#i follow a very small number of larries anyway

[msookyspooky]

Fours a Franchise

Chapter 1

wordcount: 9,188

  

"What? No, I'm not doing it Rebecca! I told you already that I changed my mind-" 

"Yn, it's your last stop for the year! Do you know how insightful and inspiring it will be for the survivor to go back to where it all happened? Think of the book sales!" 

You paced your hotel room with your phone in hand. "I'm thinking of more than book sales, Rebecca…Like my sanity, my life, my-" 

"Okay, okay." She interrupted you over the phone. "But as your publicist, your assistant, the head coach of your career AND your number one cheerleader-" You rolled your eyes as she continued. "I'm HIGHLY suggesting you do this book signing." 

You blinked at the window. A huge high rise overlooking a bustling city, a far cry from your humble dwellings you were used to. "Are you suggesting this as my assistant or ordering me as my publicist?" You could hear the edge to your own voice as you felt your mouth twist into a frown.

"Hey, now. I work for you, remember? Bbuuttt, I know what sells. I mean…Let's face it, your um…Side novels were not what people wanted, sweetie. I've been right this far and look! Enjoying a cup of tea before Good Morning America last week! We even got you on Larry King, YN! Life is good so why mess it up over a town that has been a complete bore for over a decade?" You sighed and shifted your weight as she continued. "People love a survivor! They don't want to read a campy fantasy; they want reality. Out of Darkness. YN. The survivor. The fighter. 15 years of horror she faced. 18, 20, 23 were the tender ages she faced down homicidal maniacs some of which were betrayed friends. Trauma, guilt, hatred, fear and she faced it all-"

"Tone down the sales pitch. I'm aware of what I went through, just…Why this town? I've been traveling for weeks on end! Why do I have to go back THERE?" 

"And you can take a break after this one!…Now, it doesn't look very convincing that you're 'Out of Darkness' if you're not willing to go back to the place that Darkness came from to sign some simple books, hmm? It could plummet book sales, appearances, and your followers if you tell them you refuse to go back to Woodsboro…Oh, that reminds me; I need to update your Facebook page for tomorrow." 

Silence stretched on as you stared out your hotel's huge glass window at the world around you. Rebecca Walter's continued with what you could only describe as her customer service voice. Aka her 'We're done talking about this' voice. "...Okay! Your plane leaves at 6 tomorrow morning and I'll pick you up in the rental car to get to your hometown." 

You exhaled in exasperation. "It's not really my hometown. I wasn't even there a year." 

"Right, right. Anyways, get some beauty sleep and I'll call you in the morning. By-ee!" She sang out as she hung up. 

You sighed deeply, staring out at the big city around you. It should be exciting, new, wonderful but all it did was make you feel small and out of place…

Focusing on your reflection staring back at you; You still looked the same that you did 10 years ago as far as aging went but your hair was more modernized for 2011 millennial input. Recommended by who else but Rebecca. You didn't hate it but you felt out of place sometimes. Same with the bandage style bodycon dresses or pleated skirts or peplum tops and not to mention the too high stiletto pumps or the clunky jewelry all in colors you didn't like. It wasn't you. No matter your original style, this style was just to appease the masses that you had your shit together. 

You frowned at your own reflection. It had only been a little over a year ago that you were 'highly suggested' by your publicist to write 'Out of Darkness'. The title wasn't your idea, the photo on the front made you look like a damn Céline Dion CD cover and the lies that you had everything figured out enough to help others overcome trauma made you nauseated. Rehashing your worst times in life endlessly with a forced smile to a bunch of eager listeners with hopeful eyes in your direction that everything gets better…It really didn't; not for you. You just made the best of it. It felt like you were lying to them even if it was white lies to help others feel better.

You watched people walking on the busy street, the entire city lit up as you reminisced…You sometimes wondered if Sidney or Tatum had taken your place; what would they do? You knew Tatum would adore being a minor celebrity and probably get on some reality show or do interviews willingly to fit the lifestyle even more. You could hear her saying "If I'm gonna be traumatized; I'm gonna be traumatized with Gucci." 

Sidney probably would have genuinely believed in what she was doing and would move on. She would feel a purpose to help and inspire others. You wanted to be like that, be like Sidney would be. Hell, even be like Tatum. But the fact was; you weren't Sidney or Tatum. Your mom wasn't murdered by those two. Even if Sid and Tat were your friends…You had to accept the fact that Stu was partially right all those years ago in his own fucked up way. It was horrible what happened to them and to you and you will never forgive Billy and Stu for what they had done but the resentment you had for them wasn't comparable to Sidney's hatred after she found out who had killed her mother and best friend. Her Mom being made into a massacre that poor Sidney and Neil had to find was enough to make her ready to bludgeon her boyfriend to death with a lamp had you not stopped her… Sidney WOULD feel a great sense of duty to her mom and herself to help others overcome these types of situations. You wanted to as well but something in you didn't feel it…Maybe it was guilt? Or maybe what you lacked in life because of it? Mark wasn't here and you never got to find out if it could've worked with him or anyone else for that matter, friends outside the Woodsboro Survivors were nonexistent, and you felt alone in all of this. The secret felt like the heaviest burden on your shoulders you just couldn't shake.

With a heavy sigh; You pulled the curtains on the window to stop the bright city lights from pouring in. 

You walked to the bathroom to shower. Stripping off and looking at your body in the mirror. A scar on your left shoulder and your upper arm was the first to catch your gaze. One on your right forearm and one on your right hand where Neil stabbed you a decade ago. You went to make a fist and your right hand's middle finger and the ring finger trembled to form a fist fully. Not tightly closing as you clutched it in your other hand and looked away. Stepping into the hotel's shower and closing your eyes under the water. You let the water wash over your body as you thought of the last 10 years…How the hell did you end up here?

You faced the wall and leaned your head forward and let the water run down your back. Going from a normalish girl wearing what you wanted and no one knowing you as long as you didn't say your name; to trying to keep up with the kids and the Kardashians and EVERYONE recognizing you... From an isolated cabin to tv appearances nationwide.

'God, I can't believe Stu's ass hasn't barked up my tree after seeing me on TV….' You thought. Even if the malice you should have just wasn't there. You didn't even know if Stu or Billy were even alive or not.

You eventually turned off your water the more your mind wandered to places you didn't want to dwell on. Drying off before doing your nightly routine and getting ready for bed. You checked your phone to see no texts or missed calls from Randy or Dewey and your heart sank a little. Especially since you had to text or call them more often then they did you these days. You knew life was busy. God, did you ever know how busy life could be flying across the country routinely. However, you went from nightly calls from them both, to now, you were lucky to get a call once a month and even then that was usually phone tag with you calling them or them calling you. All of you are just too busy with life now.

You sat your phone down on the nightstand and laid your head down on your pillow. 

'I guess that's a part of growing up…People drift. It's like the trauma was what held us together and the more they move on; the less we need each other.' 

You felt your throat burn a little just thinking that thought before tightly closing your eyes. 

'Or the less they need me like I do them…'

———————————–—–—––––––––––

It was almost afternoon as you sat in the rental car's passenger seat. A picture of your aging Cherri on your screen. Your childhood cat that lived with your family passed away a few years back but you still had Cherri. A trusted family member was happy to take your extremely elderly dog in while you traveled. You swore to yourself you'd spend her final year or two with her instead of traveling for this dumb book signing. This was the last stop and then you were having a little chat with Rebecca.

 "Just text. I mean, you have a Droid. It's not 2005 anymore." Rebecca muttered as she eyed you.

"I know, I love this thing. But I still like calling." You admitted. It was SO much nicer than clicking each number anywhere from 2 to 4 times to get the letter you wanted. You hardly ever texted until you got your phone with an extended keyboard…You still kept the model Mark gave you as a keepsake at home. But a flip phone just wasn't going to cut it anymore.

"That's nothing, you'd die of overload with an Iphone." 

You huffed while calling Randy. "Who wants a phone with a touch screen you have to protect? And the screen is tiny too. I say it's just a fad and they'll die out in a year or two…"

"So, who are you calling up?"

You faltered as you heard Randy's voicemail after multiple rings. "…Well that sucks."

"What? Something wrong?" 

 You frowned as you looked at your phone. "Well, I tried calling Randy but he didn't answer and I don't want to call his house phone and bother his family this early…. There's Dewey." 

You pressed speed dial for him. Just to frown when it went straight to voicemail after a few rings as well. "...Which is apparently on duty." You drew out with a breath of air past your lips in exasperation. "So now, it's Gale." 

"Who?" 

"Gale Riley." You glanced at Rebecca. "Maiden name; Weathers." 

Her face lit up. "Oohh, god yeah! She was such a boss back in the day! Kid me had, like, starry eyes seeing her on tv." 

