’s forgotten hers.

He notices Dans chronic knee and lower back pain that Abby is constantly treating and how there’s always a rotating rainbow of colorful KT Tape on her. So he keeps an eye on Abby’s stock of tape and when a color is running low he casually mentions it to her to order more and then walks away.

He notices how Renee always picks at the scabs on her knuckles that result from her sparring with Andrew. He figures the wraps she has are getting old and silently leaves a new pair on the counter the next time he’s in the girls dorm, along with a box of bandaids and a tube of antiseptic ointment. He leaves a matching set of supplies in Andrew’s dorm as well just to be safe.

He doesn’t consciously realize that what he’s doing is protecting and taking care of the Foxes. But the others catch on and smile fondly at him because he’s letting himself care for them and become part of their family.

And the one time Dan mentions what he’s doing for them he looks at her like she’s crazy. He tells himself, and her, that that’s not what he’s doing, he’s just a future doctor and someone needs to take care of these injury prone idiot athletes and no one else besides him and Abby are going to do it right.

Aaron would definitely be so observant and acutely aware of the Foxes physical well beings despite him insisting he doesn’t care and hates them all. But he basically becomes Abby’s right hand man and teams second nurse because it’s good practice for his future and he knows them.

[s-exy-sapphillean]

I realize i probably have not talked nearly enough publically about some of my ideas so here's some notes:

Andreil have a very rough start but it'll work out

I'm planning on drawing a lot of parallels between jean & neil's codependency and the twinyards' codependency

This also means i want to kinda confront both of them with how not ok some of their behavior is by representing it in the other. As kinda seen here in andrew taking issue with Neil speaking for Jean even though he does the same for his family constantly

Jean & neil and their bond is still ultimately the focus of this, i just rly wanted to write this particular scene from Andrew's perspective and outsider POVs of jeaneil will be significant to exploring their dynamic properly

Jean will be going by Jean eventually because when they settled in millport for a year they got way too comfortable and started using it again, just claiming it as his middle name & preferred name. But you'll have to tolerate him being called Louis. Pronounced the french way ofc so loo-ee not luis

I've recovered enough from the horrors of academic writing that i'm able to write for my own enjoyment again so here's a Runaways snippet. A little insight into how i'm writing Andrew on meds in this. Also me unveiling the stupid fake name i picked for Jean, one with intentional big potential to be mispronounced in the most painfully american way.

This was entirely written on mobile so formatting might look stupid on desktop.

Canon typical CWs for violence + mild dissociation

`Neil Josten and Louis DuBois. Louis and Neil. Josten and DuBois,’ Andrew rolled the names of the two men they were here for around in his head while idly plucking at the netting of some random highschooler’s racket. It wasn't that he was particularly interested in the two teenagers or their sob-stories, he honestly couldn't care less, but it helped keep the boredom at bay. The same way keeping his hands occupied kept him from chewing his fingernails any shorter.

He was here because Kevin had insisted on coming, so Andrew had to follow. Not because Andrew had chosen to come. Kevin was obsessed with that striker – something about the way he played – and felt the need to be here to make sure everything would “go smoothly”.

To Andrew, the only thing that had stood out as mildly interesting about the recruits was the reason they were here for two and not just one, the reason why they were getting another fucking backliner. He did not care about the ramifications for the team but he did care about the additional new idiot in his proximity. But it seemed inevitable with how fixated Kevin had become on Josten.

“A package deal” is what their coach had pitched them as. Can't have one without the other. Which worked out great for Josten, considering he only qualified for Wymack’s recruitment criteria by association. Of course he was still willing to take it, considering it meant getting both the striker sub they needed and a new broken pup to save, even if they were not the same person.

Andrew had not been amused when Coach had drawn a comparison to his, Aaron and Nicky’s own recruitment. He could still feel that ball of tension in his gut and at the base of his head, even now as he was just thinking about it. A coiling feeling just out of reach, no real tangible emotion, just physical reaction. But it felt just a little bit closer as he half listened to the raised voices sounding through the door.

Apart from Wymack predictably matching the volume, there was only one loud unknown voice. A lot of “we” and “us” and “he” besides the “I”s. Someone certainly liked speaking for others. Or just one other. Controlling boyfriend?

Andrew didn't care but thinking about it was like reaching for that tension at the base of the skull, like hooking his finger into a rubber band rooted there and pulling, straining it even further. Irritation? Annoyance? Anger? Still not quite an emotion but closer.

The door to the locker room banged open, slamming into the wall with even more noise and in stormed two men. Or rather, one stormed, seeming to drag the other behind him. It looked almost comical, someone Andrew’s own size dragging a man almost two feet taller behind him like that. So it must have been Josten speaking for DuBois.

Zeroing in on where the smaller man’s fingers held DuBois by the wrist, Andrew wrapped his own around the racket and pulled that rubber band until it snapped. A violent release of tension, a swing of a racket, an impressively quiet gasp of pain and chaos erupted.

“Are you fucking insane!? You could have broken his hand! He needs it to play!” Kevin was screaming at him immediately. Predictably mixed with the anger was fear and Andrew watched Kevin clutch his own hand like he was the one who had been struck.

But there was a new voice as well, DuBois finally opening his mouth to curse Andrew out in what he assumed was french. The frenchman’s focus swung between glaring daggers at Andrew and cradling Josten close, trying to check on his wrist.

Andrew watched the scene, feeling nothing. He’d gotten some release but it wasn’t particularly satisfying or entertaining, and now he had no tension to prod at anymore. Lazily swinging the racket up over his shoulder, he drawled: “He’ll have to sign the contract for it to matter at all to you if he plays or not.”

Andreil first meeting. Yay?

Tagging @bisexualfagdyke

[jemej3m]

Aaron takes the mental health course part of pre med (is that a thing?) and starts recognizing Andrew grounding himself, having an episode, etc

bruhhhhh 

bruuhhh

*

Aaron winced as his son sprinted for the door, yelling the whole way. The twins knew that their uncle was coming to visit and were absolutely ecstatic about it. A well-known fact amongst the old Foxes and their children was that Andrew was very, very good with kids. 

Well, Aaron conceded. Andrew wasn’t good with them. He just didn’t even have to try: they loved him right off the bat. And barring the slight furrow in his brows whenever one of Aaron’s twins or Kevin’s spawn whined ‘please!’, he didn’t seem to mind being around them, either. 

His son was jumping for the doorhandle excitedly, so Aaron put his hand atop of his head and stilled him before swinging the door open. 

Andrew was much the same. They were aging the same way, albeit the slight muscular composition difference. Andrew’s teeth were a little more yellow, though he’d given up smoking a few years ago, and Aaron had reading glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. Other than that, they were just as similar as they always had been. 

“Hey,” Aaron said, but his son was already yelling and jumping and tugging on Andrew’s hand. Andrew’s lips nearly twitched into a smile. Nearly. 

Once his bags were deposited and shoes tucked into a corner, Katelyn handed him a mug of cocoa and they all sat on the couch as the kids regaled their uncle with stories of preschool and their neighbour’s new dog and how Dad had found them in the bathroom with craft scissors, which was why Aaron’s son had such a short haircut now. 

Katelyn got them settled for bed soon after: Andrew had arrived relatively late in the evening, just in time for ‘adult dinner’. 

“How was the flight?” Aaron asked, taking a dish of potatoes out of the oven. 

Andrew hummed into his glass of wine. “Miserable.” 

Aaron had known for quite a while Andrew’s deliberating fear of heights, ever since the Foxes had taken a reunion trip to Hawaii a few years ago. When his wife hustled back into the kitchen, Andrew nodded at her and she smiled back. Aaron felt something odd in his chest. Andrew had been very tolerant of Katelyn lately. He assumed it was the kids’ doing. 

They ate dinner quietly. Katelyn chattered about the kids, and their medical placements. Andrew asked about their specialties. 

Aaron stared at the plate. Katelyn nudged his shoulder. 

“Right.” He glanced up. “I’m not sure. What I want to choose, that is. It’s between surgery or psychiatry.” 

Andrew hummed. “Psychiatry.” 

Aaron shrugged. He’d done a lot of mental health work throughout his postgraduate degree. It just seemed to make sense that he’d go into that field. It takes one to know one, and all that. “What do you think?”

Andrew just arched an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yes,” Aaron said, tone a little frigid. Drake’s trial had been a public debacle, but it was Dr Richmond Proust that Aaron couldn’t get out of his head. It was during their fourth year when the news had come on about a psychiatrist at Easthaven being exposed for forceful sexual conduct with patients. Andrew hadn’t spoken to anyone but Neil for a week, and then disappeared for another two when Waterhouse asked him to stand witness to Proust’s trial. 

“Psychiatry is glorified drug dealing,” Andrew decided, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. He paused, then shrugged. “Could probably do with a bit of Minyard fuckery, though.”

Aaron was finally able to read Andrew’s subtext though: that was the biggest compliment he’d ever get. Unable to bite down a smile, he said “I thought so, too.” 

His brother simply hummed. 

The rest of dinner passed quietly. Andrew had three of Katelyn’s triple fudge brownies and sent a photo of them to Kevin, just to piss him off. The evening slowed down with a nightcap in front of the news, Katelyn heading to bed early. She’d agreed to take the kids to their daycare in Aaron’s stead so that he could have breakfast with his brother alone.

Aaron was just about to turn in for the night when Andrew’s phone rang. Andrew squinted at the unknown number, mouth turned down: he could remember everyone’s phone numbers, and this was clearly one he didn’t recognise.  

He rose the phone to his ear. The slight frown disappeared and transformed into a blank stare, something far deadlier. Aaron hadn’t seen him wear it since college. 

“When,” Andrew snapped, gripping the phone so hard Aaron thought it would break. The voice continued. “And you only thought to call me now? I’m his next-of-kin.” Aaron froze. 

Eventually, Andrew hung up, holding the phone midair as his eyes glossed over. 

“Andrew?” 

“Neil got in a head-on collision,” he mumbled. 

“Dead?”

“Unstable.” 

“I’ll book you a flight.”

Andrew wasn’t moving. When Aaron saw a flush rise in his cheeks, he realised Andrew wasn’t breathing, either. Shit. Shit. His brother was having a fucking meltdown. Goddammit, next time Aaron saw Neil he was going to strangle him. 

He got off the couch and crouched down in front of Andrew, careful not to touch him. “Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t move. 

“Hey, Andrew.” Aaron stood up a little more so that they were eye level. “Andrew, you need to breathe. Okay? If you’re going to go make sure Neil’s okay, I need you to breathe.” 

Andrew finally looked at him. He was angry. Terrified. Aaron couldn’t really tell: his gaze was like looking into a void, pupils blown wide. 

Calming someone down was a lot simpler when Aaron didn’t know them. This was like walking a tightrope of barbed wire over an alligator-infested pit. 

“Can I have your phone? I’m going to book you a flight. Okay? Nod if you can hear me.”

Andrew nodded but didn’t relinquish the phone. Aaron grit his teeth. 

“Andrew. It’s going to be okay. He’s unstable, but he’ll make it. He’s always made it. He’s impossible to kill, right?” 

“I hate him,” Andrew mumbled. 

“I know. Can I use your phone?” 

Andrew dropped the phone into Aaron’s hand and dropped his head into his hands, utterly still. His breathing went all ragged and choppy. 

There was a springy voice on the other end of the line. “Hello, this is the service desk for Terminal 1 domestic, how can I -?”

“I need a flight for Denver as soon as you can,” Aaron snapped. “It’s an emergency. When’s the next available one? I’m willing to pay whatever’s necessary.” 

“Oh,” the woman sputtered. “Um, there’s a red-eye leaving in an hour, but there’s only first-class left - ”

“That’s fine. Please book it for Andrew Minyard. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

“Sir, I really can’t - wait, Andrew Minyard? Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” 

“Alright,” she allowed. “Okay. If you can make it to this desk in 25 minutes, I’ll have a seat for you, Mr Minyard.”

Aaron hung up. “Andrew, we need to go.” 

Andrew’s breathing sped up, fingers digging into his hair and pulling hard enough to rip it out. Aaron’s chest began to ache, watching as the sleeves of his shirt fell down to reveal the black armbands, still everpresent after all these years. 

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “Are you with me, Andrew?”

Andrew glanced up slightly, glaring at Aaron’s collarbone. 

“All you need to do is breathe. Neil is okay. He’s going to be okay. You’ll see him soon, alright?” 

Aaron tapped his hand gently on his knee, palm down for four counts, then holding his fist closed for eight counts, then palm up for four counts. Andrew slowly began to breathe in time with his hand, chest heaving as he inhaled through his teeth. 

It took a while, but Aaron watched him slowly come back to his senses. His hands slipped over his eyes once his breathing was steady, kneading at his temples. 

“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Aaron said. 

“Okay,” Andrew rasped. 

*

“Babe,” Katelyn whispered. “Your phone is going off.”  

Aaron blinked his eyes open, glaring at the ceiling. Why’d he been up so late? 

Oh. Right. 

He blindly reached out for his phone. 

Most of it was the Foxes going mad, but there in the midst of chaos, was Andrew’s number. 

he’s going to be ok. thank you.

Aaron sighed, oddly relieved. He didn’t like Neil Josten one bit, but it would’ve been a slight hiccup if he’d died. 

good, he said, texting blindly without his glasses. don’t mention it.

trust me, his brother texted back. I won’t.

*

nawww twinyards!

[play-exy-be-sexy]

Andreil and Camping

Andrew hates the outdoors and anything involved with it.

Camping? No.

Fishing? Boringgg.

Hiking? Bugs.

Barbecues? No.

Swimming? Not indoor? Nope.

Bonfires? A little more tolerable but still no.

What makes it even worse though is Neil lovessss the outdoors.

Especially camping.

But not like camper in a KOA or whatever.

Overnight backpacking into the mountains camping.

Andrew doesn’t come with him on these trips though. Usually he goes with the upper classmen or Nicky(who did a lot of backpacking with Erik in Germany)

Andreil does go camping though, because sometimes(rarely) Neil wins and they end up going to the lake on a random free weekend.

Usually they go to an actual camp ground and Andrew brings the huge three room tent he bought before the first time they went.

It takes like three hours to set up and usually Andrew just sits and watches Neil struggle.

But when its done it looks amazing and all the other campers always comment on how big and impressive it is.

The benefits of being pro athletes: big $400 tents.

Anyway they usually go just for the weekend.

Always somewhere kind of close to a lake because Neil LOVES the water.

Sometimes they just lounge by the lake all day and Andrew watches Neil swim and try to do fancy tricks off the dock.

On occasion though they will rent kayaks and just spend the day rowing around the lake.

They will kayak to the other side and maybe go on a little hike or have a picnic.

He will never admit it but Andrew really enjoys kayaking.

It’s right up his alley and he loves the way Neils eyes always end up looking at Andrews biceps when he’s rowing.

Sometimes they race across the lake.

Andrew wins obviously.

Neil always insists they do camping right so dinners are hot dogs and s’mores.

Andrew can eat like six s’mores without getting sick.

Neil hates marshmallows and just eats the graham crackers.

While their tent is very big they always end up snuggled into the same sleeping bag because why not.

Andrew bought one of the two people ones after the first trip.

Andrew gets cold very easily so they are always just buried in tons of blankets.

While their tent may be just a tad too big, they both love it because neither of them necessarily like small spaces and like having the option of spacing out if needed.

Plus it’s a great spot to make out.

And trust me there is a lot of that on their camping trips.

Like a lot.

The tents not see through thankfully.

The only thing Neil and Andrew hate about the public campgrounds is they are never really by themselves.

They constantly have people walking up to their area or at the beach.

And while Neil never hates talking to fans it’s hard to enjoy time with Andrew like he’s like to when everyone’s watching them.

It’s already awkward enough having to explain why Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten are together. Of all the foxes to be together they are the least likely.

After a few too many close calls, they decide to start renting whole areas of the campground.

Again the benefits of making seven digits a year.

Or they just going to a secluded area like five minutes away from the designated camp areas. So it’s logged and not completely wild.

Also sometimes if they have a game on the coast they will just stay an extra day and camp on the beach. Occasionally with the foxes but usually just them.

These are Andrews favorite trips because there aren’t as many people or bugs and they are usually semi close to a hotel if needed.

Plus he loves the ocean.

So while Andrew originally hates camping the more and more Neil forces him to go he finds things to enjoy. Like kayaking or s’mores or how Neil is so happy and in his element outdoors.

When they both retire from pros they buy an RV(a big one mind you. Andrew made sure of that)and for like a year they just travel the country staying at campgrounds and the beach.

It’s one of the first times Andrew is genuinely happy for more then a few minutes.

Also sometimes the other foxes come on their camping adventures but that’s for a whole different post.

[ask-elland-n-will]

TW: mildly suggestive touch

Practically lying on the bench now with Montrose being dragged on top of him in their tickle play, Will registers Allegra only after hearing something being slammed on the table. It seems to have put an end to Andrew's brutal attack on Will's dignity so the prefect can finally stop gasping for air in between fits of laughter.

He peeks briefly above the table at Allegra not so subtly judging him, and sticks his tongue out at her, scrunching his nose adorably, still giggling rather uncontrollably to form any coherent statements in his defense. He knows that she is not fond of his choice this time around but he hopes that given time she'll at least learn to tolerate Montrose. At the very least Andrew hasn't pushed him away just yet so maybe there is hope for Will there. Now, if her concern is with their public tickling indecency… Will has to agree there, he doesn't want people around to feel uncomfortable either. Not his fault Andrew decided to stun William with that kiss and then proceeded to get his hands all over the prefect while the latter was distracted.