You smiled and held up a finger as Rebecca nodded while driving. Just when you saw the interstate sign pointing West to Woodsboro. 

It rang one time before she picked up.

"Hey, Gale? Everything okay? Kind of picked up real quickly there." You mumbled.

"What? Oh yeah, just…Writing my next book! I'm so busy with it. Halfway there. And my phone was beside me so… " 

"Oh, totally get it." You smiled to yourself knowing that the computer screen was blank and she was desperate for a distraction. You continued. "I tried calling Dewey but he didn't answer." 

"Oh, yeah…Sheriff Dewey is a very busy man." She muttered. 

"Yeah. So, if he panics later just let him know I was just reminding him I'm visiting Woodsboro today." 

"Today?" 

"Book Signing. " You felt uneasy as the 'Welcome to Woodsboro' sign came into view. "I'll be doing the signing at noon and was wondering if I could visit? I haven't even seen your place yet. It's only been what? 9 years of owning it?" 

Gale released an amused huff on the other line. "Yeah, something like that. I'll text you the address." 

"Thanks. And could I get Randy too? You know he only brings the family my way. I know it a little but I need a refresher because it's just a street away from his parents but I swear to god all those houses look alike." 

"Yeah, I'll send it your way…Listen, it's fine if you're too busy. So am I, obviously, but maybe we could get coffee? I've been dying to shit talk to somebody about this one pushy tart deputy at Dewey's work that keeps buttering him up with treats. Guess what? They taste like cardboard…" She was silent a moment before saying. "...Well…Unless you're running out of here as soon as you can. Been a long time since you stepped foot in this town." 

You sighed as houses came into view. "...No, I'm staying at least till the first kill." You deadpanned, no real humor in your voice.

"Yeah right. I'll see you later. Dewey's going to be over the moon when he finds out his surrogate sister's in town." 

You didn't know if that was sarcasm or genuine. You and Gale were not best friends by a long shot. Not even good friends. Honestly, sometimes you fight like two divorced parents trying to play nice while sharing custody of the kid aka Dewey. And yet, sometimes you both were the only company you had these days.

You listened to Rebecca talking aimlessly about nothing in particular as she drove. You sat in the passenger seat and suddenly it was like you were a 17 year old girl again…

 The memory played out in your head. Your family tried engaging with you as you sat there solemnly in the backseat. Torn up at leaving your old life behind for this place. You could just reimagine the view from the back window; looking at the town you only visited for your grandparents every so often. You dreaded being at a new school at the end of your Junior year. But your grandparent had a health scare and it was closer to your parent's work so you really had no choice in the matter when your folks decided to move there. Any other issues in life pertaining to you or your parents lives just sealed the deal for them even more.

You shook your head slightly with a forlorn expression when you both passed the school…Still the same after 15 years. In your mind's eyes, you could picture Tatum laughing and walking beside Sidney out of the bustling building. You closed your eyes a moment, imagining them waving at you as you passed by before opening them again. An ache in your chest slowly formed…You truthfully hadn't thought of your old friends in a decent amount of time but coming back here just seemed to resurface old wounds. It was so easy to be back in time to 1996. Preferably the Summer before your senior year. You were young and carefree as any teen could try to be. James being a new boyfriend that wasn't abusive yet. Sidney and Billy seemed in love and Tatum was freshly dating Stu. Randy making you laugh or roll your eyes at him at the video store, chilling with Tatum and Sidney at their houses or yours. Watching movies with Stu and Billy who at the time seemed like normal guys that genuinely loved their girlfriends and were just good friends with you…

You glanced at the car's mirror. Your sad face staring back at you and suddenly reality was crashing into you that most of your memories of that group weren't as real as you wanted them to be as far as Billy and Stu were involved as well as what followed just a few short months later. From James, to the strain on your group's friendships, to the very obvious reason why the tension was happening being revealed at the party that night…Those moments of naive bliss you had prior you would never, ever get back.

Rebecca rambled while you were in your own world. "So anyways, I told him he's a complete tool. Because, come on. How can this not be a good sales pitch, am I right?...YN? Hellooo?" 

You jolted slightly as you realized she was directly talking to you and not herself. "Huh? Sorry, just…Getting lost in thought. I haven't been here in 15 years. I literally moved away not even 2 weeks after…Well…You know what happened." 

"Okay, speaking of which. I know your character in Stab was with them-" 

"Right." 

"And you were not, based on your court case I read about." 

"Yes." 

"Sooo…"

"Yes?" You asked with a raised brow.

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way but both of those guys were kind of hot for freaking seniors. I'm not a pedo or cradle robber, I'm just saying! I mean, if I had two guys that cute that were obsessed with me in high school? Murderers or not, I'd think about it…So, did you ever think they were attractive? Ever?" 

You felt the silence in the car. You wanted to be normal. To just admit that yes, they were attractive, their shitty personalities and selfish choices were what sucked but you were attracted to them. Who wasn't at the time? They were two of the most popular and arguably better looking guys in school that hung out with you. You got hateful looks your way just as much as Sidney and Tatum did. It's why the rumors about you were so easily spread. One day when you were talking to Stu in the hallway, him leaning over you with his arm on the locker as you tried to move away from him flirting because he was just recently dating Tatum but you know Casey saw it. Her locker was just down the hall. You were sure even if she broke up with him; seeing him so hyper fixated on you instead of still being hung up on her bruised her ego enough to spread the nasty rumors about you. James was threatened by them as well for the same reason…They were sought after in Woodsboro. So finding out they both were secretly in love with you had you so shocked it ALMOST rivaled the shock of them being the Woodsboro killers…Almost. You wanted so badly to just admit it and have girl talk you didn't get with anyone else.…But considering your trial in the past and the people online trying to dig up your case again; you trusted no one with that info. Especially a fame mongerer like Rebecca. 

"They were alright looking, I guess. " You lied with a nonchalant shrug and redirected it. "Nothing to excuse them from being monsters." 

Rebecca scoffed. "Well duh, they were! Please, they may have not been the nicest but that Billy looked like Johnny Depp and the other guy-" 

"Stu." You knew he'd just about shove Rebecca out of the moving car if he was here.

"- He wasn't bad looking either, I guess. Not my type but apparently he dated some of the most popular girls of Woodsboro High so he had something going for him." 

"Yeah, he was charming and popular and used it to manipulate people." 

"But you seriously didn't want them at all before the murders?  You had to have at least looked or thought about it. I mean, these two guys were obsessed-" 

"With getting their way no matter what." You interrupted her. "Besides, they were dating my best friends and I had a boyfriend at the time. I had no interest in them.

She gave you a once over from her seat. Looking like she wanted to say something before her mouth dropped. She pulled up to the bookstore and your heart sank.

 "Oh crap." Rebecca grumbled. Pulling in as you froze in your seat 

A handful of people with signs screaming at you with signs. Your picture is marked out on a few or 'guilty' written in bold red letters designed to look like blood. You even saw a few of Tatum, Sidney, Casey or Steven with their names and the word 'justice' written on them.

"Okay, just hold your head high and ignore them…You'd think the least they could do is have police here. What else do these small town feds have to do but shovel donuts in their mouths and bust some crack heads here and there?" She grumbled while undoing her belt.

You swallowed, slightly taken aback yourself that Dewey wouldn't be here to rally them away. Looking up to see rows and rows of Ghostfaces on the pole lights near the store. "I'd say damn kids with that-" You pointed, letting your finger fall as you gave a wary look to the small angry crowd. "But…The adults are acting kind of ridiculous too…Isn't this welcoming." You sarcastically mumbled, feeling your anxiety creeping in.

Rebecca shoved her door open. "Screw this, I am NOT having these frigging freeloaders hogging the media attention I-…We worked for!" She slammed her door shut as you gave a shaky sigh. 

Rebecca made a wide gesture to the angry crowd trying to boycott your book and you. Still convinced in the conspiracy theory that you actively helped Billy and Stu and you just got away with murder and were now profiting off of it. 

You were scared of crowds like this just as much as Ghostface. Especially after you almost died from a crazed conspiracy nut seeking 'justice' more than a decade ago. Despite that, you sucked in a breath and got out of the car.

Rebecca grabbed you and led you by the shoulder as you just prayed no one had a gun. 

You heard "Murderer", "We don't want you here", "Leave Woodsboro" as you walked by the 8 to 10 people protesting. Rebecca said a nasty remark back as you said nothing. Numb to it at this point as your assistant slammed the door shut.

"I'm gonna rip the owner a new ass for not handling that. Wasn't me threatening his cat over your set up not enough?!" She marched away as you saw the people still holding up signs, chanting at your picture on the store window. Rebecca slammed a door to a backroom looking for the owner.

You ran a hand over your face, already eager to get the hell out of this town. It wasn't like you didn't have naysayers in other towns but this one felt different…It felt worse.

 An orange cat eyed you curiously from the desk across the room. Leisurely lounging and looking rather plump and content with itself but watching your every move. You walked over to pet it but it jumped off the desk and ran behind a bookshelf.

'You too, huh?' You thought before you went over and sank into a seat at the table you'd have your books signed at.  Staring down at yourself on the cover. You wanted to go home already. YOUR home. Away from people and bullshit like this. Be with your very small inner circle, your aging dog, your small comforts. Anything but this.

Your thoughts were interrupted as a man cleared his throat and you flinched in response. Fearful a protestor got in and could be holding a gun to your head for all you know.

"YN, I'm such a big fan...So hey, can I get some special friends discount or something? By that, I mean, free?" 

You faltered, slowly looking up to see a man's belt and white button down shirt…Your eyes roamed higher to see a green sweater over top of it near your white table in front of you. Your eyes traveled more as a relieved smile slowly stretched over your face. 

"Ray." 

He grinned down at you. A light stubble on his filled out face. A few pounds gained since you were in your early 20's but still some muscle there too. You were sure he still worked out even after physical therapy just not as much with his busy schedule. His hair was in the same volumized, fluffy swept back style he had in Hollywood, just shorter or thinner with age.

He grinned as you stood up. Not having seen him face to face for almost a year as awful as it sounded. 

Randy remarked. "I never thought I'd see you back in this shithole. I mean, you're star status now." 

You gave a chuckle and walked over to hug him. He hugged you back, holding onto you for a few moments before you gently pulled away a bit. "Yeah, whether I like it or not." You replied unable to help looking at the crowd and he put a hand on your shoulder to look back at him instead.

"Hey, screw them. You've came a long way and they don't know what the fuck their even yelling about…" His eyes trailed down with raised brows as he fully pulled away. "And then there's…You." He huffed with a bemused smirk.  "Wow, you in heels is an eerie sight from your usual woman of the woods get up." 

"Oh, shut up." 

"No, seriously. Did you raid Gale Weathers closet?" 

"Ugh, do not compare me to Gale. " You grumbled with a huff.

"Or what? You can't give me pain anymore, Mistress. My wife will have a say in that." He showed his wedding band for emphasis.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I think if you annoy her as much as you annoyed me in the past; she'll make the exception."

"Not if you're dressed like your going to Fashion Week, she won't. She wouldn't even recognize you if she walked by the window." 

You shoved away from him lightly. "Oh God, stop. Seriously, it's just heels…Your just mad it makes me taller-" 

You went to measure your height with a devious grin, doing the same thing you did at college before that party until he smacked your hand away with a small puff of air escaping past his lips.

He took you in again, his smile fading before shaking his head slightly with a smile. "Seriously though, you look good! Really! It's just so…So-" 

"Different?" You asked with a raise of your brow before your face fell ever so slightly. "Yeah. It's not exactly what I wear on the regular…But…I'm a product and the packaging is what sells. " You gave with a bitter smirk.

His mouth parted as he stared at you. The teasing gone from his face as looked at you. "...Is…Is everything okay? Are you happy with all of this?" He gestured to the table with all the copies of your books. 

You almost told him the truth but quickly forced a smile and shook your head. "No, I'm okay. I'm just…I'm grateful. I mean, I'm privileged with the opportunities given to me from very less than ideal circumstances. I guess…Just wish I could wear a comfortable dress boot with the leaves turning soon." You lost your smile to ask him the same question. "And you? Are you happy with everything?...It's been awhile since we talked. Like, really 'talked' talked face to face." 

He faltered as well before giving a 'pssh' noise between his lips and an outrageous smile. "Of course! I have a beautiful wife that is way out of my league but still stuck it out with me. Two wonderful kids that are everything to me. A house right here in my hometown, I can walk and move like I was never in a coma from being stabbed over a dozen times, I'm freaking alive for god sakes!…No…Life threatening Incidents in a decade. Life is good!" 

You didn't believe that as he folded his arms and closed himself off as he spoke to you. Your brows rose slightly as you softly asked. "Well…And the video store? Everything okay?"

"Yeah! Y-Yeah so great that I now have two businesses in town." 

"Really? Which one?" 

He gave a big gesture to the bookstore with a tight smile.

You gawked at him.  "...This? YOU'RE the bookstore owner Rebecca talked to earlier?!" 

"Yep. She is a very unpleasant woman, by the way." 

Your face scrunched as it dawned on you. "Wait, why didn't you tell me you owned the store I was scheduled at? Why didn't you tell me about the bookstore in general??" 

He sighed heavily. "I was going to but I've been so busy lately. Seriously, I hope my kids remember I'm their Dad at this point." He faltered before his shoulders sagged. "And…I guess I just didn't exactly want to brag I own not one but TWO pieces of shit businesses now. Thank God for Karla's job at the bank." 

"What? Ray, is everything okay financially? Are you and Karla okay?...I know life got away from us but you know you can still tell me anything…Right?" 

Randy stared with a harsh swallow and frown. A protester got extra loud outside enough to break the silence as Randy rolled his eyes, walked to the store's window, and  jerked down a curtain to hide you both from view. He continued as he walked back towards you, arms falling at his sides. "We're okay but it's not…What I want for my family…I know you called and I missed it and I apologize for that. I almost called you back but I just decided I wanted to surprise you instead. I mean, you certainly surprised me with your Assistant putting your face on my store window!…Those assholes out there were not a part of the surprise, obviously. They just arrived 10 minutes ago... I'm sorry, I tried to threaten them with the police but they're not leaving until police arrive and APPARENTLY Woodsboro's finest have more important matters to attend to because dispatch will send an officer when they're 'available'." He rolled his eyes. "Thank fucking god no ones dying her or anything." 

You sighed. "I'm sure Dewey has a good reason for the lack of officers available. He's worried about my safety too." 

Randy nodded. "Yeah, I know…It's just we barely talk as is and then your welcome wagon is that? He couldn't have made sure to be here or send a deputy no matter what?" 

 "Don't worry about it. I've had worse…But back to you. If you're struggling then why do you own this too? What about the video store?" 

"It's…Tanking." He sighed out with a frown as he looked to the ground in shame. "I just came to look over this place instead of my employee Jenny because you were in town…AND she didn't show up to work today or call in. It's weird for her though; she's usually a pretty good employee…. But trust me, any other time, I'd love to be surrounded by films…People just don't rent movies anymore; not like they used to. When I bought the store from my older than dirt boss years back it was like a dream come true. 'Yes! I have something to rely on instead of some pencil pusher job for a boss somewhere!'." He mimicked excitement before dropping the act and slumping his posture. "… But I'm starting to think being my own boss isn't worth the hassle." 

"Was it really doing that bad?" You asked with a grimace. You looked around and saw Rebecca outside through a back window, stalking the yard. Still looking for Randy. Having gone out a back door, apparently.

Randy continued with a frown. "Yeah. The video store really did feel like something and…It's just fading to nothing. I mean, even Blockbusters are shutting down so how does the little man stand a chance? People are relying on that Netflix thing more and more every year. And this place feels like I invested in a steaming pile of crap too. I'm only supplying mostly romances to middle aged suburban housewives wanting to spice up their marriage. Seriously, none of these kids pick up Stephan King anymore. It's fucking sad." 

"Be honest. Did you read when you were a teen?" 

"ACTUALLY, I did." He gave with his arms folded and a smug look.

"Oh yeah? Comics don't count." 

"I'm telling you, I read! I was wise beyond my years." 

You released a huff of laughter at that. "AND reading for school projects doesn't count…Or Stephen King and Clive Barker's 3 books circulating in the library." 

He opened his mouth then closed it. "Ookkay, maybe I wasn't the biggest bookworm compared to my love for cinema but I did read. These kids today don't read books at all! I swear to god, if it's not on their phones or tablet; they don't look at it." 

You shrugged. "I think they read blogs and …Fanfiction online?" You drew out. Unsure if that was even the right term.  

Randy raised a brow  "What the hell is that?" 

You gave an exaggerated shrug.  "I don't know, I just know it wasn't popular when I was their age. I heard Rebecca talking about it with a friend. Something about someone made an erotic fanfiction of Twilight and Rebecca was trying to get a hold of the writer to get her to make a bdsm book about it next year?? I have no idea what the two have in common but I kind of want to look it up later out of morbid curiosity." 

"Weird. What? Is Bella gonna finally punish Edward for being a stalker? Or is a threesome finally gonna happen-" 

You cut him off, silently kicking yourself for bringing it up. "Randy, please. No Twilight rants. I KNOW you hate it." 