The little snake whines in protest as Andrew slightly untangles himself from Will. If he is trying to look at least somewhat respectable to reply to the dare Allegra so fiercely laid on the table, then Will is not sure that Andrew is succeeding. After all, they are still holding onto each other in a way. Or is he trying to irritate Allegra even further? Will frowns at that thought.

Allegra? Outdrinking Monty? After a few shots she has downed already? What is she playing at? Will is aware of how Allegra is when she's drinking and there is no way she actually plans on winning. The sly fox gives his hunter a wink in silent response to Andrew's look as if saying "You got this~" It is kind of sweet, really, Andrew being so sure he'd win. Nobody should underestimate Will's best snake!

At the very least from where he is lying on the bench, Allegra cannot see his winking act of betrayal. But who would Will be if he believed that his bestie offered to play a game she could not win? Something else is happening behind the scenes. Getting more wine from Sebastian can wait.

While Andrew and Allegra are exchanging pleasantries and shots, Will grabs Andrew's cloak, fully intending to use it to sit up. He does succeed, with some effort, Monty's cloak being twisted in a way from how hard Will was tugging at it. His head spinning a little, Will leans onto Andrew's shoulder once again, eyeing his friends lazily, a cheeky smile not leaving his lips.

And then he notices the sign: Allegra's taps! If William were in his fox form, his ears would've been up in an instant. Ever since the two were kids, going to all those gatherings that nobles are required to go to, Allegra and Will formed a life-long allegiance. What are the bored kids to do? Lurking around, trying to figure out how the adult world works: who says what to who, how do ladies and gentlemen interact, what they can get away with and what should be avoided lest their fun is to come to an end. Over the years they themselves joined the fancy noble games, following the etiquette while finding it absolutely ridiculous behind the closed doors. This is also when they came up with a series of secret signs to help each other navigate the situations they find themselves in without letting the people around them know of their plans. Tapping on the lips? Something interesting is about to happen. There is a gradation to it, too, consisting of four stages ranging from "pay attention" to "the level of this mission is so sick that we will be talking about it for years."

Three taps in this situation are rather obvious: Montrose, Allegra, the challenge? This will be so good that Will is not even allowed to warn Monty: he knows Allegra wouldn't do anything that would upset her little snake, so it might be for his benefit as well. Will giggles excitedly, his eyes on Montrose as the challenge continues.

"My dear Allegra, you know me, I am a grrrrreat babysitter! Read books about it, too!" He almost adds "And Monty would be an adorable baby to take care of" but stops himself in time. They have been getting along swimmingly, as Allegra has put it, and Will doesn't want to accidentally hurt Andrew's pride. There is still so much he doesn't know about the Ravenclaw. However, after tonight there is a chance that Will's words would be the least embarrassing thing to have happened.

At Andrew's comment about "the very best of friends" Will snickers into his shoulder and moves his hand to Monty's thigh, squeezing it a little in reassurance and leaving it there, rubbing soft circles with his thumb, trying to do all that in a way that Allegra does not notice. He is aware that he is pretty much embracing Andrew at this point but the man is just too comfortable to be snuggled up against. How many shots did he have, together with that double and a few more shots? This should be enough to have a good time already, right? It does depend on what it is they are drinking.

After Andrew leans into him in a fit of laughter, delighting Will just so, the snake's heart skipping a beat at the sudden contact and the prefect squeezing Monty's thigh involuntarily, the little fox gets curious himself. Is there a bit of gigglewater in that bottle? Is the bottle charmed to change the beverage from time to time? Is it a potion of sorts disguised as alcohol? Allegra is sitting there rather undisturbed and Will's eyebrows arch in surprise. She is alright but Andrew is being the most unusual sort of Andrew right now! They've had like what… One shot at least before this challenge, and then one more, a double, at least three more shots, and another… Will always keeps track of what he is drinking and in what amounts, his limit being at the very strict line: there is no way he can allow himself to be sick in the morning. But even if Andrew is much bigger than William, the wizard can't possibly drink as much as he did and not feel it the next day.

The next time Andrew pours himself a drink, Will intercepts the glass with his nimble seeker fingers before it makes it to Andrew's lips. The prefect leans up into Andrew's ear to whisper "Monty, darling, allow me to take this" loud enough for the Ravenclaw to hear over the obscenely unhinged music. The musicians really ramped up the pace, a lute and a fiddle overshadowing all the other instruments by a long shot. Will giggles at the pun in his head but has more pressing matters to attend to first.

"I think you need a break, maybe something to eat? I am sure as soon as you get up you'll feel the ramifications," he loudly addresses both of them.

The prefect takes the glass out of Andrew's hand making sure that his fingers linger on the other's, murmuring something unintelligible into his ear. He then leans closer to the table, eyeing the drink curiously.

"Allegra, I hope you don't mind if I give it a try as well," he suddenly says, giggling, and downs the content of the glass in one go.

Uh-oh, this is not at all how he imagined it would go. Will starts coughing uncontrollably, having a hard time breathing, holding onto his chest and folding over the table a little, his hand most likely squeezing Andrew's thigh almost painfully. Fighting for air, the Slytherin tries to give Allegra an incredulous look but the tears in his eyes are clouding his vision. He opens his mouth and closes it. Then does it again. The drink burned his mouth and his throat, and not in the pleasing way Firewhisky does it. How much alcohol is in this thing?!

"Merlin's balls, you two are NUTS!" he barely gets out, another cough interrupting him. "It feels like three shots in one, and you two had around seven of those, so that's like… 21 shots! No, no, nope, nopedy nope." He tries to get up but fails, falling backwards onto Monty instead. "As a prefect, I'm telling you that you've certainly had enough. Both of you won! Go get some water!"

@ask-wren-zhang @ask-andrew-montrosee @adallegra @ask-sebastian @theodoradevlin

A Badger, a Snake, and an Eagle Walk Into a Bar

Theo was in the business of chaos this weekend, rather more so than usual. After all, when she was in such colorful company ...how would that not be the case?

She finds @adallegra and @ask-wren-zhang waiting for her by the North Exit, deciding to not announce herself but tackle them both from behind.

"Evening, duckies. Shall we?"

She loops her arms in both of theirs, linking them all with a tug towards Hogsmeade. The night air is cool and clear, much unlike their intentions for the weekend. She knew they had all been entirely too cooped up in the castle recently, and her professional opinion was that letting a little steam out seemed to be the best remedy.

Walking into the fine establishment of the Three Broomsticks was always like walking into a warm hug that may end up setting you on your behind by the end of the night, but was a welcome sight all the same.

The fire was roaring, there was a band already playing in the corner, and it looked like Sirona was behind the bar for the time being. The night was off to a good start with the conversations of various witches and wizards already starting to pick up in a cheery buzz.

Theo looks to Allegra and Wren, with one simple declaration to start.

"First round's on me!"

[kevindayscrown]

Why Kevin Day is the most in-depth character in the All For the Game series

An essay by a Kevin stan, so you know it's at least 70% biased

Hello, hello everyone, welcome to another session of me, brainwashing you about the amazingness of Kevin Day. In this short essay, I'll discuss how our number Queen asshole striker is, in fact, not just a whiney bitch, but one of the most key characters in the AFTG series. I'll also discuss how Nora pretty much did him dirty and how much I appreciate the fandom for doing him better.

I've decided that it will be much easier to take things chronologically, so I can delve deeper into what makes Kevin the character whose stans won't shut up about.

Unlike the rest of the characters in the series, Kevin started off in a somewhat stable family condition. He was brought up by his mother, Kayleigh, but still probably had to live with the title 'Son of Exy' from the moment he was born. We've all witnessed what being on the spotlight from a young age has done to child stars. Kevin, upon growing up, would start feeling the burden of a whole legacy created by his mother. Because Exy, despite being a bastard sport, has a large fanbase around the US, and possibly further - since it's mentioned that it's also an Olympic sport.

It wouldn't be a surprise that Kevin more than likely looked up to his mother and wanted to play Exy for her. Suddenly though, Keyleigh died in a car accident (if it was even a car accident; knowing the Moriyamas, it could had been done on purpose) and left Kevin in the care of Tetsuji Moriyama, the head of one of the yakuza's branches, and his now adoptive brother Riko.

Let's be honest, both of them were just kids. They only had each other, so it was really easy to get attached. Kevin has lost his mother at this point and Tetsuji is not exactly a proper father figure, so Kevin had to cling on Riko. Despite us seeing him in the main timeline being an asshole who snaps at everyone, his willingness to submit into the position of 'number 2' even if he's better than Riko, shows how much he depends emotionally on people. Riko and Kevin had to meet certain expectations, had fans from a very young age, and Neil even mentions that he literally witnessed Kevin grow up from media outlets and coverages. Kevin had to stick close to the only other person who's going through the same thing.

As a result, it was easy for Kevin to focus on what he's taught to believe; he should aim for the stars, he should be good, great, but never the best. Because Riko is the best. Kevin accepts that.

I hate how people call him a spineless coward just because someone mentions it once in the book. Kevin isn't like Neil. Neil was given a chance to escape. Kevin could never escape Evermore. Even if he did consider it his home, he was still abused on a daily basis. Riko mentions in Raven King, when he's about to torture Neil, that Neil is basically in the same position as Kevin once had been:

People forget that, Kevin probably had to live through what Neil did ever since Riko turned into his fucked up self. Which literally means years of physical and mental abuse, with no hope of escape but the bright future he had ahead of him. So what did Kevin do? He focused on playing.

Stop making Kevin all about being an Exy freak or an alcoholic. Kevin was so obsessed with Exy because it's the only thing he has ever known. He probably couldn't even drink before he escaped Evermore.

Imagine being torn between loving and clinging on the boy you once called brother because it's the only family you've known, and being hurt by him, again and again at a later age, having him shatter all you think you are good at. Riko didn't just break Kevin's hand. He almost took away from him all he thought he had left, and possibly the only way Kevin had of feeling close to his mother.

Kevin loses all he's ever known, and he blames himself for it at first because he thinks it's his fault that he even dared to show he could be better than Riko. He's in pieces and the only thing he does is to cling yet on another person. Aka Andrew. And somehow like this, we come back to the point about Kevin not only being far from an emotionless asshole, but actually being the most emotionally attached character in the series.

Entering the timeline of the books, Kevin appears as the epitome of a narcissistic asshole. It's fair for someone (as a reader) to not like him at first, when we don't know all that much about him. But as the story unravels, a clear distinction is made:

Kevin is not a narcissist. He's egocentric.

Kevin knows and truly believes he's the center of attention. Because, admittedly, he is. The books could had easily had Kevin as the protagonist. Like mentioned before, being raised on the spotlight, has had a tremendous impact on how he sees himself. He's obsessed with what image he's presenting to the public. I don't think he said 'being heterosexual is easier' without a reason. Kevin has led a life full of suppression. He can flash a 'press smile' for the cameras, he can snap and be cold at the Foxes, when in reality, he's suffering from severe PTSD, with panic attacks that he's handling in the worst way possible:

Alcohol. Why? Because the Foxes are all assholes and hypocrites. Don't get me wrong, I love them. But the fact that they just ignored Kevin everytime he had a panic attack and simply thrusted a bottle of vodka his way and called it a day? Inexcusable. Kevin needed a lot more than that.

Oh jeez, I wonder why he didn't tell Wymack he was his father all along.

If I see another person saying that Kevin was an ass for not telling Wymack straight up, I might slap a bitch. Do you think that Kevin would have been able to handle another rejection, another loss of a parental figure? All he did, was in self defense. Yes, it was selfish, but it was probably the only time in his life he could really make a choice on his own.

But you know what? Kevin overcame all this. Maybe and most probably not completely, he will never be able to wash away some stains, but he became more confident and emotionally independent. He detached himself both from Riko and from Andrew, and became the best striker in the history of Exy.

One of the reasons why I love Neil and Kevin - especially Kevin - is because their healing journeys are more fleshed out than Andrew's. But in this case, Kevin's was not really given the attention it deserved, it happened on the side lines and he had to do it alone. Neil had the foxes, had Wymack and Andrew. Kevin had no one, because the foxes, despite being assholes themselves, kept dismissing him and his problems. I really do believe that, in the first drafts when Kandreil was canon, Nora had potentially explored his character more. I wish we had gotten that instead of this sloppy attempt to squeeze in his ark along with Neil's.

I'll end this with some highlights that also showcase how badass Kevin is. He's a mess, but he does grow some spine when he finally becomes his own person:

Oof, if you actually read through this, thank you for tolerating my probably incoherent thoughts. I actually barely scratched the surface of my thoughts on Kevin's character but for now, this will do.

[whitehotharlots]

Previewing the 2024 Democrat Primary

Within a couple weeks of his being sworn in, just about every person on earth will wish Joe Biden was no longer president. Sure, the few surviving John B. Anderson voters will be thrilled to see 4 years of crushing austerity and half-assed attempts at Keynesian stimulus. But most people will begin dreaming about a brighter future.

Good news! The 2024 Democratic primary field is going to contain dozens of options. Bad news! They are all going to be disgusting piles of shit. 

The “top tier”

While it’s too early to do any handicapping, these are the candidates the media will treat as having the most realistic chances of securing the nomination. 

Kamala Harris

Kamala did not win a single primary delegate in 2020. This is because she dropped out before the first primary, and that was because no one likes her. She has no base beyond a few thousand of twitter’s most violent psychos. Her disingenuousness approaches John Edwards levels: any halfway incredulous person can see immediately beyond her bullshit. She has no principles whatsoever, and while that may be par for the course for Democrats, she lacks even the basic politician’s ability to intuit anything that might, hypothetically, constitute a principle. 

Even better: she is an awful public speaker. She sounds like how a talking dog would speak if he were just caught stealing people food off the kitchen table. She communicates in weird grunts and faux sassy squeaks, which is how she imagines real black women sound like, but something about her is unable to sell the bit. She begins her sentences in halfhearted AAVE, stops and panics halfway through as she realizes that maybe this sounds fake and offensive, and then reminds herself oh wait, no, this is okay since I’m black. This doesn’t happen once or twice per speech. This is how every single sentence sounds. 

Kamala is like Nancy Pelosi in that no sketch show will ever impersonate her correctly, because anything that came close to authenticity would be considered far too cruel. This might benefit her in the primaries, as she exists in the minds of Democrats as someone and something she absolutely is not in reality. Nominating her would be like allowing your child’s imaginary friend to attempt to drive you to the store. 

Andrew Cuomo

Easily one of the 50 worst people alive, Cuomo has a solid chance because Democrats, same as Republicans, are unable to differentiate between electability and self-serving ruthlessness. Cuomo used the deadliest public health crisis in American history as a pretext for cutting Medicaid and firing 5,000 MTA workers, and his approval rating increased. New York Dems are little piggies who love eating shit. If we assume that the political media will continue their habit of refusing to discuss the legislative history of right wing Democrats, Cuomo might well cruise to the nomination and then lose to literally any human being the GOP nominates by an historic margin. 

Joe Biden

The party loves him because he is a right wing racist. “Progressives” tolerate him because black primary voters over 40 supported him, and their opinion is supposedly a magic window into god’s truth. Everyone else can tell he is manifestly senile. I don’t put it above the DNC to pick a candidate who is in horrible health, dying, or even dead--whatever the financial sector wants, they’ll get. But I would be shocked if his approval rating is above 39% by mid-2023, and by that point deep fake technology will be advanced enough they’ll put out a very lifelike video in which the Max Headroom version of Joe explains he’s proud of his accomplishments--that budget’s almost balanced already--but, man, I gotta abd--I gotta abdica--, uhh, I gotta, I, uhh, I gotta move down, man. 

Wild Cards

These candidates would have all have a chance if they ran, but they could all much more easily retire to Little Saint James off of kickbacks they’ve gotten from Citibank and I.G. Farben. 

Rahm Emanuel

Rahm is going to receive some hugely influential post in the Biden administration. Let’s say he becomes Secretary of Education. His signature achievement will be replacing all elementary school teachers with Amazon’s Alexa, which saved the taxpayers so much money we were able to quadruple the number of armed police officers we put into high schools. This will give him several thousand positive profiles on network news programs and the near-universal support of the Silicon Valley vampires who will own 99% of the country by the time Biden’s term ends. They will use their fancy mind control devices to convince geriatic primary voters that Rahm’s the one who will bring Decency back to the white house. His candidacy will be the paragon of wokeness, as expressing concern toward the fact that he covered up the police murder of a black guy will get you called a racist. 

Rahm has a bonus in that Jewish men are now Schrodeniger’s PoC. When they are decent human beings, they are basic, cis white men who are stealing attention from disabled trans candidates of color. When they love austerity and apartheid, they become the most vulnerable people of color on earth and criticizing them in any way is genocide. No one will be able to mention a single thing Rahm has ever done or said without opening themselves to accusations of antisemitism, and that gives him a strong edge against the rest of the field. The good news is that an Emmanuel candidacy would result in over 50% of black voters choosing the GOP candidate--which, I guess that’s not really good but it would certainly be funny. 

Gavin Newsom

Newsom is every bit as feckless as Cuomo, but he doesn’t put off the same “bad guy in an early Steven Segal movie” vibes. He will mention climate change 50 times per speech and no one will bother to mention how he keeps signing fracking contracts even though his state is now on fire 11 months of the year. If anything, this will be spun into an argument about how he’s actually the candidate best suited to handle all the water refugees gathering on the southern border. Look for his plan to curb emissions by 10% by the year 2150 to get high marks from Sierra Club nerds. He’s also a celebate librarian’s idea of what constitutes a handsome man, so he’ll have some support from the type of women who claim to hate all men. 