"It SUCKS, Yn. It's just some Mormon women's secret wet dream disguised as her inserting herself as Bella, I mean, what the fuck does a 100 something year old man want to do with a teenager anyways? What the hell could he have in common with a kid that doesn't even know what Zima is? And why is he so emotionally constipated with the personality of a rock? Isn't he trying to blend in with his alabaster marble like skin and bright fucking golden eyes? Furthermore, why is he at highschool? People graduate early, who the ever loving hell wants to be in high school forever? Worst years of my life aside from Middle school. And don't even get me started on the fucking sparkles and no drinking human blood!" He ranted a mile a minute.

You groaned softly to yourself and hung your head. "Oh god..." 

"Salem's Lot was a classic, Fright Night a masterpiece of 80s vampirism, The Lost Boys is still enjoyable to this day, John Carpenter's Vampires was kick ass, Near Dark which no one mentions despite it being one of the first western vampire films and having 3 great actors from Aliens! Alien was tremendously better, sequels suck, but that's besides the point!…And most of all, Dracula.. Don't even have to elaborate on that one. Okay, they were all vampire movies. Cold, undead, fanged up assholes that loved being a vampire. They LOVED drinking blood! What the fuck is the point-" 

"RANDY." You snapped before giving him a look. "I know, okay, I know!…Besides, why do you know so much about it if you hate it?" 

He wore a scowl on his face and looked away. "Because Karla's made me take her to see all 3 movies so far and guess what we're seeing this November?" 

You raised your brows with an amused smirk. "...Twilight Breaking Dawn?-" 

"Fucking Twilight Breaking Dawn" He answered before you could even get it out. 

You rolled your eyes playfully. "After all the cheap horror movies you probably have had her watch; it's the least you could do." 

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed out.

"THERE YOU ARE!" You both flinched at Rebecca's voice. "What half brained, idotic, little man are you that you can't do one simple thing; KEEP. THE POSITIVE SHINE. ON. YN. Do I gotta skin that cat or what?-" 

Randy held up his hands. "It's not even my cat, Lady! He just waltzed in one day and never left." 

You raised a brow. "So it IS your cat then?" 

Rebecca went to yell again and you held up a hand. "Rebecca! This is Randy!...Randy Meeks. The other Woodsboro survivor and my friend! Turns out, he's the owner." 

Randy gave her a sarcastic smile and wave as she faltered.

"...Oh." She straightened herself up. "Well then, you can still do something about that outside. Where are the cops?" She pointed to the protesters.

"I already called the cops and they're busy. What more do you want?" 

"BUSY?" She snapped before adjusting herself with a glare while marching out. "Want something done right…" She slammed the door as you both grimaced. 

Randy gave you a sideways glance. "I'd lecture her for slamming my door but I'm kind of afraid to." He looked at you. "Uh…Should we go help her? I mean, I'm the man here and she's just a tiny thing-" 

You chuckled sarcastically as he gave an offended look your way. "What? Okay, What YN?" 

"Sorry but you don't know Rebecca. She's like a fake splenda version of Gale; she'll be fine." You gestured to the door. "But I mean, go out there if you want. Since you're the man here and all."

He looked out the door of his shop and grimaced slightly. "Uhh…Nah. No, you need someone to protect you here more than Gale Jr. out there." 

You tilted your head with a smirk. "Oh, that's good. I feel so much safer with someone to protect me. My hand that was stabbed from fighting a man twice your size gives me trouble making a proper fist. And I get dizzy sometimes after another man punched me in the mouth and smashed my head into a bar. So, I'm so glad THE MAN is here to save me." 

Randy gave you a deadpan expression. "Bitch please, I was stabbed 14 times."

"And yet…What's your kill count? And who saved your ass multiple times? And remind me how many times you were the main target?" 

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. "I fucking held my own, smartass." 

" I know, just screwing with you for old time sake. Don't be mad, I know if a protester came in you'd be the first one to hit them." You chuckled and shook your head as you saw a bin of books on a nearby table. You picked one up and showed him. "We got at least 20 minutes till the book signing…What are these?" 

He huffed with folded arms but walked over to join you. "Those? Oh, books that aren't doing so hot. There from some lesser known authors that apparently aren't exactly best sellers." 

"Yet. It just takes one." You gave and Randy nodded. You picked a few. "Juliette Morris…J.R. Whitney…Summer Raine. Never heard of them." You picked one up and eyed the dark cover. "Robert Gray." You mumbled.

Randy gently took it from you to examine it. "Yeah, I was eyeing that one. Seems like a psychological thriller. Not my type of horror." 

You rolled your eyes. "I know, no blood or boobs, huh?" 

He put the book down. "I take offense to that. I'll have you know, I enjoy plot." 

"Uh huh. The plot of a big set of lungs running from some guy in a mask?" 

"Uh those are Classics; show some respect! "

"I don't have to respect shit when I lived through it." 

"Fair enough. But besides that, you know I actually do like plot to my movies. I'm not Stu-" He faltered. Both of you paused as he said it. You turned around and he shook his head with a bewildered expression. "Jesus, where'd that come from?" 

You stared a moment too, a bit of fear ran through you at the Randy even saying his name before you sighed with a shrug and a tight smile. "Well um…Bound to happen eventually, I guess. Me being back here, talking about horror movies with you like we were in high school again…It feels like we're at the video store and Stu's gonna come by any minute knocking over the vhs tapes just to irritate you while sticking his tongue out at me." 

He gave a look of disgust, a bit of uneasiness in his expression. "Can we please not talk about that reject? Slip of the tongue and it won't happen again." 

You parted your lips to say something but it died in your throat as you curtly nodded in response, looking back down at the book bin before he took it for you. 

"Anyways, I better let you get set up. People should start pouring in within the next 20 minutes. Let me just put these in the horror section. Yell if you need me." He gave a quick smile to you before walking away. 

You sighed and nodded to yourself. "Can do." 

—————————————————

The protestors died out. Well, some stayed but a few left after Gale saw some woman threaten to release personal info after she found out one's identity through a private facebook account that still had their pfp as their face and full name. Then, she threatened to post  them on twitter. A few promptly left but just as many stayed. Holding up the signs that Gale stared at; trying to chant over what you had to say.

Gale eased back from the small crowd gathered inside; eyeing you talking to everyone. A protester tried going in with a sign but she stopped him. "Lloyd, don't you have anything better to do? What would your kids think?" 

He glared at Gale, sign still raised with your picture marked out in red. "They'd be proud knowing I'm defending their cousin Steve's death from the likes of her." He pointed, raising his voice as you kept talking and tried to ignore it.

"Stu and Billy did that and you know it. She was proven innocent." Gale mumbled. "I have the lawsuit and half a million dollars lose to prove it." She mumbled the last part.

"And you proved yourself a coward too. Judge could have been paid off for all we know. You started this, you brought it to everyone's attention, you showed the facts… Just to be a quitter. Out of my way-" 

Gale jutted a hand out as he went to march past her. "I wouldn't do that, Lloyd. This is private property owned by my dear friend Mr. Meeks. You step one more inch of your fat foot in here and my husband the goddamn Sheriff will charge you. You want to yell out there like an idiot that's your American right but don't bring it in here." Gale hissed out. "Now get your fat drunken ass out of here or maybe that lawn that was wrecked coincidently after that bar fight you had with the homeowner will be coincidently reopened?…Everyone has cameras now. I'm sure if I used my old reporting skills; I could find out just who did that…Got it?" 

The man huffed, looking at her in disgust. "One day, your mouth is going to get you in trouble." He pointed at her in a warning as he walked backwards.

"It already has." She muttered back. Focusing back on you as you seemed to handle the protestors with more restraint than she ever gave you credit for. Unbeknownst to you that she was even here let alone defending you from people like Lloyd.

She just…Stared a moment. Taking you in. It was crazy to her. 

 'How did you go from a kid that was shaking over your own shadow to a professional woman selling these schmucks books like they were lined with Jesus's freaking toilet paper?' She thought.

She huffed softly at the thought, tilting her head to watch you. She swallowed as she saw you engaging with everyone in the middle of Randy's newfound shop she knew wouldn't make it, but then again, she didn't think you would either.

She couldn't help feeling…Cast out. A frown on her face. Once youthful skin now bore thin lines near her mouth and eyes. Seeing you up there in your prime, a professional dress and high heels on that looked like something she might have worn, a crowd eager to hear from you and your book…Meanwhile, she couldn't seem to even write her own. No one stopped her on the street anymore, no autographs or photo ops…She closed her eyes a second as she listened to you…You were all grown up now…She was aging too. A part of her could easily see a younger version of herself in you as you gave your speech…She hated it.

She still had her doubts about Tim and James not being Billy and Stu but after a decade of peace; she'd be an obsessed fool to harp on it now. Dewey was Sheriff of Woodsboro like he always wanted, Randy had a happy family and owned a few businesses in town, you were a national treasure…It seemed like everyone was doing something but her. She was so lonely she even was looking forward to coffee with you; coming clear down here just to see you. That's just how pathetic it felt that she was having coffee with the girl that technically ruined her career and yet she had no one else…

You finished talking, Rebecca talking for you to have people buy book copies of the New York Times Best Seller while they lasted.

You walked away before your smile fell, eyes landing on Gale. Gale stepped away from the entrance and gave a curt smile as you forced one on yourself. 

"Gale…I'm glad you came." You said. Not very warm but not outright hateful either. Both of you hadn't seen each other in a long while. You never were very close…A punch in the face at Windsor followed by a lawsuit that made headlines didn't exactly scream 'besties'.

Gale slinked over, taking her time to take you in before forcing out. "Congratulations, YN." Her cool eyes gazed at the table. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet but…" She trailed off. It was a lie. She had read it but something in her didn't want to admit it.

"Oh, well, you can have a copy or I can send you one if we sell out." You replied as Gale gave you a humorless smile at the comment. So similar to what she had told Sidney Prescott 15 years ago outside the police station. 

You gave an awkward shuffle, raising your arms then lowering and raising before stepping forward. Gale was never one for hugs and she knew you didn't exactly want to hug her either. It was all a big, curt, polite show in Gale's eyes that she played along with. For Dewey, for Randy…Even for you. She wanted to hate you but you made it hard proving her wrong over and over. She surmised eating crow over and over makes you more…Tolerant of the person feeding it to you.

You both pulled away with forced smiles as quickly as you hugged. Gale saw Randy standing in the background watching. Observing your exchange as Gale forced a smile his way over your shoulder. He gave a nod with a small polite smile as well.

You completely stepped away with a genuine happy expression as you exclaimed. "Dewey!" You quickly rushed over to hug him tightly. Dewey pulled away sooner than he normally would. Gale frowned at her husband. After all, he hadn't seen you in so long so why not savor the moment? 

"Hey YN. Gale you made it. Good." He breathlessly gave. 

He seemed frazzled as Gale eyed her husband.

You spoke up. "Dewey, I tried to call you." 

"And I tried to call too, SHERIFF!" Randy chimed in, standing next to you. "Those protestors are probably running for the hills now with your cop car about..." He checked his watch. "...45 minutes later." 

Dewey gave a remorseful grimace. "Oh, God. Are you okay?" You nodded before he continued. "Do you recognize any of them?" 

Randy and Gale exchanged glances as Randy nodded and Gale replied. "Yeah, a few. Lloyd Oarth was one of them." 

"Good, good...I'm sorry. Something really important came up…I gotta do something here." He took off his hat and anxiously ran a hand over his hair.

Gale raised a brow. "Dewey, what's wrong?" 

"Just- YN, I need to do this here…I am really sorry." He moved you out of the way and addressed the room right as Judy came barreling in. Police cars speeding down the block to get to the bookstore. A few protestors on the sidewalk scattered but police instantly got out of their cars and forced them to stay. Gale could hear that much and see it from the window.

Meanwhile, Dewey addressed the room. "Excuse me. This will only take a minute! I need you all to stay where you are and remain silent." 

A woman went to leave and Judy pushed her back inside. "Nobody leaves. You heard the Sheriff. Thank you." Even her voice had Gale side eyeing her.

Gale watched some mouthy woman with brown hair and a blue shirt tell her husband. "Can't this wait, Barney Fife? I'm running an event here!" She guessed the event runner was your assistant.

Gale felt a tinge of guilt having said the same thing about him in her book years and years ago. It was pushed aside as she listened to Dewey and more cops came in. Randy put a hand on you as he pulled you towards him. 

"Ma'am, this is a police event now." Dewey replied back.

Gale came to Dewey, blinking repeatedly and whispering to him. "WHAT is going on??" 

All before Judy stepped in between them to tell Gale. "Gale, this is police business. If you could just let us handle it." 

Gale instantly felt that familiar rage filling her at this woman having the audacity to use her little badge as leverage to disrespect her in front of her husband. 

Gale's eyes zeroed in on Judy. "I am talking to my husband, Deputy Judy." Gale used deputy like an insult as you watched.

———————————————————

You felt Randy pull you closer and out of the way of police rushing into the building as you watched Gale getting heated with some blonde deputy near Dewey. You weren't positive but you were pretty sure this was the infamous Judy she talked so fondly about.

Your eyes scanned the area, glancing at Randy as he wore a nervous expression. You were sure you had the same look on your face.

Gale spat at the deputy overstepping. "I am talking to my husband, Deputy Judy." 

Dewey turned to Gale, you and Randy. "Listen. There's a phone we believe may have been taken from the scene of a crime. Deputy Hicks has traced its coordinates back to this location." He hissed out low to not alert anyone but your group.

Randy blinked at Dewey, eyebrows scrunching. "W-What crime?..." Dewey didn't answer and Randy asked again more forcefully this time. "What type of crime, Dewey?" 

Dewey shook his head and walked a few paces. "It's…Need to know for now." 

Gale shoved her hands out in outrage. "And I'm not need to know?!" 

"SHH!" Judy ordered with a finger to her lips and you thought Gale looked ready to smack her right then and there. You watched on with Randy as Dewey held up a cellphone…All before a ringing sounded out.

Everyone in the room looked around before an officer outside shouted for Sheriff Dewey. Dewey and Judy ran out followed by Gale. You and Randy followed close behind with a small crowd behind you out on the street. A few protesters were held up by officers as well. 

You looked confused as the officers circled your rental car. Judy got out her gun and pointed to the trunk as Dewey came towards it.

You stared with wide eyes as you came forward to get their attention.

Dewey held up a hand. "Not now, YN." 

You gave him a dumbfounded look. "Dewey, it's my rental car." You felt eyes on you as you said that. Rebecca gave Dewey a sassy look before tossing the keys to him to open the trunk up.

He did just that, forcing it open as a collection of gasps escaped everyone. Rebecca stared with her mouth parted, Randy's jaw clenched as he held a tighter grip onto your shoulder, Gale gasped and stood closer to you as well, gripping onto your other shoulder…And you…You just stared with wide eyes as a bloody mess was revealed. Posters of your face littered the trunk of the car drenched in blood smears over your image. A knife, gloves and the ringing phone lay on top. Staring back at you in a taunting manner.

Dewey quickly recovered, almost angered at what he found. "Damn it! This is an official crime scene now. Let's lock it down." 

You stood near the trunk staring in absolute shock as someone pushed you away and you just allowed it. Spacing out as your heartbeat was thumping in your ears and your stomach sank. 

You numbly stared at Dewey and asked. "...Tell me this is a prank, Dewey." 

Dewey rolled his lips, looking remorseful before shaking his head and walking closer. "I'm afraid not, YN." He shook his head and placed an arm on your shoulder to lead you. "Come on." As he led you to a police car. 

Gale stayed back and so did Randy as Rebecca got on the phone and called someone. You looked back at Randy one last time before stepping into the cop car. He had a worried expression with a tight frown. Not even looking at you; only the evidence in the trunk…You had to wonder…Whoever did this; how did they unlock it without the keys?…Who's blood was that?

You saw the protestors that stayed behind glare at you in the police car. That trunk makes you look like what they always thought; a killer.

[killemwithkawaii]

'Meet the Fishers' S/I Ask Roundup 🎤✨

[CW: Spoilers for 'Meet the Fishers' and 'The Staycation', NS/FW lime, unreality, mental illness, unsanitary, vomit, delusion, drug use, yandere, violence, weapons, death, suicide, corpses, cannibalism]

In this post... @meadow-hearthfire @danuflowlove @thegracelessfaceless

(Okay, not an s/i ask, but I wanted to answer it anyway!)

This was an absolutely fascinating question that I unfortunately did not have the time to dig into during the event, so I posed the question to our resident nurse and fellow Sally-Simp @thegracelessfaceless! Here's what she had to say about L.S.S. and her own Sals blood labs:

"...It would make sense to me for him to of course be anemic like mine, those boys stay so cold except in summer. But also we have to factor in the electrocution. In people who have been electrocuted it's important to check their complete blood count, which is a little low in my Sal, serum electrolyte levels (fine now but right after the chair they were super high), liver function tests (low due to capillaries being fried) and BUN (blood urea nitrogen) which would be super low since the electrolytes were super high....