Larry Summers

I mean, why not? Larry, like most members of the Obama administration, has politics that are eerily similar to those of Jordan Peterson. In normal circumstances, this makes a person a dangerous fascist who should not be platformed. But if that person has a D next to their name this makes them a realistic pragmatist who has what it takes to bring suburban bankers into our tent. If current trends in Woke Phrenology continue apace, Larry’s belief that women are inherently bad at STEM will be liberal orthodoxy by 2023, and his dedication to the Laffer Curve could see him rake in massive donations. Seriously, I’m not kidding: cultural liberalism is now fully dedicated to identity essentialism and balanced budgets. Larry is their ideal candidate. If he were black and/or a woman, I’d put him in the very top tier. 

Jay Inslee

Unlike Newsom, Inslee’s attempt to crown himself the King of Global Warming won’t be immediately derailed, since his state is only on fire because of protestors. This, however, poses a different problem. He’s going to be a good test case for the Democrat’s uneasy peace with the ever increasing share of the electorate who become catatonic upon hearing a pronoun. On the one hand, you need to take their votes for granted. On the other hand, they’re not like black people or regular gays: most voters actively, consciously despise wokies, and associating yourself with them will ruin a campaign even in deep blue areas. There’s still gonna be riots in a year. Biden’s gonna announce the sale of all our nation’s potable water to the good folks at Nestle and some trans freak named Sasha-Malia DeBalzac is going to use that as an opportunity to sell their new pamphlet about how it’s fascist to not burn down small businesses. No matter what Inslee does in response, it’ll end his career. 

AOC

I’m not one of those “AOC is a secret conservative” weirdos, but I am aware enough of basic reality to know she has zero chance of coming close to the nomination. The right and the center both regard her as a literal demon. The party is already blaming her for the fact that a handful of faceless Reagan acolytes failed to flip their suburban districts even though they ran on sensible pragmatic proposals like euthanizing the homeless. The recriminations will only get more unhinged when the Dems eat shit in the 2022 midterms. She will be a Russian, she will be white male, she will be a communist, she will be a homophobe: any insult or conspiracy theory you can name, MSNBC will spend hours discussing. Her house seat challenger will receive a record amount of support from the DNC in 2024 and it’ll be all she can do to remain in congress.

Larry Hogan

Don’t be dissuaded by the fact that he’s a Republican. Larry is the DNC’s ideal candidate: a physically repulsive conservative who owes his entire career to appealing to the most spiteful desires of suburban white people. He’s an open racist in a material sense--if you’re old-school enough to think racism is a matter of beliefs and actions, rather than the presence of cultural signifiers--but his is the beloved “never Trump” style of racism that Dems covet. He’s also a Proven Leader who thinks the role of government should be to finance the construction of investment property and give police the resources they need to run successful drug trafficking operations. Few people embody the Democrat worldview more than Larry. 

The Losers Bracket

These people will have at least a small chance due solely to the fact that the Democrats love losing. They have lost in the past, and in the Democrat Mind that makes them especially qualified.

Joe Kennedy

The man looks like a mushroom-human hybrid from a JRPG. Trump proved that physical hideousness need not doom a presidential bid, but a candidate still needs some kind of charm or oratorical abilities or, god forbid, a decent platform. Joe aggressively lacks all of these things. A vanity campaign would be a good way to raise money and perhaps secure an MSNBC gig, so Joe might still run. 

Mayor Pete 

I am 100% convinced that Pete’s 2020 run was a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. I am also 100% aware that Democrats are dumb enough to enthusiastically support a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. If we have some sort of military or terror disaster between now and 2023 the Dems are sure to want a TROOP, and wait wait wait you’re telling me this one is a gay troop? Holy hell there’s no way that could lose!

Stacy Abrams

Never underestimate the power of white guilt. She lost the gubernatorial race to Gomer Pyle’s grandson, and her spiritual guidance of the Dems saw the party lose black voters in Georgia in 2020. Nonetheless, she is regarded as a magic font of fierceness within the DNC. She might stand a chance if she can establish herself as the most conservative non-white candidate in the field, but there’s going to be stiff competition for that honor.

Elizabeth Warren

Liz is probably angry that the party so shamelessly sold her out even after she was a good little girl and sabatoged Bernie’s campaign for them--yet another example of high ranking US government officials reneging on their promises to the Native American community. Smdh. The fact that this woman hasn’t been bankrupted a dozen times over by various Wallet Inspectors genuinely astounds me. So Liz is probably going to run again, and her campaign will be even sadder the second time around. 

It might surprise you to hear this if you don’t work at a college or NGO, but Liz diehards actually do exist. She’ll get even less support this time because there will be no viable leftist in the field for her to spoil, but she’ll still hang in long enough to make sure the very worst possible candidate beats out the second worst possible candidate. Maybe she’ll fabricate a rape accusation against Sherrod Brown. Maybe she’ll spend her entire allotted debate time doing a land acknowledgment. With Liz, anything is possible--so long as it ends in failure. 

Amy Klobuchar 

Amy was the most bloodthirsty of the 2020 also rans. She will double down on the unpopular failures of the Biden administration, explaining that if you weren’t such a selfish idiot you’d love the higher social security retirement age and oh my god are so such a moron you think you shouldn’t go bankrupt to get a COVID vaccine? There’s a non-unsubstantial segment of the Democratic base that’s self-hating enough to find this appealing, but it won’t be enough to make her viable. 

Martha Coakley

She lost Ted Kennedy’s senate seat to a retarded man who was pretending to be even more retarded than he actually was. Then she lost a gubernatorial race to a guy who openly promised Massachusetts voters that he would punish them for electing him. Her record of failure is unparalleled, making her perhaps the ideal Democrat standard bearer for the twenty twenties. 

[mermaidsirennikita]

I didn’t know about Diana’s bulimia and suicide attempts until watching the doc on Netflix yesterday and I really can’t imagine how William and Harry even tolerate any of the Windsors.

Tbh, I don’t get the sense that Harry DOES anymore lol.  And now I’m going to indulge myself and do a whole rundown lol.

Here’s what I know about Harry’s relationship to the Windsors, based on various bits of gossip picked up over many years of royal-watching (as a disclaimer): Harry was once extremely close to his brother William to a codependent degree.  This was probably the kind of “glue” that kept him close to the rest of the family as he grew up and dealt with various mental health struggles and what was clearly, from his military service years onwards, a burgeoning desire to “break free”.  This closeness extended to Kate, who William has obviously been with for many years, close to two decades counting their dating era.  These three were kind of packaged as a trio until Harry got married, and he was never REALLY an independent royal spokesperson for anything beyond military causes.

Fast forward to Meghan entering the picture.  Harry gets serious about Meghan very quickly, William expresses concern that Harry moved that quickly because William is one of THOSE older siblings who assumes that everyone has to do everything the same way.  Harry is super hurt by this as he and William have previously had each other’s backs over basically everything, including the infamous Harry Takes Las Vegas scandal, and a wedge is driven between them.  Rumor has it that this wedge actually deepens because.... William cheats on Kate.  Which Harry apparently was already pissed about because he really did love Kate as a sister + fears of history repeats with a future Prince of Wales, but THEN as the media already starts attacking Meghan, the Cambridge camp ALLEGEDLY begins planting fake stories about Meghan and exaggerating true-ish stories (like... Harry throwing a fit about wanting Meghan to get what she wants for their wedding turns into Meghan pitching a fit about a tiara, for example) in order to distract from the TRUE scandal, which is William cheating on Kate with a mutual friend.  Meghan is pregnant and very emotionally stressed already right now due to the media issues and her father’s side of the family being garbage.  So Harry understandably ices William out for this, and they’ve never been the same since.

Regarding his father, Harry and William have apparently always run hot and cold towards Charles?  Like they’ll be super close at times (Harry obviously was super grateful to Charles for walking Meghan down the aisle, which was a nice gesture but APPARENTLY HOLLOW BIG SHOCK CHARLES) and then other times it’s hard for the younger princes to be convinced to do anything with the Prince of Wales.  I imagine this wouldn’t be as much of an issue if Charles wasn’t married to Camilla, tbh.  The big family photo that was taken with William and Harry and their wives and William’s kids and Charles and Camilla was apparently really hard to coordinate because both Harry and William didn’t really wanna show up lol.  I’ve heard little concrete about Charles’s feelings re: Harry breaking free, but he has apparently tried to be Mr. Big Man by forcing the brothers to talk, by coordinating conversations between Harry and the Queen about all of this, etc.  Charles wanted to par down the senior royal circle anyway when he became king--hence Andrew’s family getting quietly put in the shadows.  (Charles knew the Andrew issue was going to be A Bigger Deal In The Future before anyone else in the family, apparently.). But I don’t know that Harry’s exit was.... how he wanted that go down.  He also apparently clashes with William a lot because both of them want to swing their dicks around be the One True Heir.  Charles is never going to step down, he’s dying to be in charge, but William knows that he’s much more popular than Charles and will be following him up anyway.  Kind of a similar dynamic to the queen and Charles, but flipped in that the son has much more popularity than the parent.

The Queen has always favored Harry, and... though she’s pissed about how the exit was handled, I’ve always read shit that this hasn’t...?  Really?  Changed?  The Queen loves a rake, is the thing.  Andrew was her favorite child and probably still is, Harry was and probably still is deep down her favorite grandchild.  She adores a military man who gets into a bit of trouble and is rascally.  So I don’t think that the personal relationship with them is actually as bad as Harry’s relationship with Charles is--which, bad luck for him, because Charles is running the show on a practical level more than the queen is right now. 

William is a pod person.  This is an exaggeration lol BUT.  Diana always said that William was an emotional individual and the rumor has always been that he’s very much a “burn me once and you’re dead to me” type.  Which is ironically what Diana was.  William hates the press; William hates the idea of Harry and Meghan coming off as more glam and charismatic than himself and Kate, even though that’s naturally going to be a perception to some when William and Kate don’t do as much press and Kate is a naturally shy person compared to the more outgoing and new age Meghan; and William has been heavily conditioned to be the heir and has evidently bought into all of that bullshit hook, line, and sinker.

And tbh, that’s not surprising.  The heir is always the most “programmed” one.  It might have been different had Diana lived and been able to continue keeping William a bit more normalized?  He’s certainly not as fucking weird as Charles was at his age, to be fair.  But I think that Harry had the freedom to do like, years of therapy and have his big come to Jesus moment about how much of this is just BULLSHIT in a way that William was probably a bit more prohibited from doing?  It’s clear that William buys into this idea of a contract between himself and the public, where he and his act a certain way and in exchange he gets this bullshit title and he “earns” his riches and privilege by acting the prince.  Whereas Harry seems to have taken a very “Diana post-divorce” approach.  He clearly still values his privilege, but less so the titles and notoriety except in the sense that he can use them to accomplish his humanitarian work AND maintain that privilege.  Like, Harry’s always going to be Prince Harry even if he isn’t formally Prince Harry, so I don’t begrudge him for capitalizing on that and making some $$$ off of what he was born into.  Because he’s making money that way, and through Netflix deals, through the natural familial wealth that Charles CAN revoke whenever he wishes but apparently hasn’t, the money that Harry was left by Diana, etc., he is not obligated to have the same blind familial loyalty that William has.  Which I’m sure has a lot to do with his break from the family. If you stay in, you’re basically making a deal with them and the public so that you can keep doing the smile and wave act to keep the lights on.

(And I will note, as someone who will forthrightly admit to preferring the Sussexes to the Cambridges--for years, Kate was referred to as Duchess Do-Little by the press, and William got some of that flack too.  They do what they’ve got to do to keep those lights on and only since they started that little war with the Sussexes have I noticed a more concentrated attempt to win over the people.  Because they basically got public love through popping out babies.  Meghan notably did a fuckton more engagements before she started to recede from public life than Kate did in the same amount of time.)

I really do recommend the You’re Wrong About podcast again for their 5-part Diana series; the episode about her theoretical plans for life after her divorce (which sadly only lasted about a year) draws a strong contrast to what Harry and Meghan have been doing, and sheds a bit of light on what I think his feelings towards the family probably are.

[diazpoems]

Me watching Riverdale, Episode 3:

SHUT UP ALICE

Also I’m late but can you shut the fuck up sheriff whatever-the-fuck

YES FINALLY COME FORWARD WITH IT ARCHIE PLEASE, THANK YOU SO MUCH

never fucking mind.

Really. Vegas. What the fuck. She deserves prison.

Oh Veronica’s date is cute

Ooh I like Jug’s sweater

Betty’s “I hope you’ll come write for the gold and blue :D” is cute

Betty and Jughead’s friendship 🥺

Y’all that is a public space-

SHUT UP TEACHER LADY. YOU DESERVE TO BE EXPOSED

Don’t protect her Archie

Oh god I hate mean girls, like get a life please I’m begging

VICTORIA SAYS NO TO SLUT SHAMING

ummmmm Victoria not that he doesn’t deserve it but you aren’t really holding up your nice girl persona thing

Betty covering her eyes lmao

FUCK YOU CHUCK

is that his name??

Jughead’s very pretty. Like dark hair and light skin and grey-blue eyes is a very attractive combination

I think I stan Josie

“I’m grounded” what she’s thinking: the hell you are, which you aren’t

I sorta like V’s mom, idk, I need to get more of a feel for her. She’s pretty engaging with her daughter

Oh hey the Sierra Burgess actress

SHUT THE FUCK UP CHERYL THIS SHIT IS TRAUMATIZING

Boys will be boys is the oldest fucking excuse in the book and I will not tolerate it.

YES VERONICA RAISE UP YOUR SISTERS

Forget everything else, the biggest indication that Jughead is not straight whether aroace or if that’s confined to the comics gay or bi or whatever is that this bitch cannot sit right

Hmm the discussion with Josie and The Pussycats is nice. It’s not letting Archie off the hook. “No, you don’t get it.” And him conceding that she’s right

Oh uh she’s got long legs

I’m sorry Cheryl but you can’t let your brother off the hook for this hun

Come on Cheryl please

Yes I am unironically falling for Cheryl Blossom, yes I recognize that I have issues

DAMN HER VOICE

awww Archie looks super happy when he’s writing with them :)

Fuck Betty’s mom all my homies hate Betty’s mom

Her mom seriously gives me gaslighting, emotionally abusive vibes.

Let him do it Archie’s dad

Love Archie calling out his dad’s weird masculinity bullshit that allows football to be prioritized

Oh uhhhh

I’m gay

Why wouldn’t I be surprised if Betty’s mom sent hate mail to the mayor

OOOOH DAMN SHE FUCKED HER UP

oh she’s brushing her hair behind her ears 🥺 how fucking quaint

Hiding in secluded spots while people watching—A very gay sport, Archie and Jug.

I hate to agree with the teacher but he does have talent. Stop it, Mr. Andrews. Let your kid live. It is not your job to ensure a life career for him. It’s hard to imagine him failing, but stop. Just stop

I hate alpha bitch moms who aren’t direct. If you’re going to be a bitch, be direct, otherwise you’re just a spineless coward. I’d respect you more if you were upfront with your fuckery.

Oh damn oh damn Betty’s kinda really sorta making me gay

Like the heel while she pushes him down and like um I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me

Betty dial it back, I know it’s horrible, I do, but stop before you do something you regret

Oh hey, Archie’s dad is coming around

NOOOOOO SHUT UP DO NOT LIKE MS GRUNDY

bye bye chuck

That’s it Cheryl. You’re on the right track

No, no, Archie, no. Please please please.

Ohhh he saw her car. It’s all coming together.

[andrea-lyn]

If there's still room on your birthday prompts list, I would love a continuation of your fake investigation marriage, or something more with Michael, Alex, and Hope from the unexpected pregnancy fic?

There is ALWAYS room, and thank you for giving me an excuse to write more about the little seahorse.

**

“Mr. Guerin, we need you to come down to the school. There’s been an incident.”

That’s the voicemail on Alex’s phone. He has to excuse himself from the lecture that he’s teaching at the community college to go to Roswell Elementary, dreading whatever trouble that Hope’s managed to find herself in. She’s typically such a good child, but every once in a while, her genius intellect gets her in trouble for asking the wrong questions or trying to learn something new ahead of the class.

His precious six-year-old seahorse genius.

“Michael,” Alex says when he gets Michael’s voicemail again. “When you get this, meet me at the school,” he says, parking his car. He disconnects his phone from the Bluetooth so he can hurry inside, hoping that whatever happened isn’t serious.

(And he’s really hoping that Hope isn’t using her alien powers in public, because he’s not ready for the mindwipes that Isobel will have to perform if that’s the case)

“The principal left a message and she said there’s been an…”

Alex trails off.

He hangs up his phone, now understanding completely why it is that Michael’s not picking up. The principal stands, giving a relieved sigh when she sees him. “Mr. Guerin, thank you for coming,” she says, and beckons him into the office. On the bench outside it sits his darling husband and his precious daughter, both hanging their heads like the guilty parties that they are.

“Really?” he hisses at Michael. He turns to give Hope a more reassuring smile, bending in front of her without squatting so his knees won’t ache. “Hey sweetheart, do you want to tell me what happened before we go in there?”

Hope glances up at Michael, pushing back her dark curls from her face. “Should I?”

“He’s gonna find out, Daddy’s good at that,” Michael says wryly.