The levels have probably evened out by now, but they're are small abnormalities in those tests that will follow him for the rest of his life. Now Larry? His blood tests are the weirdest thing I've ever seen"

So yes, Danu, I'd say there is a strong possibility of some weird results in L.S.S.! It's very interesting that there's some evidence of electrocution in Gracies Sals blood, even after hopping realities...

I wouldn't be surprised at all if that were also true for L.S.S., but since he was technically a non-person in this reality, we were never able to take him to a doctor, and it might be, uh.... difficult to get labs run on what's left of him now.... 😬😬😬

Side note: I'm picturing a doc seeing Larrys results and being like "... this has to be an error. Uh... he's probably fine no aliens here :)" sdlfkjdslkf

Yes! Once the cat was out of the bag about both of their yandere tendencies and they officially became a yanXyan couple, L.S.S. and Neighbor!Mitch exchanged and took A LOT of photos together 📸💘

While we're talking about Mitch(5) and her interesting taste in décor, I wanted to point out an easter egg readers might not have noticed:

In her intro selfie, you can see a portion of her plushie collection in the background, including a strawberry and a rabbit. When Sal moves in the death day selfie...

... it's revealed that there's a wolf that admittedly looks like a cat but i was in a time crunch sshhh about to nom on the rabbits arm (mmm, foreshadowing~) 🍴

Well, since the number of alternate universes Sal could come across is supposedly infinite, there must be one of those out there... somewhere.... (right?) 🤔

Yes, all the time! He's a huge stickler for safety and following protocol, and wouldn't hesitate to say something if someone is endangering themselves or others. Half the reason he's called 'Mitch the Bitch' is because he's always bitching and nagging about this and that, but it's always for a good reason! He just can't stand the thought of someone getting hurt because of a careless mistake (especially if he could have done something to prevent it.... or god forbid, he caused it)... 😰

You make a very good point, Meadow.

>Had Sal treated videogame!Mitch more like the virtual pet everyone else perceived them to be, rather than his serious romantic partner, and prioritized his 'real' relationships over them most of the time, it's likely he could have spent the rest of his natural life within that universe with them in his pocket, chirping away~ (Aww, that sounds cute..! 🥺🎶💖)

>In his defense, L.S.S. was starting to have serious issues with his perception of time at that point, was becoming increasingly bored with the monotony of immortality while at the same time trying to avoid the temptations he gave into in previous lifetimes (*cough*Mitch(3)*cough*), and was struggling with making connections to the real people in his lives. The longer he's 'alive', the less he can relate to regular, mortal people, you know? All that repetition made it difficult for him to see much of a difference between Mitch(4) and Family and Friends (~4000), until they confronted him and brought him to his senses.

>It also didn't help that videogame!Mitch really fed into Sals addictive tendencies, punched him in the guilt complex (He promised Mitch(3) he'd be 'more in control... wouldn't let them do whatever they wanted' and Mitch(4) is a literal toy he has complete control over oop-) and also demanded constant attention! (You gotta wonder why they ended up in the box he found them in in the first place...)

>[Spoiler: That s/i is supposed to embody my endless thirst for praise/attention/validation, my constant people pleasing, my repetitive stims, tendency to mirror personalities, and my need for routine/sameness.... its like the part of me that's a very clingy pastel parrot with separation anxiety that you want to shove in a box sometimes because its Annoying lmao]

While we're on the topic, I think it could be argued that all of L.S.S.s relationships he'd had with the Mitchs hes encountered are irresponsible on Sals part (the most excusable being Coworker!Mitch). Ultimately, they're all sidequests that have been a major disruption to his real mission: Find the 'original' Larry, do everything he can to stop the D.O.G. wherever he encounters them, and generally fight for the greater good however he can (a cause far more important that his own personal fulfilment or happiness). Consider:

>There was no 'Mitch' in his original timeline, so they shouldn't really be considered a priority on his main quest (no matter how important they've become to him over time).

>Mitch(1) got waaaay more than she bargained for by getting involved with Sally. She expected him to be executed, not show up at her window in the middle of the night to take her on the run! He could have easily cut off the relationship for her sake at any time, knowing it could never realistically work out, but he chose to pursue it in favor of the lofty short-term reward. This decision ultimately resulted in both of their deaths (hers being completely unnecessary), and further contributed to the cycle of guilt that he was already trapped in in (only this time, the angst had a sexy, romantic edge! Juicyyy~)

>The versions of Mitch that Sal found later on had absolutely nothing to do with what happened between him and Mitch(1), so there was no real reason to get them involved in his guilt trip/ attempt at redemption.

>I mean, sure, they all provided a temporary, comforting distraction from the torture of immortality, but in the end, those relationships did nothing to help his ultimate cause or ease his guilt. All they did was leave Sal a little more twisted than he was before....

>But, can you really blame him for wanting something more sometimes, despite the inevitable consequences? A guy gets lonely, universe hopping for literally forever.... 🥺👉👈💘

Before, during, and after, baby 😎👌💨💙💦

The answer: "All the babes and booze money can buy? Sounds like heaven on earth to me.! Buuut I think I'd rather get a free private show from Sally-cat over here...~"

The Actual answer: He'd go and have fun for an hour or two, then either get kicked out for inappropriate behavior/ not having money, or he'd get cranky because he's overstimulated, get mad about something small, and retreat to the safety of his trailer in a huff.

Side note: Something I didn't really get to cover as much as I'd like to during The Staycation is Dealer!Mitchs sensory issues. It's one of the reasons he numbs himself with substances, loves living in the middle of the woods (very little noise and light pollution), and prefers to go into town at night (less crowded). He's just absolutely riddled with ADHD and chooses bad ways to cope with it 🤷‍♂️

Gotta admit, I was flip-flopping on the details for his death the entire time (and didn't have enough time to write it out, anyway) so I ended up leaving it pretty vague on purpose 🤡

The rough idea was that:

>Larry came to Mitch(4)s trailer to check up on Sal because he hadn't heard from him for a while and got worried.

>Larry barged in and found Sal dead [either pretty fresh, so Mitch(3) is still crying hysterically while trying (poorly) to resuscitate him, or like a couple days post-mortem, so Mitch(3) is in a drunken stupor and the smell is starting to seep under the closed bedroom door... couldn't decide which would be more gross/scary/pathetic and fun to write tbh🤔].

>Larry didn't want anybody to know that Sal died that way. He believed it would be better if they thought he'd just gone missing, like so many others in Nockfell had.

>Larry and Mitch(3) cut up Sals body in the bathtub and kept the pieces in Mitch(3)s fridge to be disposed of in sections (the whole body would be hard to transport and look super sus), probably by Larry putting them down the '''trash chute''' in Mrs. Packertons apartment. [or something?? I just know that Mitch(3) would be too freaked out/intoxicated to come up with a plan besides 'ignore it', and Larry makes grand schemes without thinking the details through, so it seems like something he'd suggest.] That way, Sals body would never be found and his reputation would remain intact.

>Larry bailed half-way through disposal because he couldn't stomach it, leaving Mitch(3) with a fridge full of rotting man meat and nobody to turn to because he's an asshole who pushed everyone who cares about him away.

>Ultimately, I had two main options for Mitch(3)s death, but couldn't quite decide:

Him being him, his solution is to avoid the problem until it goes away and take whatever substance is necessary to achieve that, so he does that until he ODs and dies in his trailer ['rots in a box' with Sal].

Because Mitch(3) he hadn't been pushing any 'Addison Special' lately, members of the cult come to check on him. They find him mid-suicidal binge, he asks them for help with getting rid of Sals body, keeps saying hes sorry and didn't mean to hurt anyone, he wants to get out of the game, yada yada... the cult decides hes no longer useful to them. They either... >go through the song and dance of charging him with murder and throwing him in jail for the rest of his life [again, he 'rots in a box,' but is all alone] >or, they just kill him, and his body either ends up in the same pile of remains as (half of) Sals did [in the temple, right under the apartments, which is where Sal would later find Mitch(4) in the lost-and-found box] OR they would just kill him and leave him to rot with the rest of Sals body in his trailer and kind of forget about it bc the D.O.G. runs the government and they can do that 🤷‍♂️

Whatever route tickles your fancy, Mitch(3) died alone, miserable, and completely out of control because of his own actions. (No wonder the next Mitch in line was so needy, attention hungry, and desperate to be told what to do... 🥺)

------------------------------- That's it for this roundup! Thanks for asking all these questions about my s/is, they were a lot of fun to answer (and if anyone has any more, I'd love to do another of these some time)! :D 💖💖💖

[tllthesundies]

hello could you please tell me some larrie harries?

o damb....um.....these are the only ppl i kno: babeharrie, wineharrie, lemonharry, medicinehoney and stylessavedme

[figula]

this will be a post of interest to a small number of people i think, almost none of whom actually follow this blog lol, but i thought i'd post it anyway

i'm working on a playlist of archival footage from the 80s/early 90s focusing on AIDS in the US + the UK. this is the link. a lot of these videos contain real graphic content pertaining the effects of unmitigated AIDS, up to and including death. it's unfathomable the amount of death, loss, grief, and isolation that these (primarily) men experienced during he 80s/90s and beyond

this is very obviously not an exhaustive list - i am working on it currently, and i am obviously not suggesting that these 40yo documentaries always stand up to 2023 scrutiny

two standouts to me are silverlake life: the view from here which is a 1993 documentary filmed by its subjects and chronicles the death of one of them. this one is really graphic + unflinching + you need to be aware of that going in. vito russo's our time: episode 4 - aids this is a really fascinating time capsule from 1983, with a really interesting debate on the bath house cloures. "what rights do dead men have?" is a phrase from that debate that has stuck with me since i first watched it several years ago. a young larry kramer is there too which is cool

[twelvedaysinaugust]

I know this has kind of been discussed on this blog before, but I really do think that if Harry and/or Louis wanted to put an end to Larry, there are a lot of things they could do to either end the speculation or at least simmer it down significantly. I think the counterpoint people raise is that they want to keep Larries as dedicated fans, but I always come back around to the things that we as fans would never have guessed or expected, which they must know will read as Larry and so could just not do. If it were just bluegreening occasionally, it'd be one thing, but I just think about things like 7 on Louis' setlist, Harry singing I Will Survive and Still The One at Coachella, Harryween... I sometimes wonder if even Louis and Harry have mixed feelings about Larry as a fandom and that's why their behavior sometimes so strange.

Yeah. I agree with your general meaning, although we can quibble about the specifics (like Harry has talked about listening to Shania Twain in the car with his mom, long before he ever met Louis). I will also say that the number of things that actually fall into this category for me, especially in retrospect, is rather small. And because I know I will get follow-up asks if I don't add this disclaimer, I'm not sure that it's fair or practical for Harry and Louis to avoid a lot of these things. (And even if they did, would fans continue to make other connections between events that were entirely coincidental? I think so.) But yes, I know what you mean.

The main reason why I wanted to answer this ask is to say that one thing that made me think differently is Louis basically saying he felt like he gave away too much and revealed more than he wanted to on Walls. Before that, I would have considered the “Princess Park” lyric (among other lyrics and themes on the album) to be one of those things you’re describing and assumed that Louis, at the very least, didn’t care if fans made that association.

Anyways, if fans’ interpretations are correct, I think Harry and Louis do these things mainly for themselves (and possibly each other). And to your last point: I just think about how complicated my own feelings are about Larry and the fanbase around it, so I can only imagine how it feels for Harry or Louis.

[limmastyles]

I understand that this PR stunt is to promote the movie and Olivia has hijacked it to promote herself but what does Harry’s team think that this is going to do? What does the studio and also Olivia’s team think that this is going to do? We all know Olivia is only doing this because she thinks it’s going to help revitalize her career but with her acting skills and her lack of the Director we know that’s not going to happen.Like there is a very small number of Harry’s fans that actually think that this is a real relationship. Then there are fans who don’t really give a fuck, then there are the many of us who think that this is PR then there are the Larries who also think that this is PR. So you have a good huge portion of his Fanbase you think this is a PR. Harries Fanbase isn’t going to help her in her career later on. Once Harry breaks up with a girl they forget about her they don’t really care about her anymore especially if that’s a girl that wasn’t that famous to begin with. Taylor Swift is Taylor Swift she was always going to be relevant with her without hairy, Kendall Jenner is a part of the Kardashians very unfortunately are always going to be relevant but people don’t really pay attention to Camille because she was a low-key model before hand and she is now low-key model with the monicker of Harry’s ex girlfriend attached to her. Olivia Wilde is going to go back to being a big list actress who can’t get any movie roles but now she has this terrible stain on her name. We all know don’t worry darling sucks And isn’t going to do well and the production team and the studio also know that. She lost perfect, she has a extremely small role in Babylon and who knows if that will even make it into the movie and the spider woman movie by Sony was apparently scrapped. Now the general public don’t like her. She was just Jason Sudeikis his fiancé before to the general public and now today and she is a cheater who left her fiancé and her kids to follow a 20 something year old around the world cool looks and happy every time he’s with her. They think that she looks pathetic. So who is this really for? Like have her team not really realize that her 15 minutes of fame does have an expiration date. Like after the stunt is over and after the movie is out people are going to care about her anymore. This time next year we would have forgotten about her. So what do they think that they are going to accomplish. We know these days that the movie and theatre industry are kind of dying. People don’t want to go spend $15 on a movie when they can spend the same amount of money on a subscription and get thousands of movies and TV shows for the price of one movie. These days movies that do well at the theatres are only huge blockbuster movies and if people here that a movie isn’t good they are aren’t going to want to spend money on it. Yes don’t worry darling gets bad ratings than people aren’t going to want to see this movie. That intern will generate low box office sales which means that it doesn’t matter if Harry’s fans will go see it the general public won’t want to see this movie not only because it’s getting bad reviews but Olivia Wilde leaves a bad taste in their mouth so they aren’t going to want to support her anyways. Also for hairy this doesn’t help him whatsoever. This does it make him more relevant to his fans and it only makes him look worse in the eyes of the general public. This home wrecking cheater image that he spent so long trying to get rid of is back full force because the general public think that he broke up ogre and jason. They might not think it but this does put a state on Harry and his reputation as well. I just don’t understand why this wasn’t thought out properly. Like you look at other PR stunt and how it can sometimes help people but in both cases both parties are losing. I just don’t think that either of their teams really thought this through and it’s too late to go back and now that it’s ending it just looks fucking stupid and messy and after the movie comes out we will see if the stunt was worth it bu

This trick is absolutely not worth it because it will eventually drown them both. But Harry has fans who will stay with him forever, and he will eventually be able to restore his image … but she will forever remain a disgusting mother and a mediocre director/actress who has gone into oblivion

[autisticandroids]

Okay so this was a while back but im preety sure you had mentioned an au of yours where dean is a serial killer and cas successfully stalks him but i don't think you talked about it more than that and i just really want to hear a bit more bc that idea sounds so tastefully fucked up

okay so. weeks later i finally end up answering this ask. it inspired this post btw. anyway spn is a show that's like. all about justifications, as i said in the post inspired by this ask. it's about having no choice and doing what you have to do. and like there is the phantasy embedded in it, a phantasy that is both indulged and punished. but most importantly it's justified. the monsters are super strong to show how brave our heroes are for fighting them, the main characters let out great wails of grief every time their lady loves are violently ripped from them (even though now they are free to do whatever they want), the narrative twists to show our heroes as correct whatever they do. the fantasy (of being allowed to enact violence, of being free from feminine "control," of being right) comes first. the material construction of the universe of supernatural comes afterward. whatever the fantasy is, the universe of supernatural will provide material conditions to justify its acting-out.

and what this means is that our protagonists, dean in particular, are constantly doing just horrific things, which in any other circumstance would be unconscionable. but the universe of supernatural provides justification for these acts. the point of my serial killer au which i think about so so so much is to ask the question: what if these justifications melted out from under their feet? what if dean was left holding nothing but a lie and the weight of everything he's done?

therefore, the premise of my au is such (under the cut because this baby is long):

john and mary winchester, in the mid seventies, joined a doomsday cult known as the men of letters. the men of letters were rather unusual for a doomsday cult, in that they believed that the apocalypse could be prevented by human behavior. this started as correct living, correct worship, yadda yadda, the kind of behavior and thought control that cults are known for, but with the justification of: if you don't do this, the world will end. eventually, this escalated to human sacrifice. the men of letters managed to untraceably kill two homeless people in the late seventies. but they eventually fell apart. however, a month after john and mary left the men of letters (mostly john's choice, mary still believed), mary died in a house fire. john took it as a sign from god that actually, the men of letters were right, and the world would end unless john himself did something about it. so he took some of the (intensely numerological) theology of the men of letters. and he worked out his own formula. and he applied it to the yellow pages. and started ritualistically killed people to prevent the apocalypse, with his two sons in the back of the car.

now, obviously, this is some kind of grief induced temporary madness on john's part, shaped by the mental abuse he suffered in the men of letters. but the thing is, once you've killed a couple of people to prevent the apocalypse. well. there's this thing called the sunk costs fallacy. john wasn't gonna question his own beliefs after that.

and he raised his boys to believe it, too, or at least he raised dean to. they didn't tell sam what they did until he was twelve, and sam didn't buy it, tried to call the cops on them several times but in the end, they always prevented him. eventually sam ran off to stanford, where he now lives under a cloud of guilt that he's too loyal to his family to rat them out.