Hope still looks uncertain and a touch wary. It’s like they have their own little Fight Club, and given that Michael has a cut on his lip, Alex is starting to worry that maybe he’s not that far off from the truth. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, baby,” Alex assures, tucking a stray curly hair behind her ear.

He’ll find out anyway. That’s why they’re here, aren’t they?

“He got in a big fight with Annie’s Mom.”

Alex gives Michael a confused look, but Michael shrugs, wearing his ‘it’s not my fault’ expression (which historically means that he’s at fault somehow). The one relief here is that he’s pretty sure that Hope isn’t the one in the fight, which means there’s a chance for his daughter yet. “What kind of fight?”

“Mr. Guerin,” the principal beckons. “Inside, please. And bring your husband.”

Alex nods, leaning down to press a kiss to Hope’s head. “Be good and stay here, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she agrees, kicking her legs out.

Michael looks resigned and Alex gives him a nudge into the room, trying not to get angry with him in front of the principal, but he’s fairly sure that the sharp look he’s giving him is plenty explanatory as to how upset Alex is about this situation. He settles in one of the parents’ chairs beside Michael, but as the seconds go by, he’s beginning to get a sneaking suspicion that something’s off, here.

“What did my husband do?” Alex asks calmly, noticing that there isn’t anyone else in the room. He has a bad feeling that he’s not going to like the explanation, and not because he thinks Michael did something wrong.

“Michael was picking up Hope today when he got in an altercation with another mother.”

Michael’s sitting perfectly calm as she speaks, hands in his lap. Alex recognizes it for what it is – he’s trying to keep his anger subdued and that means he can’t say anything because he risks a complete blow-up if he does.

“Did Michael instigate it?”

The principal pauses. “No, but unfortunately the complaint came from Mrs. Sloane.”

Victoria Sloane, who went to school with them. She’s young enough, and her precious little Annie is one of Hope’s best friends, which is why they tolerate her, even though Victoria had been one of the girls who’d been so quick back in the day to join in on teasing Alex for being gay, and Michael for being homeless.

Alex refrains from spitting out profanities, but he already knows Hope is getting a gold star tonight and Michael is getting something else.

“And what did Victoria have to complain about?”

“Hope calls Michael ‘Mommy’.”

“And?” Michael finally pipes up, snapping, like his patience has finally had enough. “What, is my kid not allowed to call me what she wants?”

The principal hesitates, but that’s enough for Alex.

“Why is it wrong that our daughter calls Michael that?” he asks, his voice icy. Instantly, he knows that no one in the Guerin household is in trouble. The only person that Alex is truly upset with right now is pretty little popular Vicky. “It’s our personal business and people have nicknames all the time. Hope has decided that she wants to call Michael ‘Mommy’ and that I’m Daddy.” Alex tips his head to the side. “Isn’t that even closer to the heteronormative bullshit you people like to sling at us?”

“Alex,” Michael murmurs, not a warning to stop, but a reminder.

“Sorry,” Alex says, insincerely, “I’ll deal with this with Victoria,” he guarantees. “Are we in trouble?”

“Ms. Sloane was the one who smacked Mr. Guerin in the face with her handbag, but…”

Alex lets out a derisive laugh. “We’re sitting in your office because my daughter loves her mother, and my husband got assaulted.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Let’s go, Michael.”

“Mr. Guerin, I…”

Alex is already on his feet. “We’re not suing,” he says, because he knows this is probably the real concern. “We just want to put this behind us.” It’s a complete lie, but he wants to get out of there before he gets a split lip from defending his family from this bullshit. The principal nods, meekly, and lets them go.

He makes a mental note to start looking into other schools so they don’t have to deal with this anymore.

Outside, Alex holds Michael by the arm and tenderly slides his thumb over Michael’s split lip. “What happened?” he asks quietly, looking at Hope as she bounces off towards Michael’s truck. They can’t dawdle long, but he wants to take a moment to make sure Michael’s genuinely fine.

“Picky Vicky being a bitch,” Michael says with a shrug. “She heard Hope calling me Mommy, got all persnickety about it, made a few disparaging comments to her clique. I asked her what the fuck her problem was and she whirled on me, caught me in the lip with the bag. I was mid-rant and bleeding down my chin when they pulled us apart and called you.”

“But you’re fine?”

“My dashing husband came to our rescue and defended us,” Michael says, flipping his keys around his finger. “I’m more than fine. Hope’s fine, she doesn’t even know anything’s really wrong,” he promises. “We’re all fine.”

Alex will be too, as soon as he does some research.

The next morning, Alex insists on dropping off Hope at school, kissing Michael’s shoulder and insisting he stay in bed.

“Are you sure?” Michael asks warily. “Isn’t this letting her win?”

Alex shakes his head very calmly. “Stay in bed, dear.” It’s the tone that brooks no argument, because he already knows what’s going to happen. Michael gives him a sleepy smile as he waves him off, definitely aware of what’s going to happen. Alex takes the truck and parks to send Hope off at the drop-off, joining the crowd of parents seeing their kids off for another day of school.

“Hi Annie!” Hope says breathlessly. “Bye Daddy!”

“Bye sweetheart,” Alex says, waving as she runs off.

He’s so relieved to see his baby girl so happy and ready to run off and enjoy herself, as if nothing from yesterday has made her think twice about her friendship with Annie. It’s sweet and hopeful and trusting, and Alex wants to fight to make sure she never loses that love of the world and that belief in people.

“Victoria,” Alex says calmly, once Annie and Hope have sprinted off. Alex watches as his daughter’s honey curls fall out of the braid he’d put them in, but he smiles for the way she squeals with delight as they hit her cheeks when she runs.

They’re out of earshot.

It’s perfect.

“Alex,” Victoria responds, but she doesn’t sound half as confident as she should. She crosses her arms over her chest, her crappy fake purse on display (Gucci, his ass, it’s one of the worst knockoffs he’s seen). “How are…”

“Let’s not,” he cuts her off. “Michael will be back to drop Hope off as of tomorrow,” he says. “And if I find out that you complained about my daughter calling Michael ‘Mommy’, then I might suddenly have a thing or two to say at your book club, and the PTA meetings. Do you think they’d be interested in hearing about your exploits in Cozumel?” He’d done his digging online, finding the illicit pictures that she’d clearly wanted to stay hidden. “Or maybe your husband would be interested to know about Andrew.”

Victoria blanches, opening her mouth. “That’s…that’s my personal business.”

Alex smiles calmly, smelling the blood in the water and ready for the pounce. “You’re right. It is,” he agrees. “Just like it’s our family’s personal business what our daughter likes to call Michael. You don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and I won’t have to either. Do we understand each other?”

Victoria says nothing, but she nods mutely.

“Good. I’m glad we came to an agreement.” He twirls the keys around his finger, holding them in his palm. “I’m sure we’ll see one another around,” he adds, so much forced cheer in his voice that he knows how threatening it sounds. From the way she gapes at him, she knows it too.

Alex returns home with a smug sense of victory and donuts.

Michael’s interested in the first, even though it’s not long before he pounces on the donuts. “Did she cry?” Michael asks.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alex replies, playing the innocent bystander who has no idea what Michael could be talking about.

Michael smirks as he licks sugar off one of the powdered donuts from his fingers, not taking his eyes off Alex as he finishes it in three disgusting bites, before leaning in to give Alex a powdery kiss. “That’s the vengeful sassy bitch I fell in love with,” he whispers, and leaves a powdered lip-mark on Alex’s cheek before he gets up to start his day.

Tomorrow, Michael will drop off Hope and Victoria won’t say a word. She won’t even dream of it, and that’s just how Alex likes it. He has to protect his family, after all, even if it’s as small a thing as Hope wanting to call Michael Mommy, because that’s what she wants.

It’s theirs, and he’ll fight to preserve every moment of it, no matter the cost.

[reading-writing-revolution]

August 20, 2020

Heather Cox Richardson

Sheesh. What a day.

It began last night, while I was writing last night’s letter, when shortly after midnight we learned that Alexei Navalny, outspoken critic of Vladimir Putin’s government, has apparently been poisoned. He collapsed in pain on an airplane after drinking tea at Russia’s Tomsk airport. The plane made an emergency landing, meeting medics who raced Navalny to the hospital, where he is gravely ill. The poisoning is a chilling reminder of Putin’s tactics just days after the Senate Intelligence Committee’s report on Russian interference in the 2016 election established that the Trump campaign invited his influence into our affairs.

Then, today, federal prosecutors in New York acting for a grand jury indicted Steve Bannon, Brian Kolfage, and two others for fraud and money laundering in connection with an online crowdfunding campaign that raised more than $25 million to build a wall on the U.S. southern border with Mexico. The men told donors to “We the People Build the Wall” that “100% of the funds raised… will be used in the execution of our mission and purpose,” and that “we’re a volunteer organization.” In fact, they allegedly pocketed hundreds of thousands of dollars, routing the money through a shell company and false invoices.

The indictment quotes text messages between the men indicating they were quite deliberately running a scam. The messages highlight how the Republican system of fundraising from small donors, pioneered by direct-mail guru Richard Viguerie in the 1960s to fund Movement Conservatives rejected by traditional Republicans, now is used to funnel money from unsuspecting marks into the pockets of people who stoke rightwing outrage.

Bannon’s arrest means that two of Trump’s 2016 campaign chairs—Paul Manafort and Bannon-- have now been indicted and arrested on charges of fraud. The third, Corey Lewandowski, was also arrested on a misdemeanor battery charge against a reporter, but while video proved the reporter’s account was accurate, the charge was dropped. The campaign’s deputy chairman, Rick Gates, an associate of Manafort, was also charged with financial crimes and conspiracy, and was sentenced to 45 days in jail after agreeing to cooperate with investigators.

Trump immediately tried to distance himself from Bannon, saying he hadn’t “been dealing with him for a very long period of time.” Bannon was the chief executive of Trump’s 2016 campaign, replacing Manafort, and upon entering the White House, Trump named Bannon to a newly created position as “chief strategist” on a level with the chief of staff. So influential in the early administration was Bannon that Trump gave him a full seat on the “principals committee” of the National Security Council, while pushing the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Director of National Intelligence down to occasional attendees. Bannon left the White House after the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally highlighted the dangers of having an open white nationalist in the White House. Then-White House chief of staff John Kelly asked Bannon to leave. But at least for a while, Trump continued to call Bannon when Kelly was not around.

White House press secretary Kayleigh McEnany issued a statement saying Trump “has not been involved with Steve Bannon since the campaign and the early part of the Administration, and he does not know the people involved with this project.” In fact, supporters of the project include Donald Trump, Jr., his girlfriend Kimberly Guilfoyle, and anti-immigrant activist Kris Kobach. Last year, Kobach said Trump had given the effort his blessing, and there is a testimonial from Trump Jr. on their website. Trump Org spokeswoman Amanda Miller said Trump Jr. had given one speech at one of their events, and they used his words as a testimonial without his permission.

Bannon pleaded not guilty and was released on a $5 million bail bond secured with $1.75 million in cash. “This entire fiasco is to stop people who want to build the wall,” he told reporters as he left the federal courthouse.

The arrests set off a tweet storm from the president. Trump also called into the show of Fox News channel personality Sean Hannity tonight, claiming again that mail-in voting will create a fraudulent election and emphasizing—in unfortunate words about sending law enforcement to polling places—that he plans to deploy all the means he can to challenge the 2020 vote.

Today a federal judge rejected the argument of Trump’s lawyers that the subpoena of Manhattan district attorney Cyrus Vance, Jr. for eight years of Trump’s tax returns is “wildly overbroad.” Judge Victor Marrero upheld the subpoena. Trump’s lawyers immediately indicated they would appeal the decision.

Meanwhile, Trump has asked the Supreme Court to overturn a ruling last year by a federal appeals court that he may not block his critics on Twitter. The lower court said that since Trump uses the account for official announcements, he violates the First Amendment whenever he blocks someone and silences them. Today his lawyers argued that his account is his personal property and that he does not have to tolerate opposing views on it. Blocking critics would enable Trump to control what his followers see on his account, preventing visible pushback to his tweets. In effect, he could dominate the discourse in a public space.

Trump certainly has critics.

Deborah L Hughes, the director of the Susan B. Anthony museum, today rejected Trump’s pardon for Ms. Anthony, saying the pardon validated a legal process Anthony called an outrage.

Then, shortly before the Democratic National Convention kicked off tonight, more than 70 senior national security officials from the Republican Party released a letter announcing that they are supporting Biden in 2020. Their letter lists ten reasons Trump has “failed our country.” Donald Trump, they write, “is dangerously unfit to serve another term.”

Tonight was the night that former Vice President Joe Biden gave his acceptance speech in response to the Democratic Party’s nomination of him as their presidential candidate.

Tonight was Biden’s, as military families and former service people testified to his support for them, 13-year-old Brayden Harrington explained how Biden helped him deal with his own stutter (huge props for this young man taking on this assignment and executing it so well), Biden’s former rivals for the nomination talked of Biden’s kindness and decency, and, above all, Biden’s family emphasized again and again that for Biden, family and faith is everything. The picture was of a fundamentally decent and moral man, a striking contrast to his Republican rival.

The Democratic National Committee has pulled off an astonishing accomplishment with this, the nation’s first virtual political convention. It was tightly choreographed, inclusive, passionate, and fun, drawing in viewers with its variety and quick pace. It demonstrated professionalism, talent, and skill even without taking into account its content.

But the content was key. Rather than weakening the event, the lack of audience created an intimacy between speakers and viewers that lent a shining new authenticity to the voices the convention highlighted.

Biden is always a better speaker than people who know him for his gaffes expect, and tonight he hit it out of the park. On FNC, Chris Wallace noted that the Trump campaign’s attempt to convince voters Biden is mentally impaired backfired badly as he delivered “an enormously effective speech.”

Rather than simply outline his plan for his presidency, Biden also gave an impassioned plea for the nation, tying his love for it to his own life and values. He treated voters not as tools to be manipulated, but as people who can be trusted to choose their own future.

“America is at an inflection point,” he said. “A time of real peril, but of extraordinary possibilities. We can choose the path of becoming angrier, less hopeful, and more divided. A path of shadow and suspicion. Or we can choose a different path, and together, take this chance to heal, to be reborn, to unite. A path of hope and light. This is a life-changing election that will determine America’s future for a very long time. Character is on the ballot. Compassion is on the ballot. Decency, science, democracy. They are all on the ballot. Who we are as a nation. What we stand for. And most importantly, who we want to be. That’s all on the ballot. And the choice could not be clearer.”

—-

Notes:

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/20/us/politics/republican-national-security-biden.html

Letter: https://www.defendingdemocracytogether.org/national-security/

https://susanb.org/news-and-updates/

Bannon: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/29/us/stephen-bannon-donald-trump-national-security-council.html

McConnell: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2020/08/20/rnc-mitch-mcconnell-not-speaking-gop-convention/3403498001/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/during-a-summer-of-crisis-trump-chafes-against-criticism-and-new-controls/2017/08/31/8fb32d72-8d97-11e7-91d5-ab4e4bb76a3a_story.html

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2020/08/20/each-trumps-2016-campaign-managers-has-now-faced-criminal-charges/

indictment: https://www.cnn.com/2020/08/20/politics/bannon-indictment/index.html

https://www.cnn.com/2020/08/20/politics/bannon-build-the-wall-indictment/index.html

Trump on Hannity:

Andrew Lawrence @ndrew_lawrence

Trump says that on election day he's going to send law enforcement to polling locations 

August 21st 2020

4,139 Retweets5,311 Likes

Vance: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/20/nyregion/donald-trump-taxes-cyrus-vance.html

https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2020-election/read-full-speech-joe-biden-s-remarks-2020-democratic-national-n1237620

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/trump-supreme-court-ok-block-critics-twitter/

tweets: https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/biden-prepared-accept-democratic-nomination-president-furious-trump/story

© 2020 Heather Cox Richardson

548 Market Street PMB 72296, San Francisco, CA 94104

[screensirenfic]

Gasoline Chapter 4

The movie theatre was pretty vacant for a Saturday night, though maybe that had more to do with the fact it was Valentines weekend and most people had decided to spend it sucking face at Lovers Lake, kickstarting this years batch of pregnancy scares amongst the teenage population.  

Steve hadn’t actually asked me to be his Valentine. A stupid thing; really. I didn’t even believe in the damn holiday; just another fucking excuse to make people waste money on bad chocolates and overpriced flower arrangements. But still; he’d taken me to the movies, and I guess that was something.

The film of the weekend was The Breakfast Club; a teenage drama/comedy about five kids in detention, and already I could see similarities in the rural population of Hawkins High.

Claire was pretty, and kind of a bitch; coming across as a weird blend of Tina and Nancy that was honestly quite jarring to watch.

Andrew was Steve; a noble, dumb pretty boy of a jock, who probably was the least of a jerk off in the club, though that honestly wasn’t saying much.

Jonathan landed somewhere between Alison and Brian; combining the dark traits of social outcast with the dorky awkwardness of an all out nerd.

And Bender was...

Billy.

The more I thought about it; the closer it was.

A walking fucking stereotype of teen bad boy, down to the denim jacket.

Obnoxious, attractive, aggressive; all the traits were being ticked off the list as I began to wonder if they’d based this guy’s entire character on Hawkins resident bad boy.

Then it got to the part about cigar burns, and my popcorn did flips in my stomach.

I thought back to the bruises on Billy’s face; the change in attitude, the hunched posture-

“Hey Lo; you okay?” Steve leaned across the seat to mutter in my ear; my mind suddenly conscious that he’d been watching me instead of the movie for the past ten minutes.

“Yeah; just got lost there for a moment...” I replied, slurping loudly on my drink to try and avoid a conversation.

“Cause we can get out of here, if you want...” He offered, shifting in his seat already, ready to leave on my word.

“No; no, it’s fine. Let’s just try and enjoy the movie.” I refused, stealing another handful of Steve’s popcorn and turning my gaze back to the screen.

Steve kept staring at me for a moment, clearly not satisfied with what might’ve been going on in my head, before eventually giving up and continuing to watch the movie.

“Being bad feels pretty good; huh?”

We finished watching the movie and Steve drove me home in his BMW, humming along with Queen albums all the while.

It felt pretty normal, if not for Steve reaching across the gear stick to hold my hand in between shifts.

It was nice; really. The warm, familiar comfort of his fingers threaded through my own; thumb tracing patterns across my knuckles like this actually meant something to him.

And what was I saying?! Of course I meant something to Steve. He was my best friend, and my boyfriend, and; shit, what the hell had I got myself into?!

I cared about Steve, and I loved him pretty much more than nearly everyone I know, but was I in love with him?

I glanced across at him in the driving seat, tapping along with the beat on his steering wheel, a pretty dumb smile on his face.

I loved Steve; so why did I have to keep convincing myself of it?

When Steve finally dropped me off, I had to push a sense of foreboding down in my stomach; the reality that perhaps we were at another milestone in our relationship starting to dawn upon me.

Steve turned off the engine; the voice of Freddie Mercury cutting out, so we were left with the near silent ambiance of the woods.

“Thanks for the movie, Steve. I had fun.” I attempted to say my farewells, undoing my seatbelt to make my exit.

“Me too...” He replied; that slight crinkle in between his brows, a tell he had something on his mind.

“Come on; let me walk you to your door.” He urged, and normally I’d tell him to get fucked; not needing any of his chivalry, but tonight I decided I’d let him.

The night air outside was chilly; the last breath of winter’s snow still in the air as Steve walked me up the porch steps, me pulling my leather jacket tighter around my shoulders.

We reached the door, and I pulled my keys out of my pocket, already knowing what came next.

My dad wasn’t home, probably wouldn’t be all night, and El was over at the Byers for D’n’D night or something.

I had the cabin completely to myself.

“You know; I really meant what I said. About enjoying tonight...” Steve began; his doe eyes avoiding me for once to flit around uncertainly.

“I feel like you just genuinely get me; you know?” He continued; eyes finally daring to settle on my face as I unlocked my door.

“I know the feeling...” I concurred, though I couldn’t quite find it in myself to meet his eyes.

The door clicked open; the ridiculous amount of locks no longer a problem since dad had become more lax on the house rules, as I gently pushed it open the first inch.

I could feel Steve’s eyes on me; an unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Do you wanna come in?” I asked; ripping off the bandaid before we both died of old age.

“Yeah... Sure...” Steve nodded, looking half surprised at the offer, but following me inside regardless.

I felt self-conscious about the mess of the place, automatically going to shove the laundry basket out of sight in the bathroom, hyper aware of my pink panties sticking out of the side.

“Weird to think I’ve known you for over five years, and yet I’ve never been inside your house...” Steve commented, taking the time to look around the place like he was planning to buy it. Probably could too, knowing his family’s bank accounts.

“Probably because my dad would deck you before you even got through the door.” I joked lightheartedly, returning to Steve’s side.

It was true that my dad didn’t initially approve of Steve; thought he was a weak-armed momma’s boy who was only good at soaking up his daddy’s trust fund.

But with time and tolerance; he’d begun to like Steve, or at least appreciate the fact that he cared about me.

“Your dad coming home?” He asked, starting down a slippery slope towards a subject we’d both been avoiding for the past two months.

“Not tonight.” I confirmed, pulling off my jacket, because it had suddenly become too warm in here.

“Good.” Steve said, but before I had the chance to ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed me hard on the mouth.

I was shocked, to be honest, not really expecting him just to lay one on me out of the blue like that.

Steve rarely kissed me as it is; some sort of residual hesitance stopping him from being openly affectionate in public. A kiss on the head, or the cheek was routine; little barely noticeable demonstrations of affection that could be passed off as displays of a close friendship. But full on making out; never.

It didn’t really feel romantic; the whole thing seeming so rushed, it was almost forced, but I tried to reciprocate regardless.

I lifted my hand to the back of Steve’s neck, tangling my fingers through thick hair as I tried my best to kiss him back.

Steve grabbed me by my hips, backing me up until I collided with the kitchen counter, fingertips squeezing gently at the skin just above the waistband of my shorts.

I slipped my tongue out of my mouth, letting it pry along the seam of his own until he allowed me entry, kissing me back in a series of short, passionate kisses that should’ve left me breathless.

Instead it was awkward and stiff, like we were doing what we thought we should do, rather than what we felt like doing.

Still, Steve gave it his all; letting his hands trail up underneath my top, gently feeling their way across my ribs in what I guessed was meant to be a caress.

He parted from my lips, moving on to leave a trail of kisses across my jaw and down the start of my neck; teeth nipping as he attempted to give me a hickey.

“Stop, Steve...” I protested; the soft sucking sensation really doing nothing for me, but making the surface of my skin slightly wet.

“Steve; this isn’t working...” I complained; though he couldn’t really know how much I meant those words.

Steve did as I asked, pulling away almost instantaneously, before peering up at me with soft eyes.

“Too much?” He asked; a slight hesitance in his voice as he basically enquired about his performance.

“A little...” I admitted, not quite having it in me to crush his confidence completely.

He sighed softly, leaning his head down to rest it in the crook of my neck, as I reached up to run my fingers through his hair.

Steve was trying; he really was, but I just—

This wasn’t what I’d ever expected from the guy I called my best friend, and I guess I was still adjusting, even if it had been two months.

“Do you wanna just watch TV or something?” He asked, pulling his head away from me as he finally resigned that nothing was gonna happen tonight.

I shook my head, leaning back on the counter as he stepped back to give me some space.

“I’m not really feeling it tonight.” I confessed; though I was beginning to wonder if I would feel like “it” any night.

Steve just nodded, already trying to hide the look of disappointment on his face.

“You’re right. I should just- go home...” He conceded, before stepping in close to give me a quick goodbye kiss.

He leaned down to peck me on the lips, then hesitated, changing course for my cheek instead.

It was quick and soft this time; no lingering touches or restrained passion, and then it was over.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe.” He said uncertainly, giving me a nod before heading for the door.

I didn’t even say anything; concerned and embarrassed that I was the one that had done this, created this awkwardness between us.

Maybe if I had just let him continue...

But it was too late for second thoughts; Steve already shutting the door behind him, and ending all prospects of a Do over.

I sighed, heading straight to my room, because trust me to over complicate things.

I couldn’t even have a honest-to-god actual relationship without me somehow screwing that up!

Instead I just threw myself down face first on my bed, screaming frustratedly into my pillow, because I couldn’t even go one night without sabotaging myself.

I was an idiot; a total and complete idiot.

Steve was a nice guy; my closest friend, a true diamond amongst a sea of trash, so why didn’t I feel attracted to him?

I lifted my head off my pillow, wondering where in my life I’d become so fucked up that the idea of a nice guy was a turn off, when I spotted something tucked in the top corner of my bed.

Billy’s teddy bear.

Eleven must’ve seen it in my backpack and put it in my room thinking it was important.

I picked it up, turning over onto my back so I could look at its stupid blank eyed expression.

Maybe there was a reason I didn’t feel that way about Steve anymore...

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

* * * *

It’s very strange to think of Joe Biden as a world-historical figure. For decades, he seemed to me to be a bit of an irritating blowhard who rarely took the chance to edit himself. He was a classic slap-on-the-back backroom pol, with an everyman-on-the-train vibe, who loved the ornaments of public office, and that was basically it.

Washington will always need people like Biden, and he played the part well, but he was hardly a star. He rarely inspired, he made cringe-inducing gaffe after gaffe, his vanity required him to cover up his baldness with what, for a while, looked like a painful rice-paddy of plugs, he plagiarized a speech so obviously and crudely he almost begged to be caught, and despite his rep for retail politics, was terrible at campaigning for president. In 2008, he quit after Iowa, with one percent of the vote.

His big moment came when Barack Obama picked him as his veep. And the choice of Biden was specifically designed, it seems to me, to ruffle no more feathers, and to assuage white working-class discomfort with a young, inexperienced black guy with a funny, foreign-sounding name. Even at the time, it felt to me that Biden’s acceptance speech was fine but not exactly great — but what worked nonetheless was his persona: “It’s hard not to feel affection for this scrappy old guy — especially if you’re a Catholic,” I wrote. “This was a very culturally Catholic speech, especially at the beginning, and Biden will speak to people who might be leery of this young African-American. It was also focused on middle class economic anxiety and spoke about it in intimate ways that voters will immediately understand.”

Twelve years later, this guy is even older and less scrappy but still has the same core appeal: that old Irish dude who can go on a bit but has a heart of gold and hasn’t completely disappeared into the left-liberal elite. The drastically curtailed Covid campaign was a godsend in retrospect because it removed countless opportunities for him to get in his own way, while very successfully projecting and burnishing this image. Yes he could get a bit Abraham-Simpson-y at times, but I confess I began to find that a little comforting after a while, in the era of Trump. The combination of decency, vulnerability and humanness became even more potent up against an indecent, inhuman con-man. It became the stutterer versus the monster.

And Biden’s core appeal, as he has occasionally insisted, is that he ran against the Democratic left, and won because of moderate and older black voters with their heads screwed on right. He was the least online candidate. For race-leftists like Jamelle Bouie, he was part of the problem: “For decades Biden gave liberal cover to white backlash.” For gender-warriors like Rebecca Traister, he was “a comforter of patriarchal impulses toward controlling women’s bodies.” Ben Smith a year and a half ago went for it: “His campaign is stumbling toward launch with all the hallmarks of a Jeb!-level catastrophe — a path that leads straight down … Joe Biden isn’t going to emerge from the 2020 campaign as the nominee. You already knew that.” The sheer smug of it! And the joy of seeing old Joe get the last laugh.

It’s worth recalling the obloquy the woke dumped on Biden in the early stages of the race because this will surely be a battle line if he wins the presidency, and we will have to fight for him and against them if we are not going to sink into deeper tribal warfare. He is one of the last vestiges of the near-extinct rapport between white working-class voters and the Democrats, and if he wins next week, it will be because he has wrested older white voters from the Republican grip, and won white women in a landslide (unlike Clinton), even as his support among blacks and Latinos may come in slightly behind Hillary’s.

Biden ran a campaign, in stark contrast to Clinton’s, focused not on rallying the base around identity grievances, but on persuading the other side with argument and engagement. If you believe in liberal democracy — in persuasion, dialogue, and civility — and want to resist tribalism, Biden may be our unexpected but real last chance. And in this campaign, he has walked the walk.

His core message, which has been remarkably consistent, is not a divisive or partisan one. It is neither angry nor bitter. Despite mockery and scorn from some understandably embittered partisans, he has a hand still held out if Republicans want to cooperate. In this speech at Warm Springs, where Biden invoked the legacy of FDR, you can feel the Obama vibe, so alien to the woke: “Red states, blue states, Republicans, Democrats, Conservatives, and Liberals. I believe from the bottom of my heart, we can do it. People ask me, why are you so confident Joe? Because we are the United States of America.”

And while he has promised a deep re-structuring and redistribution in the wake of Covid, climate change, and destabilizing inequality, he has done so in pragmatic, rather than ideological, terms. Against the surreal extremism and divisiveness of Trump, he has offered moderation and an appeal to unity. Look at the careful balance he has struck on the protests against police misconduct this summer: “Some of it is just senseless burning and looting and violence that can’t be tolerated and won’t, but much of it is a cry for justice from a community that’s long had a knee of injustice on their neck.” We need both these impulses, if we are to extract real reform from distorting rage, and make it stick.

He is not perfect, of course. I suspect he is naive on some questions. He realizes, does he not, that when he uses the term “equity” rather than “equality”, with respect to race, he is using code for the crudest racial discrimination. He surely knows that critical race theory is not about being sensitive to the pain of others, but about seeing the U.S. as no less a white supremacy now than under slavery, and liberal constitutionalism as a mere mask for oppression of non-whites. He knows that the Equality Act eviscerates the religious freedom he has previously championed, does he not, and folds the category of sex into one of gender, jeopardizing at the margins both gay and women’s rights? And it should be troubling, it seems to me, that, when confronted with the fact that his son, Hunter, is corrupt in the classic, legal, and swampy way, Biden refuses to see anything wrong with it at all.

But these are quibbles in the grand scheme of things. And it is striking, as David Brooks noted this morning, how deftly Biden has walked through a field of culture war landmines and not see one go off. That has taken discipline — and Biden has shown that he can exercise it. Maybe he learned it from Obama.

His closing message has been about healing — from the wounds of Covid, economic crisis, and resilient racism. And if there is one thing Biden really knows in his heart and soul it is healing. Recovering from the loss of a wife, a daughter and a son requires a profound sense of how to take the hits that life can bring, how to stay strong while accepting vulnerability, and how to move slowly forward.

This is how he put it last week, as he related to the isolating, desolating casualties of Covid19: “Alone in a hospital room, alone in a nursing home, no family, no friends, no loved ones beside them in those final moments, and it haunts so many of the surviving families, families who were never given a chance to say goodbye. I, and many of you know, what loss feels like when you lose someone you love, you feel that deep black hole opening up on your chest and you feel like you’re being swallowed into it.”

I have felt that way for four years now. What I grieve is an idea of America that is decent, generous, big-hearted, and pragmatic, where the identity of a citizen, unqualified, unhyphenated, is the only identity you need. I miss a public discourse where a president takes responsibility even for things beyond his full control, where the fault-lines of history are not mined for ammunition but for greater understanding, where, in Biden’s words, we can once again see the dignity in each other. I am not a fool, and know how hard this will be. But in this old man, with his muscle memory of what we have lost, and his ability to move and change in new ways, we have an unexpected gift.

“I’ve long said the story of America is a story of ordinary people doing extraordinary things,” Joe Biden said last week. Well, ordinary old Joe, it’s your turn now. Do the extraordinary.

ANDREW SULLIVAN

THE WEEKLY DISH

[ravenvsfox]

rockband chapter 5 babey 😈🤘🏻

Neil tilts a record out of the stacks, and the sun catches the sleek surface and shows him his reflection.

“You’re not even in the right section,” Kevin calls. He’s two rows away flipping through rock-punk CDs, looking exhilarated when they fall towards him like dominoes.

The whole store is no bigger than a spacious bedroom, and the shop front is all boxy windows, letting in honeycombs of late-afternoon light. Kevin’s never looked so relaxed, dragging his fingers along the spines of albums, inspecting the equipment behind the till, smiling and chatting with the owner.

“There is no right section,” he mutters, sliding the album back into its slot. “It’s all music.”

“Right,” Kevin says. Neil glances up and finds him unexpectedly close, mouth pursed reluctantly with amusement. “Except we’re not here for all music.”

“What are we actually here for again?” Neil asks, distracted. He can see Andrew waiting outside with his back to them and his arms crossed, serious and stock-still as a bodyguard.

“Inspiration.”

Neil watches Kevin’s face. The crease that’s usually between his brows is only suggestion now, a slouchy, un-tensed line. He’s tolerable like this, Neil thinks, almost impressive, choosing music to feed his creativity.

“You love it here,” Neil accuses. “This is a vacation for you.”

Kevin scoffs. “Like you’re not the same.”

Neil shrugs. There’s an upright piano on the wall and he wants to squeeze the keys in his hands like fingers in a crowd. The sound of voices and tires on asphalt from outside spreads like frosting over the crumbling drumbeat from the stereo. The rusting brown of the wallpaper behind the counter looks almost orange with the full force of the sun on it.

He could live and die in a place like this, head down, hands full of bright new music and dark classics, never in silence, never alone.

"Come look at this,” Kevin says. Neil follows him to the far corner of the shop where there are picked-over alternative CDs and peeling tape labels. He plucks an album from the stack and wiggles it at Neil. “Old school Ausreißer.”

Neil squints at the cover art. “You look like a bad metal band.” The original four are caught in the middle of a set, dressed in all black under a red spotlight, mid-howl. The word Ausreißer is so stylized that it’s almost illegible.

Kevin rolls his eyes and puts the CD back in its slot. “Things change. When we found you you looked like you were on day ten of a bender.”

“I can go back to that, if it’s the look you’re going for. Wouldn’t want to stand out in a band full of junkies and burnouts.”

“Funny,” Kevin says flatly. “Just bring that smart mouth to song writing.” He gathers his little stack of music and a clear box of sturdy picks, and drops them on the front counter to be checked out.

Neil hesitates, swaddled in the darkest, warmest corner of the store, reluctant to splash back out into the cold. He can already see how it will play out: Andrew’s silence and Kevin’s focus, the way they take up so much of the sidewalk that Neil has to fall in behind them or walk in the gutter, the drive home like a never-ending commute to nowhere at all.

He’s listless without a stage, and Kevin won’t let him forget that he’s not a natural born songwriter. He’s waiting for inspiration like that second raindrop after you swear you felt the first one.

His eyes wander and catch on a lurid red flier stapled to the bulletin board above the stacks, and he does a double-take. Foxes. Township Auditorium. Friday, January 25th.

“Dan’s group is playing this Friday?” Neil wonders aloud, and Kevin looks at him over his shoulder, handing bills off to the cashier.

“Oh yeah, the Township gig. I think they’re hanging out in town for a week or so, too.”

“We should go.” He thinks of the way the girls had laughed about their public personas and plastic recognition. He wants to hear them for real, as magnetic and driven as they were at Abby’s, assuring him that they do pop like he’s never heard in his life.

“Waste of time,” Kevin says, accepting his bag with one of his frozen, ken doll smiles and making towards the exit.

“We’re not touring right now,” Neil argues, catching up. “We can take two hours off from the new album.”

“We can,” Kevin says, “but we shouldn’t.”

“And yet you find the time to drink six hours a day.”

“The creative process looks different on everyone,” he grits. They push out into the sunlight and Andrew looks vaguely in their direction, his face chapped from the wind.

“Great. Mine looks like going to local concerts and supporting our label, and you know full fucking well that Wymack would agree with me.” They start walking, Neil leading them in a frantic triangle down main street. Andrew doesn’t ask or care about what they’re arguing over, which is why Neil tells him, “I want to go to the Foxes concert on Friday.”

“Then go,” he says. He’d been chain-smoking while Neil and Kevin were in the shop, and he looks irritable and sick. His pallor has been almost bruised lately, like something’s wringing him out and leaving marks behind.

Neil flips Kevin off and walks further ahead of the group, buoyed by the opportunity to be part of an audience again. He loves the silky anonymity and sway of the crowd almost as much as being doused in lights and held up by a mic stand.

Kevin’s still talking about accountability and wasted talent, but he’s lost his audience.

Neil reaches the van first, parallel parked at a wicked angle. He waits for the muted click of the unlock button, then climbs into the passenger seat. There’s a parking ticket folded over the windshield wipers and Andrew sets them going so that it flutters down onto the street.

“It’s not going to be the same in the crowd as it is onstage,” Kevin says calmly from the backseat.

Neil turns his head. “I know.”

“The fans know who you are now, and I’m not sure you’re ready for what that actually looks like.”

“I’m pretty good at blending in,” Neil says, eyes narrowed.

“You’re not,” Andrew says, pulling jerkily out of the spot without looking and nearly catching a hyundai by the nose. “You’re loud.” Car horns blare on all sides like a chorus of agreement.

“You draw attention,” Kevin agrees grimly. “I’d rather you stick it out in the studio where you can’t get into trouble. And Wymack would agree with me about that.”

Neil watches pedestrians swarm and cars criss-cross beyond the window. “So what, I join a band and now I’m on full-time house arrest?”

“Shouldn’t you be used to keeping your head down, runaway?” Andrew taunts. His hands flash as he makes a left turn, ink spelling yes over no over yes. Neil gives him a look.

“You’re not talking about staying on the move, you’re talking about hiding. And in my experience, your problems catch up with you when you sit and wait for them to go away.”

“I’m not talking about your fucked up past,” Kevin says irritably. “If you want to stumble into the nearest concert, you can, but if you misrepresent us or pull some stupid shit to distract from the set, Wymack will kick your ass. If Dan doesn’t get there first.”

“Don’t worry Kevin,” Andrew says, glancing away from the road to fix Neil with a cool, knowing look. “He has winning impulse control. Right Neil?”

Neil clenches his teeth and ignores him. “I realize that you don’t trust me, but I need you to understand that I don’t care. I’m not going to stay in the cage until you figure out if you’re ready to unlock it or not. I’m not going to live that way anymore.”

“You’re on a team now, and you have to care,” Kevin argues.

Neil scoffs. “Tell that to Andrew.”

Kevin looks pained. “He’s—“

“What? An exception? I’d love to know why I’m held to a higher standard than the person with concealed weapons and an unreliable drug dependency,” Neil says, fuming. Andrew pumps the brakes so that Neil topples forward into the dashboard, then he’s thrown back again when they accelerate. He grips the headrest and seethes, “you’re fucking psychotic.”

“You—“ Kevin starts.

“Kevin,” Andrew says, toneless, barely there, and Kevin stops short. Neil recognizes that easy power, that tongue-biting obedience.

They collapse into strained silence, Andrew looking infuriatingly tranquil, the air around Kevin vibrating with how badly he wants to speak.

Neil thinks about the corner of the music store and that old album, an Ausreißer from back when Neil was still lost in between hotel rooms, when his mother was alive, and she could change the course of his life with just the tips of her fingers. He thinks, things can be so easy and so ugly at the same time.

They get out at Palmetto, Neil wrenching doors closed behind him, trying to feel like he has a raft to himself for once, like he’s not always sharing, feeling for someone else’s shifting weight.

Nicky’s spread between two chairs when he gets to the studio, and Neil’s relieved to see the easy smile on his face. It fractures when he gets a good look at him.

“Oh no. Was it unbearable? I thought music shopping would mellow Kevin out, at least.”

“It was fine,” Neil says, rolling a chair towards the table where they left all of their notes and stray music. He sweeps everything off the table, feeling a vindictive shock when it all settles on the floor; every dangling idea, stagnating chord progression, and experimental piece of garbage.

“Yeah, you seem fine,” Nicky says sarcastically.

“Better,” Neil says, rummaging in the heaps of wasted work until his hand closes around a discarded pen. “I’m inspired.”

_____

The dye burns cold on his scalp. He paints the wispy place above his ears, and tucks it up into the rest of the gummy mess. There’s a dark streak on the porcelain of the sink, and he rubs it with one gloved finger.

Someone knocks at the door, and Neil reaches behind himself to open it. There’s a beat, and a flutter of movement, and then his eyes meet Andrew’s in the mirror. 

“Brown,” Andrew remarks.

“You wanted me to tone it down,” Neil says, focusing on smothering his auburn roots and pointedly ignoring the rest of his reflection.

“Don’t put Kevin’s words in my mouth.”

Neil meets his eyes again. “What do you want?”

Andrew doesn’t reply for a long moment, and then he starts to peel down his armbands. It’s like watching a snake shed its skin, and Neil’s so startled to see it happening that he turns around to watch him directly.

He’s expecting the thatch of scars, but it still knocks the wind out of him to see them, tender pinks and whites that nudge all the way up to the ink on his wrists and hands.

Andrew plucks the brush out of Neil’s limp hand and scoops up a mound of colour that looks black in the weak light.

“Head down.”

Neil complies, chin towards his chest, and feels Andrew smooth the dye from just below his ear up into the coil of loose, wet hair. He can feel the damp heat from Andrew’s bare wrists, smothered for most of the day.

“Who put you in a cage?” Andrew asks, and the hair on Neil’s neck stands up.

“What—“

“You said: I’m not going to stay in the cage until you figure out if you’re ready to unlock it. I’m not going to live that way anymore.” He says it robotically, like an automated recording.

“I know what I said,” Neil snaps, starting to look up, but Andrew grips his neck and steers his head down again.

“Then you should be able to explain what you meant. Without lying to me.”

Andrew’s initiating one of their trades, he realizes, baring a secret and nodding at Neil do to the same. He closes his eyes, flinching when the brush makes sudden contact with his neck.

“My mother.” It’s an easier answer than the reality--a web of injustice too thick to see through. A childhood spent escaping from one cell block to another. 

The brush stops midway through a glide towards his hairline. “She hurt you?” Andrew asks, low.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You know better than anyone that protecting someone can get bloody. Our circumstances weren’t--they were never good enough for us to have a decent relationship. But she kept us moving.”

A bare hand curls in his hair, and Neil’s eyes open. His breath catches when he recognizes the hateful look on Andrew’s face.

“Did she hit you, yes or no?”

Neil swallows thickly, trying to focus on the feeling of Andrew’s hand against his scalp. “Yes.” The hand tightens painfully. “But she’s dead now. My parents are dead.” He doesn’t know what drives him to say such a hasty, partial truth, like it has any bearing on the way it felt to be forced to the ground and pinned until his arm broke. Death gets rid of the person, not the memory. 

Andrew’s hand drops altogether. He moves into the space at Neil’s side, hip to hip, and rinses his hand under the tap. “If she was beating you, she wasn’t protecting you.”

“You don’t understand what people are capable of when they’re struggling to survive.”

Andrew steps slowly and lethally into Neil’s space. “Yes, I do,” he says, nearly whispering. Neil’s eyes hitch down to his destroyed wrists. 

He nods, and Andrew backs off. He feels a strange, remote disappointment watching him move away, like climbing out of a roller coaster and watching it take off without him.

“We’re not keeping you locked up,” Andrew says. “We do not own you.”

Neil shakes his head a little, running a hand over his hair under the guise of checking for dry patches, trying to reclaim the tingling, grounding feeling of Andrew’s fingers.

“Contractually, you do.”

“You’re with us,” Andrew says, “until the second someone abuses your contract, then you leave. We both know you could outrun me if you really wanted to.”

“Maybe,” Neil says, on the blunt edge of a smile. “But you might be able to outlast me.”

Andrew looks at him in the mirror for a long while. “You’re disgustingly stubborn,” he says. “And dense. I wouldn’t count on my ability to put up with you for that long.”

Neil shrugs. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I won’t leave. We have a deal.”

“I just told you—“

“Not the contract. You and I have a deal. And I’m not ready to give it up,” Neil says, and he means it. The tenuous promise of protection, the give and take, the lure of the stage. He’s only grown more and more obsessed with the whole thing.

Andrew wavers. He reaches for his discarded armbands, and takes his time rolling them back up. Neil feels a painful rush of recognition at seeing his scars swallowed up, and he reaches out impulsively to hold him by the wrist. Andrew’s fingers are still ruddy with dye.

“This isn’t a cage. You’re nothing like—it’s nothing like my mother.”

At Abby’s, he’d told Andrew he reminded him of home, the most nightmarish insult he could lay his hands upon. And for a jarring second, Andrew’s commanding relationship with the band had looked like the dynamic between himself and his mother, ceaseless authority meeting senseless devotion. He’s been stupid enough to mistake Andrew’s promises for Mary Hatford’s threats.

At length, Andrew tugs, and Neil lets go of him.

Long after he’s gone, and Neil’s hair is washed out and limp, wet brown, he can still feel the raised scars underneath the fabric of the armband, and beneath that, a curiously rabbiting pulse.

______

And “monster” does not begin

to cover bolts and stitches in my skin

sinew held with safety pins

but you made me

the creature not the man, right?

but this lab coat’s fitting pretty tight

and if you’re living out of spite

are you a person or a feeling,

and would it hurt to look at you directly?

gunshots speak louder than words

but the warning shots you heard

don’t work for people who’d prefer

to die than to live on their knees--

“It needs workshopping,” Kevin says, tossing the notebook onto the coffee table.

“I think it’s great, Neil,” Nicky says. “The Frankenstein stuff is cool, our fans eat that shit up.”

Neil shrugs, and he gathers his notes back up from the table, out of reach from prying eyes. They’re assembled in a loose square in the living room, with Andrew at the window, a cigarette burning delicately between two fingers.

“You call yourselves the monsters so— I don’t know.”

“It works,” Kevin sniffs. “They’ll get it. They’ll like it.” It’s a more generous response than he was expecting, and he knows it’s the most approval Kevin can bring himself to show. “How soon can you match it musically?” he asks Andrew.

“I already have a melody,” Neil interrupts. He stands, walks over to the keyboard Kevin insists they always keep on hand, and presses the ‘on’ button. “It’s not very complex,” he says, walking his right hand over a couple of keys until the power catches up and the notes start to voice.

He plays the song through once, low arpeggiated chords and a sustained, high tenor line. He sings when he can’t help it, crooning until it gets too high to sing softly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Andrew’s fingers drumming against the windowsill.

“You’re right,” Aaron says when it’s finished. “It’s not very complex.”

“Downer,” Nicky accuses. “It’s just keys right now, we can amp it up.”

“Is it worth it?” Aaron complains.

“Yes,” Andrew says, leaning over to put his cigarette out in the ashtray balanced on the arm of the couch. They all look at him expectantly, and he gets up, grabs the music directly out of Neil’s hands, and disappears into his room with it.

“Well that’s a good sign,” Nicky says, bemused. “Guess we’re going to that concert, Neil.” When Kevin opens his mouth to protest, Nicky says, “Wymack signed off on it. Plus we’re making headway on the b-side tracks, and Andrew’s actually working.”

“I’m not going,” Kevin says, crossing his arms.

“Me neither,” Aaron says. “Allison will have our balls if we pull focus from her.”

“So we won’t,” Nicky says. He ropes Neil in by the shoulder and tousles his newly dark hair. “No one will even know we’re there.”

______

Later, Nicky sends Neil to ask for the car keys, and he finds himself standing in the dusk outside Andrew’s room, delaying the inevitable confrontation.

Andrew comes out before he can knock, wearing boots and a black baseball cap, keys clenched in his fist. They nearly collide, and Neil staggers back a step. 

“You’re coming with us?” he asks dumbly.

“You and Nicky can’t be trusted alone,” he says. It’s an insult, but it hits Neil like warm water from a shower-head, like relief.

“Did Kevin ask you to do this?” Neil asks, but Andrew ignores him, brushing past into the living room, then the entryway. Nicky pushes off from the back of the couch where he’s been waiting, looking back and forth between the two of them nervously.

“We’re all going?”

“Apparently,” Neil replies.

“Cool. Weird. Shotgun.”

“Neil’s sitting in the front,” Andrew says, cranking the screen door open.

“Family really means, like, nothing to you when Neil’s around—“ Nicky’s saying as he follows Andrew out into the night.

Neil breathes out, lacing his shoes and listening to Nicky chatter circles around Andrew, who is steady and silent, already fixed in the driver’s seat.

He’s been picturing the Foxes concert as that same ambiguous darkness from before he joined the band, skulking in the back of bars and hoping to be caught. Now he imagines Andrew and Nicky propping him up like brackets, a drink he actually paid for, the hair-raising knowledge of what it feels like on the other side of the performance.

Wind shivers through the front door and underneath Neil’s collar. He jams his hands into his jacket pockets—the leather already stiff and unyielding from the cold—squares his shoulders, and opens the door.

______

They’re smuggled in through a door backstage, already late. Nicky clings to Neil’s sleeve so tightly that it pulls down over his hand. 

Renee comes to greet them, as unnervingly pleasant as the last time he’d seen her. Neil keeps expecting her even-keeled demeanour to clash against Andrew’s like icebergs meeting, but they only seem to thaw around one another. 

Andrew greets her, and she knocks her knuckles into his hand and smiles.

“I’m glad you guys came. Don’t tell her I told you, but Allison’s raring to show off.”

“I bet she is, competitive bitch,” Nicky says good-naturedly. “All you foxes are such a handful.”

Renee seems to be considering whether or not he’s joking when Dan appears at her elbow. “Walk in the park compared to your lot,” she says, smiling sharply. Her eyes flit to Neil and she softens. “Still doing okay, Neil?”

“She means, have we ruined your life,” Andrew says in German.

“Quick, tell her how saintly we are,” Nicky says.

“And lie?” Neil asks in exaggerated German, as if scandalized. “I’m fine,” he says to Dan. “Excited to see a Foxes set.” 

It’s a bigger venue than he’s used to, and the energy is intimidating, people whisking past them and calling instructions to one another.

Her smile quirks, and she lets her arm drape around Renee’s neck. “We’ll try our best to impress, then. As usual.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nicky says. “You’re a big deal, we get it. Don’t you have warm-ups to do?”

Dan snorts. “Time off is making you a little mean, Hemmick. You better watch him, monster.”

Andrew stares blankly back at her, and Nicky says, “you try living with Kevin 24 hours a day and tell me how personable you’re feeling.”

Dan winces. “Point.” Someone ducks close and whispers in her ear, and her face flickers through several shades of confusion and annoyance. “Okay, shit. One of Allison’s pegs came loose and her tuning is all over the place. Sound check’s in five, and Matt’s on the wrong side of drunk, but um. The show must go on, I guess.”

Renee ducks out from under Dan’s arm, excusing herself, and Dan squeezes Neil’s shoulder in parting. “See you out there. Try not to get into trouble.”

“Yeah right,” Nicky says, and she aims a kick at his shin. He falls back a step, laughing, as she jogs after Renee. “Hey, rock and roll, Dan,” he calls. “Or whatever it is you guys do.”

He’s still beaming when he loops his arm with Neil’s and steers them towards the door. Neil looks anxiously back at Andrew, but he’s a step behind them as usual.

They wait for a lull in passersby, and then they’re out in the thick of the crowd, pushing conspicuously from the front of the stage to the side of the room. Eyes linger on them and narrow, and his throat starts to constrict until he feels Andrew’s hand thread into the shirt under his jacket, keeping him tethered.

Nicky can’t resist dancing a little to the opener, as obvious as they already are, and he bobs through the aisles, shooting furtive looks back at Neil to see if he’s enjoying himself. The band on stage is too high energy for their low energy song, jumping and twisting to a half-time rhythm. 

Andrew’s hand tightens at the small of his back, and Neil glances back to see him eyeing the thrashing drummer with distaste.

“I thought you didn’t care about technique,” Neil tells him over the music, and Andrew tears his eyes away. He’s frowning, and Neil relishes that off-guard little furrow of emotion.

“I don’t,” Andrew says, “I also don’t listen to bad music if I can help it.”

“Guess we must be pretty good, then,” Neil says.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No,” Neil agrees. “You didn’t.” He knows that it’s true, though. Somewhere past the layers and layers of bandages that Andrew wears, there must be raw flesh. It’s just that Neil can’t tell if he’s healing or rotting underneath it all.

They come to a stop close to the stairs up into the stands, and Nicky gestures at an empty patch halfway up. Most of the crowd is standing already, chaotic, but they climb up into the mess and find their seats, Nicky on the inside and Andrew in the aisle, with Neil sandwiched in-between.

“Our fans are louder,” Nicky leans over to say smugly.

“That’s because they’re trying to keep up with you,” Neil says. “Decibel for decibel.”

“Fuck you,” Nicky laughs. His eyes are bright, and he grips the seat in front of him to get the leverage to see through the masses.

They ride the energy of the crowd to the end of the song, and then the group is hollering goodbyes and filing offstage, and people start to sit down or escape to concession. Nicky relaxes back into his seat and pinches Neil for his opinion.

“I don’t think we missed much,” Neil says.

Nicky shrugs. “Yeah, but we were like that once. You got to skip Ausreißer’s adolescence, Neil, you lucky shit. It was not pretty.”

“Kevin showed me your first album,” he tells him.

“Oh, Jesus,” Nicky groans. “Those were dark times. I used to wear leather biker gloves on stage, like a tool.” He rustles in his inner jacket pocket and produces his flask. “Drink to forget?”

Andrew reaches across to pluck it from his hand before anyone can drink. He unscrews the cap and points it at Nicky. “I know you’re already fucked, Nicky.”

He scoffs, making a messy grab for it that Andrew dodges. “Hardly.”

Andrew swallows a generous shots worth, then passes the flask to Neil. This is familiar by now, sharing space and booze and drugs as a means to an end. They get drunk like they’re grappling down a cliff-face together, connected by rope.

Neil hesitates. There are strangers on all sides and the sick smell of sweat and beer in the air, but there’s something about his back to the wall and a concert ahead that he trusts. This is how he spent the years after his mother’s death, anonymous and drunk, losing control in measured doses like taking medication.

He drinks, the mouthpiece still wet from Andrew’s mouth, and screws his face up at the tartness of the flavour—a salty, lemony vodka. Nicky tries to steal the flask halfway through his sip, so Neil pushes him away by the face.

He and Andrew share the rest of the liquor, and he puts the back of his hand to his face to feel it warming up. It’s a relief, to feel his edges shaved off. It’s like he’s less defined this way, less likely to be recognized.

Stagehands are fiddling with amps onstage and taping wires down, and the buzz of the crowd is suddenly deafening.

“What’s the deal with Renee?” he hears himself asking.

“What d’you mean?” Nicky asks.

“You like her,” Neil guesses, jabbing Andrew with the base of the flask to get his attention. “But she’s nothing like you.”

“She’s one of us,” Andrew says.

“But she’s not, though,” Neil says, half-frustrated and half gawking at his own lack of composure. He wants his curiosity back inside where it can fester and wonder in circles and die. “I thought Wymack only took in strays. Charity cases.”

“You have met her twice,” Andrew says coldly. “How well do you think you can judge a person’s character in that time?”

“Pretty well,” Neil says grimly. He thinks of the cross around her neck and the prim lace of her collar, attention-grabbing hair offset by dark, serious eyes. He saw Matt’s track marks and Allison’s rage before Dan had even whispered their stories to him, but he can’t read anything on sweet, prim Renee.

“Lucky she doesn’t care what anyone thinks,” Nicky interjects. “She’s waiting to be judged by God, I think. Everyone else’s opinions are just… noise.”

He can’t imagine anyone who was really like them believing in God like that, but he bites his tongue.

“Little orphan Neil Josten gets in some trouble and he thinks he knows what rock bottom looks like,” Andrew muses, and Neil’s stomach sinks. “You haven’t even hit it yet.” He looks unfocused, and it occurs to Neil that he might have taken something before they left.

“You’re right,” Neil says. “But you promised that you’d be there when I do,” he reminds him. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Nicky asks. “Neil?”

“Neil?” someone else says, and Neil looks over to see a woman and a couple of scruffy looking dudes frozen halfway up the stairs. His eyes drop to the shortest of the two, who’s wearing elbow-length armbands identical to Andrew’s. “Andrew! Nicky! Oh my god,” he says.

Nicky puts on a winning smile. “Hey!”

“I can’t believe you’re here—like, for real, there were rumours, but—oh my god— “

“He’s completely obsessed with you,” the woman gushes.

“Katie,” he hisses, and his friend shakes him good-naturedly by the shoulders.

“He’s afraid to say it, but—“

“Fuck off—“

“—every single album—“

“That’s very cute,” Nicky interrupts, cocking a flirtatious grin at the guy who’s holding his own cheeks, dismayed.

“We couldn’t believe you were just, like, changing your sound completely,” the taller guy says. “But Neil, man, I see why they’d take a chance for a voice like yours. It’s sick, dude.”

“Thanks,” Neil says stiffly.

“He’s not used to being recognized, yet,” Nicky says apologetically. “You’re taking his fan virginity.”

They titter, and the woman says, “we’re honoured.” She nudges her friend and widens her eyes meaningfully.

“We can’t really hang out though, sorry guys. Low profile tonight,” Nicky says. His smile is less believable by the second.

“Totally,” they chorus.

“I just quickly want to say, Andrew,” the first guy starts, breathless. “I know you get this all the time, but your lyrics saved my life. I couldn’t believe someone understood me like that, and—and you’re my--you inspire--I mean. I’m sorry, I’m so tongue-tied, I—“

“I didn’t write them for you,” Andrew says. 

The fan’s face crumples. Nicky looks at Neil, panicked, and then he forces a loud, incongruous laugh.

“Wow, good one,” Nicky says. “He doesn’t mean it, obviously.”

“Don’t I?” Andrew says.

“We appreciate it,” Neil interrupts. “But we can’t talk anymore.“

“Right, sorry, I’m so—“

They urge one another up the stairs, apologizing and thanking them, the one guy looking on the verge of tears through the bars of his friends’ arms, until they disappear up to the next level of seats.

“You could’ve pretended to be human,” Nicky hisses as soon as they’re gone.

“They call us monsters,” Andrew says. “What do they expect?” 

Nicky groans. “Please can we have fun, and not ruin anyone else’s night, especially our fans? People are gonna egg our car.”

Neil’s stomach squirms, and he crosses his arms over it. There could be well-meaning, invasive people like that everywhere, and now he’s tipsy and angry and stuck.

The house lights go down a few minutes later, and the whole crowd sucks in a collective breath before they plunge headfirst into cheering.

Neil’s arms loosen. Nicky stands up at his side, hooting, and everyone follows suit, craning towards the stage, wanting to be the first thing the band sees.

Dan comes out first, waving with both hands, and Matt follows, winking at the crowd and sliding his guitar over his head. Allison and Renee emerge from either side of the stage, Allison towering in high heels and glowing under the lights. Renee’s hair is wild, and her face is different, tongue caught in her teeth, almost cocky.

They fit behind their instruments like joints cracking into place, and they play their first chord in perfect unison, all of them operating different parts of the same body.

The crowd roars their approval. Neil sits upright. He’s surprised to feel Andrew standing up beside him, stepping into the aisle to watch. He follows without thinking.

The jangling, bopping drum line doesn’t wait for the strings to catch up, and Renee doesn’t need to watch to see that they’re following her. Her wrists are supple, and she’s lost to the music like she’s been playing for hours and not seconds.

The room goes up in flames when Dan starts singing, like the fans are all hungry, dry wood, and she’s a spark. She works the microphone free from its stand and starts running with it.

“Fucking excellent, right,” Nicky shouts, and Neil nods, mesmerized. The crowd moves together even separated by sections and rows of seats. 

It’s nothing like an Ausreißer concert, where boiling blood turns into wine, and everyone turns their desperate faces up to the stage like they’re waiting to be healed. Foxes sing like they’re in love and they fought for it. 

Neil can admit that they’re as musically proficient as the monsters, too, making up for lack of technical flair with a complete understanding of their sound.

Matt smiles dopily down at his guitar and then at Dan, like he can’t decide which deserves his attention more. When she floats towards him, he gets springy with it, teasing her with guitar licks, carving shapes into her oaky voice. Allison’s hand goes protectively to her tuning pegs whenever she has a break in the music, but her bass is rich and in tune.

They do an old-fashioned crescendo like it’s a classical piece, and Dan is almost conducting, hitting the air when Renee smashes the cymbals, gesturing for more when Allison starts a slippery solo, so fast that she laughs and tosses her hair, exhilarated.

Neil makes a hurt noise that gets swallowed in the din, but Andrew looks at him anyway. Neil looks back, studying his wide black pupils and wondering why he only bothers to pay attention when he’s stoned.

He remembers the wide eyes of the kid with the armbands, the agony of his disappointment, and he forces himself to look back out at the band.

One song finishes and another climbs on its back. People move and mill out of their seats towards the stage. He feels like he’s seeing double, like he’s watching a long pilgrimage that’s somehow been condensed or played back.

The first break in the music, Dan laughs her way out of the song, takes a swig of wine, and says “how was that?” into the mic, pointing out towards the place where the monsters are standing. Nicky puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles.

Her stage presence is unparalleled. She’s funny and a little hard on her audience, begging them to sing louder, drive her offstage if they can. Neil can see why she’s in charge, unofficially. She paces circles around the stage like she’s boosting morale. She barely needs the microphone to be heard.

They topple back into their set without warning, a trust fall of a count-in where Renee bangs out a few warning shots and everyone’s hands fly to their instruments.

Somewhere in the thicket of fans, Neil hears someone call, “Andrew!” He sees an incongruous flash, turned towards the audience and not the stage.

“Nicky, Nicky Hemmick! Nicky, over here—“

“Andrew,” Neil starts.

“We love you, Neil,” someone screams.

“Don’t—“

Neil’s jostled down a stair, and Andrew yanks him back up.

“Ignore them,” Andrew says viciously.

“Yeah,” Nicky agrees, but he’s clearly rattled. “What are they gonna do?”

Neil struggles to get his bearings. A few of them are still shouting, recording them with their phones or fighting their way through the crowd towards them. Nicky motions for them to stop, but a few people get close enough to beg for autographs or snap blurry photos of themselves with the band members in the background. He wonders if it was the fans from before, upset enough to tip off the whole crowd to their seat numbers. 

“Bet you didn’t think we were this famous, huh?” Nicky jokes nervously. 

Andrew has no problem with shoving people away, and Nicky frantically apologizes as many times as he can before he just starts shaking his head. Neil is forced painfully into Nicky’s side, and he can hear people in their row restlessly asking what’s going on.

Most of the audience is oblivious, still focused on Foxes’ raucous energy, but the three of them are surrounded for another ten minutes before people start to get frustrated enough to give up. The rest of them are shoulder-tapped by security, and the throng dwindles to nothing.

“You okay?” Nicky asks. Neil nods, but when he blinks he can still see pinholes of light from camera flashes. He knows that the photos will end up online where anyone can see him as he is right now, and they can guess at his habits or zero in on his location if they want to.

He’s been reckless for a long time, but standing pooled in stage lights feels entirely, chokingly different from wading down into the crowd and feeling the attention slither around him like seaweed.

Andrew crushes a hand to the back of his neck, and Neil inhales all at once.

“Kinda ironic that crowds freak you out so much when you sing for one every night,” Nicky says. He’s standing half in front of Neil, eclipsing the concert still unfolding in the background.

“It’s not the crowd.” Neil shakes his head to clear it. “It’s—they all know who I am.”

‘They think they do,” Nicky corrects firmly, fingers curling into Neil’s arms. The harpy tattoo peers out from under his sheer sleeve, a monster in a veil.

“They want to,” Andrew says, gaze tossed out to the back of the venue. His face is so blank and washed out under the lights that it’s like it’s been chemically stripped of colour. “You’ve caught their attention.”

Neil pulls free from Nicky’s arms and sits heavily in his seat. “I don’t want it.”

“You might not have a choice,” Nicky says, sitting next to him, smothering the distance Neil keeps trying and failing to cultivate.

“You always have a choice,” Andrew says, and when Neil looks up at him, he’s holding out his right hand with its painted yes. Neil accepts it gingerly, and Andrew drags him to his feet.

They watch the rest of the concert from backstage.

Andrew sits propped up on an amp, and Nicky alternates between trying to get the band’s attention from the wings, and mimicking Matt’s solos with vigorous air guitar. Neil suspects he’s trying to get him to laugh.

Neil has enough distance now to feel stupid about locking up during such a minor incident and proving Kevin right. The crowd has already forgotten them, or never knew they were there. The show goes on. 

They’re coming up on their encore performance when Neil feels a buzzing at his hip. 

He fishes an unfamiliar cellphone out of his pocket and stares uncomprehendingly at the message lingering on screen, sent from a number he doesn’t recognize.

A neat little ’60’ and nothing else.

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Presidential Profile: Calvin Coolidge (1872-1933) 30th US President.

Pre-Presidency (1872-1923):

-Calvin Coolidge was born John Calvin Coolidge Jr.  on July 4th, 1872.  Making him the only President to date born on the 4th of July.

-Coolidge was born in Plymouth Notch, Vermont to John Sr. and Virginia Coolidge (Moor).  He had one younger sister Abigail Grace.  His father was a farmer, general store owner and holder of several public offices and civil service positions, including justice of the peace, tax collector and member of the Vermont State House of Representatives and Vermont State Senate.  His mother was the daughter of a Plymouth Notch farmer.

-Coolidge went by his middle name his entire life to differentiate him from his father.

-His ancestry was primarily of English descent going far back to Colonial era New England and the English Puritans who settled there.  His great great grandfather, also named John Coolidge was a veteran and officer in Patriot Army during the American Revolution

-Many of Coolidge’s ancestors served as civil servants and politicians throughout Vermont’s history including his paternal grandfather.

- His mother died of tuberculosis in 1885 when Coolidge was age 13.  His sister died of appendicitis 5 years later when Coolidge was 18.  His father would remarry in 1891 and live until the year 1926 dying at age 80, still living in the same homestead the rest of his life.

-Coolidge attended Amherst College in Massachusetts.  He graduated cum laude, was a member of the debate team and was greatly influenced by a philosophy teacher named Charles Edward Garman who would mentor Coolidge and help shape his later political philosophy.  Summed up by Coolidge as follows:

“There is a standard of righteousness that might does not make right, that the end does not justify the means, and that expediency as a working principle is bound to fail. The only hope of perfecting human relationships is in accordance with the law of service under which men are not so solicitous about what they shall get as they are about what they shall give. Yet people are entitled to the rewards of their industry. What they earn is theirs, no matter how small or how great. But the possession of property carries the obligation to use it in a larger service.”

-Coolidge then moved to Northampton, Massachusetts to become a lawyer.  He avoided law school and as was common in the 19th century, apprenticed at a law firm and “read” the law.  He was admitted to the state bar in 1897, the following year he opened his own small law firm.  He focused on commercial law and often sought to settle out of court.  He quickly developed a reputation in the area as a hard working, attentive and honest attorney.  He represented banks and many other local businesses.

-In 1903, he met his future wife, Grace Anna Goodhue who worked as a teacher for the deaf.  They married two years later in 1905 despite his mother in law’s initial dislike of him.  They would go on to have two sons John (1906-2000) and Calvin Jr. (1908-1924).  Years later Coolidge summed up his relationship with his wife as follows:

“"For almost a quarter of a century she has borne with my infirmities and I have rejoiced in her graces".

-Coolidge was a member of the Republican Party which dominated New England and most Northern states in the US at the time.  He began to run for local offices in Northampton.  Serving on City Council, and as City Solicitor before he returned to his law practice.  He also ran for school board but lost, this would be the only political defeat in his career.

-Later he served in the Massachusetts State House of Representatives before returning to Northampton and becoming Mayor. As mayor some signature accomplishments included giving teachers a raise, lowering the city’s government debt and even lowering local taxes.  These final two achievements would become pattern obsessions of Coolidge all throughout his career.

-He later became a State Senator in Massachusetts, returning to Boston once more.  This time he became noteworthy for his support of women’s suffrage and perhaps most notably for his 1914 speech to the state senate, called Have Faith in Massachusetts.  He argued another cornerstone of his conservative philosophy:

“Don't expect to build up the weak by pulling down the strong. Don't hurry to legislate. Give the administration a chance to catch up with legislation.”

-Coolidge was elected to Lieutenant Governor along with new elected Governor Samuel McCall in 1915.  At the time the Governorship was elected for one year terms.  He and McCall were reelected in 1916 and 1917.  In 1918 McCall declined a fourth term and this allowed Coolidge to run and win the Governorship of Massachusetts in 1918.

-1919 was a turning point in Coolidge’ career.  In Boston, many members of the police force were planning on forming a union due to working conditions and low pay.  Many of the members of the police force were former war veterans who had recently returned from World War I.  In response to the plan to form a union, Police Commissioner Edwin Curtis refused and said no union could be tolerated for the police force.  In August, the American Federation of Labor (AFL) gave a charter to the Boston Police Union.  Curtis gave an ultimatum, the leaders of the union would be suspended from their positions unless they agreed to dissolve the union by a deadline of September 4th.  The Mayor of Boston convinced Curtis to extend that deadline to allow negotiations to continue.  The police union leaders were then suspended on September 8th.  The next day, 3/4ths of Boston policemen went on strike in solidarity with the union leaders suspension.  There was break outs of violence, looting and lawlessness throughout the city due to the lack of a sufficient police force.  The Boston Mayor, Andrew Peters was worried firefighters would strike next out of sympathy.  Coolidge himself was sympathetic, to Commissioner Curtis’s position.  Curtis was dismissed by Peters who felt it necessary due to what he saw as Curtis mishandling the situation with heavy handedness.  Coolidge as Governor then called up units of the Massachusetts National Guard to serve as a temporary police force.  The military largely secured the city and ended the lawlessness.  Coolidge also restored Curtis to the position of Police Commissioner and took personal control over the National Guard as police force.  Curtis then announced all striking police officers were fired and that new ones were to be hired, a position which Coolidge accepted as necessary.  Coolidge received a telegraph from AFL leader, Samuel Gompers who advised that it was Curtis’s fault for the strike and the lawlessness because he would not accept the worker’s rights and grievances.  Coolidge famously responded publicly to Gompers:

"Your assertion that the Commissioner was wrong cannot justify the wrong of leaving the city unguarded. That furnished the opportunity; the criminal element furnished the action. There is no right to strike against the public safety by anyone, anywhere, any time." 

-The striking police force was indeed replaced by 1,500 newer officers who in the end did receive somewhat better pay and working conditions.  The period of the strike lead to the deaths of 9 people in the city due to lawlessness.  The National Guard also killed 8 rioters as well.  The strike was a setback for the labor movement across the country.  The failure of the strike resulted in AFL avoided involvement with police unions for nearly two decades.

-Coolidge became an overnight hero of the American public who was largely unsupportive of the strike.  In part, because America’s political climate involved the Red Scare of 1919 at the time, with the backdrop of World War I and the rise of communism in Russia, many Americans worried that labor unions  and leftist radicals were potentially communist agents who sought to overthrow the American republic and establish something along the lines of the emerging USSR.  Coolidge was praised as a hero of conservatism for his decisive executive action in calling up the National Guard to restore order, his support for Curtis and the establishment of a new police force and for his unwavering belief that while the police might have legitimate grievances, their job and oath as public servants required a sense of duty to the public safety beyond their pay.

-Coolidge as a result became a national household name, he was reelected in 1919 and was later mentioned as a contender for Vice President of the United States on the Republican ticket in 1920.  He was nominated at the party convention that year and paired with running mate for the President, Warren G. Harding a US Senator from Ohio.  They were opposed by the Democratic Party nominees , for President James Cox, Governor of Ohio and for Vice President, the future US President, then Assistant Secretary to the Navy Franklin Delano Roosevelt.  Harding and Coolidge ran on a “return to normalcy” campaign.  Which in its ethos sought to restore America’s political climate in the wake of World War I, the Progressive era, labor strikes and general atmosphere of political radicalism to a more moderate and conservative tone.  One that supported capitalism and deregulated economics.  Harding and Coolidge won in a landslide election capturing 60 percent of the popular vote, carrying 37 states total and capturing 404 electoral college votes to Cox and Roosevelt’s 127.

-Harding and Coolidge were inaugurated as President and Vice President respectively on March 4, 1921.  They succeeded Woodrow Wilson and his administration, Wilson for his part had suffered a serious stroke in 1919 that left him in ill health and had prevented his goal of running for a third term as President.  Harding’s election was a repudiation of Wilson’s international leanings with a greater focus on domestic issues away from the foreign policy of WWI.  

-As Vice President, Coolidge was as many Vice Presidents prior to him not a holder of many official duties aside from presiding over the US Senate.  Unlike his predecessors though, he was invited to Cabinet meetings, becoming the first Vice President to ever receive this invite from their President.  Most of his time was spent giving speeches around the country and attending parties in Washington DC.  It was during this time, the Coolidge’s legacy as a quiet and stern man was born.  He was nicknamed “Silent Cal” for his economics with words and his known disdain of formal dinner parties.  When asked why he showed up if hated them so much he replied matter of fact “Got to eat somewhere.”  His wife Grace, proved to be much more social and outgoing, balancing out Coolidge’s more taciturn personality.  The most famous story from this time was possibly pure invention but may have summed up Coolidge’s reputation best of all.  At a dinner party, a female guest sitting next to Coolidge supposedly informed him that they made a bet that they could get him to say more than three words supposedly Coolidge said once again matter of fact “You lose.”  Coolidge for his part was always shy from his childhood on.  He also considered that politicians should speak very little in general and that the words they use carry great political weight, he was a firm believer in the principle of choose your words wisely.

-In August 1923, Coolidge and his family went to visit his father back at his childhood home in Plymouth Notch, Vermont.  Meanwhile, President Harding was on a speaking tour out on the west coast.  On August 2nd, Harding died unexpectedly from congestive heart failure in San Francisco, having experienced worsening symptoms in the days preceding his death.  Coolidge had to be informed of Harding death and his own subsequent accession to the Presidency.  Coolidge’ s father’s farm had no phone or electricity.  They were informed by messenger in the middle of the night.  Coolidge got dressed, prayed and then was sworn in as 30th President of the United States in the family parlor by kerosene light around 3am by his own father who was a notary public and justice of the peace.  He then went back to bed.

-Coolidge returned to Washington DC by train the next day.  He immediately had a second swearing in of the Presidential oath by having a federal judge from the Supreme Court District of Washington DC administer the oath to him.  The goal of the second swearing in was to prevent any doubt about whether the first was invalid because his father was a state level official and not a federal one.

Presidency (1923-1929)

-Coolidge at first kept Harding’s entire Cabinet in their roles, a believer in the retention of all Cabinet members until one was elected in their own right.  He sought to carry out Harding’s domestically oriented goals if by putting his own spin on them.  At the time, Harding was a very popular President but his Cabinet has earned a scandalized reputation due to involvement in the Teapot Dome Scandal which involved bribery.  Coolidge was called to fire some in the Cabinet on the need to punish those presumed guilty.  Coolidge ever the believer in law and order, refused to the do so and expected each man would be tried by evidence first and if found guilty would be removed or if not would be acquitted in his eyes.  Coolidge earned praise for his belief in the Constitutional right to be tried when accused of a crime.  Those Cabinet members who were uncooperative with the congressional investigations however would be removed since Coolidge saw these investigations as effectively the trial period for each accused Cabinet member.

-Coolidge in 1923 became the first sitting President to give a speech broadcast on radio.  Despite his reputation as “Silent Cal” and being a man of few words, Coolidge became the first President to utilize the modern inventions of radio, and movie cameras to communicate with the American public.  He also gave more personal press conferences than any US President in history.  Coolidge became well liked by the media for the access he granted them and in turn he was well aware of the potential communicative power the new mediums of radio and motion pictures had for the Presidency and in pushing his agenda.

- Coolidge did sign the Immigration Act of 1924 that placed restrictions on immigration from parts of Southern and Eastern Europe.  His added a signing statement expressing his reluctance and displeasure to sign the bill because of what he saw as its implicit racism towards Asian, namely Japanese immigration. Coolidge was personally friendly with immigrants and believed immigration was important and vital, however he believed America should be able to regulate immigration and should place some controls on the amount of immigrants coming into the country.  Coolidge thought immigration proceeded best when slowed down which allowed time for the country to absorb regulated waves of immigration and allow them to assimilate.  The slowing down and conservative approach to all things in government was in line with Coolidge’s nature.

-Coolidge also signed the Indian Citizenship Act in 1924, this granted US citizenship to all Native Americans living on reservations henceforth.  It remains in effect to this day.

-On racial issues in general, Coolidge was praised in most quarters for his opposition to racism across the board.  He was described as being devoid of all racial prejudice.  He saw immigration to the US as important, spoke of the importance of immigration and assimilation to US cultural values.  He also spoke to immigrants and American citizens alike to drop their racial prejudice and hatreds.  He also asked the Congress to pass anti-lynching laws at the federal level.  In his first State of the Union address, he spoke favorably of African-Americans, stated their rights were as important as any others and should be publicly and privately defended.  He also thanked African-Americans in several speeches over the years for their contributions to America and advances in education while acknowledging they continued to face discrimination.  Coolidge personally disliked the Ku Klux Klan and is not known to have appointed any Klansmen to a federal position.

-In foreign policy Coolidge was somewhat removed in comparison to his domestic agenda.  The 1920′s was a time of isolationism in American politics.  He did oversee the initial enforcement of the Washington Naval Treaty which sought to deescalate a naval arms race with other nations, namely Japan.  He was largely a non-interventionist in outlook.  He did not oppose the League of Nations but did not actively seek to enact American membership in it either.  Coolidge also helped normalize relations with Mexico which had soured with the Revolution there in previous years which also saw border conflicts with the US, his new Ambassador was successful in helping smooth over relations.  He also pushed the Dawes Plan which lent economic support to Germany in the form of partial reparation relief post World War I.  This move actually briefly boosted Germany’s post war economy which had suffered for years and slightly helped smooth relations with Germany in a way that neither France nor Britain sought to do.  Coolidge refused to recognize the USSR officially as a nation.  He also continued the prior administration's policy of US troops occupying Nicaragua due to the political instability there, though he would withdraw and reinstall them there after the return of instability.  Hoping to curb the perception of America being imperialist in Latin America, Coolidge made his only international Presidential visit to Havana, Cuba to attend the Sixth International Conference of American States in 1928.  Coolidge stated these nations should be treated as equals to the US in terms of foreign relations.  He became the last sitting US President to visit Cuba until President Barack Obama did in 2016.

-Coolidge’s main focus was the United States economy.  He sought to achieve his signature goals of budget and tax reduction.  Coolidge was personally very frugal and economical.  He reduced the size of White House domestic staff and never owned a home in Northampton Massachusetts, preferring to rent and live modestly on a modest income.  During his tenure as President, each summer he and First Lady Grace Coolidge would send their sons to work to earn their own pay and learn the value of labor.  Coolidge’s most essential Cabinet member was a holdover from the Harding days, US Secretary of the Treasury, Andrew Mellon.  Mellon and Coolidge both shared a belief that government should not intervene in the economy and that deregulation of business was ideal to stimulate the American economy.  In a precursor to the supply-side economics or Reaganomics of the 1980′s, called “scientific taxation” Coolidge and Mellon proposed and passed the Revenue Acts of 1924, ‘26 and ‘28.  All of these reduced income tax totally by 24%.  By 1927 only the top 2% of income earners in America paid federal income taxes.  The other component of Mellon and Coolidge’s plan was reduction of the overall size of government.  In very much a libertarian mode of thinking, Coolidge deregulated business and his appointees to regulatory committees often were nominal and not very active. Coolidge would be meet weekly with advisors on how to save on federal spending prior to each Cabinet meeting.  These advisors kept Coolidge informed on all department budgets and allowed him to better comprehend the needs of each department without giving preferential treatment to one department’  s budget over the other, this allowed for a consistency in his treatment of Cabinet members.  Throughout Coolidge’s tenure, federal spending remained essentially flat.  This in turn retired a fourth of the federal government's debt in total by the end of his tenure.

-Coolidge’s tenure was part of the Roaring 20′s, businesses were booming and the business deregulation mentality he presented and epitomized yielded real results for the length of his tenure as the economy steadily grew and improved.  Coolidge growing up in economical circumstances was philosophically inclined to believe in a more laissez-faire form of capitalism.  He strongly believed as a matter of morality government had little to no place in interfering with business and controlling how people spent their money.  Economic freedom for citizens and businesses were for Coolidge the best expression of political freedom.  He believed in private property and the notion that people should be able to spend their hard earned dollars as they saw fit rather than through government.  In turn this would propel the economy and by most measures for his tenure this seemed to be the case.  Additionally, his keeping of federal spending flat along with retiring debt and tax cuts actually saw new levels of government revenues as well, two thirds coming from the highest income earners.  He summed up the ethos of the times with the following:

“It is probable that a press which maintains an intimate touch with the business currents of the nation is likely to be more reliable than it would be if it were a stranger to these influences. After all, the chief business of the American people is business. They are profoundly concerned with buying, selling, investing and prospering in the world.”

-As Governor of Massachusetts, Coolidge actually supported a number of measures from the Progressive era, seemingly at odds with his federal deregulation as President.  As governor he passed or supported laws opposing child labor, in favor of wages and hours controls, economics controls and improved safety regulations.  His opposition to regulation as President not only stemmed from his overall economic moral philosophy but his belief in federalism.  Regulation in the 1920′s was largely seen as a state and local matter for laws and not a federal one and it was largely perceived by Coolidge to be a matter of principle not to regulate from the federal level as it was essentially unconstitutional in his eyes beyond Congress’s ability to regulate interstate trade.

-Coolidge was criticized by some for not supporting strong enough measures for Farm Subsidies.  He again opposed bills on this for moral reasons, believing government should be in the business of providing subsidies to businesses, Coolidge believed in an almost total hands off approach.  Almost no breaks or handouts whatsoever and no overzealous regulation, everything was to be moderated in the wake of the Progressive era.  He also faced criticism for his handing of the Great Mississippi River Flood of 1927, federal disaster relief was limited under Coolidge and he did not visit the disaster areas not for a lack of caring but a genuine belief that it would appear as political grandstanding and wouldn’t practically provide much help.  Coolidge was consistent in keeping a low profile and as always choosing his words and appearances as he saw it wisely.  In 1928, Congress and Coolidge signed a compromise bill to provide relief funding to those affected by the disaster, Coolidge signed it privately not wishing to appear publicly advocating a position he saw as interference in the lives of the American citizen.  Again, believing Americans to be most resilient on their own, providing citizens great freedom also in Coolidge’s mind meant bearing great personal responsibility.

-Coolidge finished out the last year and half of Harding’s term in late 1923 and all of 1924 into 1925.  He ran for his own election in 1924, was personally very popular with everyday Americans after his handling of the economy and his restoring confidence in the moral integrity of the White House after the Teapot Dome Scandal had hurt Harding’s once popular reputation.  

-1924 however saw a turning point in Coolidge’s personal life.  That summer his sons were home from school at the White House, while playing tennis one day his younger son, Calvin Jr. developed a blister and became gravely ill very fast.  Coolidge and his wife Grace did what they could to console the child who feared for his life.  Nonetheless, Calvin Jr. died days later, the result of septicemia.  Coolidge apparently in an effort to calm his son in his final days, reportedly got on his own hands and knees to find a small rabbit in the White House garden and present it to his son as a gift since Calvin Jr. and the whole Coolidge family had a love of animals.  Coolidge remarked that he tried what he could reassure his son but he that he had failed.  For the rest of his life, Coolidge sank into a deep depression, many people around him reported a personality change of distractedness, anger and sadness.  His interest in the Presidency is seen to have died with him.  Coolidge was elected in a very subdued campaign that November out of respectful mourning for the Coolidges.  Coolidge won 55% of the popular vote and 382 electoral college votes. carrying 35 states.

-As mentioned the Coolidge family loved animals and to this day had the largest overall collection of animals any Presidential family had in US history.  They had among other animals a variety of cats, dogs, birds, raccoons, briefly a black bear, a pygmy hippo and two lions cubs gifted from South Africa, Coolidge named the cubs Tax Reduction and Budget Bureau after his favorite political focus.

-In 1928, Coolidge decided not to run for second full term on his own.  He felt his time in Washington was accomplished enough and he looked to finally retire after 30 years of political involvement.  Also, he was still dealing with the depression of his son’s death, mentioning repeatedly that he held himself responsible for his son’s demise.  He blamed his political ambitions as leading to the circumstances which caused his son to get a blister and fatal infection at the White House.  in almost religious overtones, Coolidge saw it as a form of divine punishment for a life of politics.  His announcement not to seek another term was even a secret from his wife.  His Secretary of Commerce, Herbert Hoover was elected in 1928, inaugurated on March 4, 1929.

Post-Presidency/Legacy (1929-1933):

-Several months after Coolidge’s departure the Great Stock Market Crash of 1929 took place the Great Depression of the next decade or so began.  Coolidge has received some blame for the Great Depression due to his laissez faire economics and lack of regulation.  To this day the causes of the Great Depression are controversial and debated, Coolidge also has supporters who state he couldn’t have known it would have happened nor was he in a position of power to regulate the economy since the federal government had little to do with the stock market which was seen as a state matter in those days.  His supporters also place blame on Herbert Hoover’s regulartory measures in the months leading up to the crash.  Either way Coolidge’s role in this tarnished his reputation for many years among historians who tend to rank him in the lower half of US Presidents overall. Though modern libertarians, and fiscal conservatives and capitalist supporters tend to praise Coolidge’s time in office.

-Coolidge moved back to Northampton and ended up earning money providing syndicated newspaper columns and publishing an autobiography.  He also served as a trustee on various boards and earned monies from these various streams of revenue.  Coolidge also donated earnings to his wife Grace’s favorite charity, the school for the deaf which she taught when they first married.  It was his way of paying her back for giving up her own career to raise a family and support his political career.  In 1932, he supported Herbert Hoover for reelection out of party loyalty rather than personal admiration for Hoover, whom he saw as often providing him bad advice during his own Presidency.  Hoover was defeated by FDR nonetheless and the era of New Deal had begun.

-Coolidge died aged 60 in January 1933 from coronary thrombosis.

-Coolidge was honored with posthumous appearances on postage stamps, additionally he was the only President to appear on US coinage in their lifetime during their Presidency.  Appearing on the 150th anniversary edition of Declaration of Independence, half-dollar coin with George Washington’s likeness.

-Ronald Reagan cited Coolidge as an influence and during the Reagan era a reassessment of Coolidge as a person and politician was very popular.  Overall, Coolidge still is ranked as average to below average in general but his esteem is largely influenced by the political ideology of those reviewing him.