john died a few years back of a heart attack, but dean is convinced it's because he messed up a ritual two weeks before it happened, so it pushed him further into this belief system.

dean's killings (and john's before him) are ritualistic and distinctive, obviously the same killer each time. but they happen anywhere in the united states, seemingly at random, there are inconsistent amounts of time between each one (sometimes as short as days, sometimes as long as years), and there is no particular victim profile. obviously, since our killers are following an arcane mathematical formula to make their choices for them, but the police don't know that.

castiel novak is an unemployed shut-in with a small inheritance which he's living off of, a cryptography degree, and an obsession with all things morbid. he spends most of his time on the reddit true crime forums, playing amateur sleuth. by complete chance, he happens to recognize one of the symbols frequently used in corpse displays by the so-called sioux falls satanic slaughterer (so named because the first time three of his victims were in the same part of the country, it so happened that they were all in sioux falls, south dakota. this was in the late eighties.) as being mostly only used by a little known cult group called the men of letters, which dissolved in the mid eighties.

he only notices this because, as a teen, he had a special interest in cults and fringe religious groups. the men of letters weren't a particularly notable or well known phenomenon; they were small, and a lot like every other cult that formed during the seventies cult boom. (no outsider ever heard about the human sacrifice; there were rumors, of course, but they were garbled, sensationalized, and mixed up with satanic panic fodder.)

(the men of letters' two sacrifices were nothing particularly romantic or fantastical. they first lured panhandler josie sands back to their compound with promises of food and a warm bed when she admitted she couldn't get a bed at a shelter, and was thinking of getting caught shoplifting just so she could be under a roof in the county jail. the men of letters' leader, a man who took on the name alistair, forced his inner circle to dress in the ceremonial black robes he had given them when he initiated them into his nearest and dearest, and which his wife had sewn out of old bed sheets and dyed black with home made oak gall dye. these robes still left black smudges on the wearer's skin occasionally if they sweated too much. josie was laid, bound, on the altar, a slapdash thing constructed over the course of two days from scrap plywood and a couple of milk crates. a rich red tablecloth purchased at macy's for $3.99 hid its ugliness and gave it grandeur. alistair attempted to kill the struggling miss sands by bringing a sharpened kitchen knife down on her bosom and piercing her heart, but, having never killed a human or even slaughtered an animal before, was unaware of the problem presented by the human ribcage. after rather ineffectually poking at the area beneath sands' bosom with his knife while she shrieked in pain and terror for about ninety seconds, alistair tried a different tack, and slit her throat, which worked just fine, and she bled out quite nicely. the second and final victim of the men of letters was a local vagrant named larry ganem, an older gentleman who walked with a limp. he was lured back to the compound in approximately the same manner as sands, but instead of being bound, he was fed stew laced with sleeping pills. even if alistair hadn't slit his throat, he wouldn't have woken up. it's actually arguable whether he was still alive at time of sacrifice; mary winchester (eight months into her first pregnancy), who, as a member of the inner circle, was in attendance, actually tried to take ganem's pulse as he lay on the altar (now covered by a different tablecloth; the red one had turned stiff with sands' blood and been subsequently burned) and found nothing, so it is entirely possibly only sands' death can be directly laid at alistair's feet, and ganem's is the fault of mrs. ellen harvelle, who prepared the laced stew. regardless, these two deaths are lessons in the nature of human evil: it is very rarely skilled, suave, or smooth. it's often slapdash, half-hearted, and just plain incompetent. but that makes it no less grisly. alistair may have begun to drink his own kool-aid, as it were, and escalated this far out of genuine belief that the apocalypse was coming and it was up to him to stop it, but it is far more likely that he sensed the imminent collapse of his little empire, and wanted to bind his subjects to him through the horrors of shared guilt, considering two lives a small price to pay for the continued loyalty of his inner circle. and the tactic worked: the men of letters didn't start to collapse in earnest until almost four years later. perhaps if alistair had continued the killings, the men of letters could have lasted for far longer, maybe even up until the present day. but it seems that alistair, a psychiatrist by training and unused to violence, simply didn't have the stomach for it. unlike, say, john winchester, who before his time with the men of letters had done a two year tour in vietnam, during which he had killed three living, thinking human beings with the american government's go-ahead.)

anyway. castiel is the first person, ever, to make the connection between the men of letters and the sioux falls satanic slaughterer. and once that connection is made, castiel begins to research the men of letters far more in-depth. and he notices something: the theology of the men of letters was intensely numerological, filled with patterns, significant numbers, and even spiritual equations.

castiel thinks of the seemingly random selection of the slaughterer's victims, and has an epiphany.

he cracks all his fingers, and gets coding.

six months. it takes castiel six months to discover an equation that could fit the slaughterer's pattern. it's complex, but also clearly based on several of the men of letters' holy numbers, and accounts for every single one of the killings. it also suggests that there should have been two or three more deaths scattered across the years, but more than likely those did happen, it's just that they weren't reported as part of the slaughterer's portfolio.

but much more importantly, castiel's model can also make predictions. there will be two killings, fifteen days apart, in a city seven hours' drive away, six weeks from now.

so castiel waits. and he books a hotel room. and two months later, he's waiting outside 217 oak street when a shadowy figure climbs up a tree and lets itself into the upstairs window.

dean winchester is feeling particularly all alone in the world when he breaks into maisey banks' home (217 oak street). his father has been dead for half a decade, and he hasn't spoken to his baby brother for twice that. it's not like this whole grizzly saving the world business makes him a lot of friends. so once he's done killing maisey (which is easy, she was ninety three and dying of cancer anyway. she doesn't even wake up when he slits her throat) and arranging her corpse in the appropriate manner, with prayers and sigils, he turns around. and sees a man standing behind him.

smiling slightly.

as he watches dean gut this old woman.

dean freezes.

the man takes a step forward.

"you're very attractive for a serial killer who's been operating since the eighties."

dean is silent.

"family business, is it?"

silence continues.

"i'm not here to report you to police. i'm just here to see if my algorithm worked right."

and dean finally breaks his silence: "what the hell is wrong with you?"

what's fun here is that dean knows (or rather "knows") that he isn't a serial killer. so he finds what cas is doing, this amoral serial killer stormchasing, morally repugnant. because cas has no way of knowing he isn't a regular serial killer.

there's also the fact that that cas proceeds to flirt with him. aggressively. and follows him back to his motel.

but the thing is that dean is all alone in the world. and as cas continues trailing him around, he starts getting, well, flattered. and feeling a little bit less alone.

it doesn't take very long before they fall into bed. even if cas is an amoral stalker with a fetish for what dean considers a distasteful yet necessary vocation.

so. they fall into bed. they fall in love. they make a little life together, in dean's big sexy car. dean tries to explain to cas that he's saving the world. that these people's lives are a necessary price to pay. and cas seems to listen.

of course, castiel doesn't believe a word of it. but he's found that he likes dean. really likes him. and he realizes that the collapse of dean's belief system would destroy him.

so he sets about becoming as complicit in it as possible.

even to the extent where, when dean is hit by a car and ends up into the hospital a day before one killing is meant to take place, castiel agrees to take on the job. (he doesn't actually kill anyone, obviously. but he does use his extensive skill with computers to create three fake newspaper articles which make it look like he has.)

but five years later, something goes wrong. really, really wrong. dean miscalculates the formula. and by the time he checks his work, the actual date of the next kill, as demanded by the formula, has passed. in fact, so have three others. and the world didn't end.

dean collapses. he hyperventilates. all those people. all those people. for no reason. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people. all those people.

cas seems totally unfazed. dean stares at him in shock. but cas just takes dean in his arms, and whispers in his ear: "oh, dean, i never believed in the equation. i love you no matter what you've done."

and dean buries his face in cas' chest.

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 7. roof

Previous | Next

[warnings: violence mention, smoking, suicide mention]

"i love this feeling. this feeling of calm." — When you and Sal left the unoccupied classroom, the halls were already bustling again. It was easy to remain unseen, as the both of you gently shut the door behind you and slipped into the crowd.

You'd both missed the entirety of your first class.

The school's faculty was unreliable, though—maybe you'd get away with it.

You knew you looked like a hot mess, so you kept your head down as you walked alongside Sal through the halls. He was silent for the time being—but you knew he was there because he walked closely to you.

"Your lipgloss," you hear him say. You look away from the floor to meet his eyes, gazing up at him curiously. "It's messed up."

You nervously laugh. "I'm sure it is—that's what I get for wearing a colored one. I'm sure you're wearing some too, now."

He chuckles, silent for a moment. You bet he's licking his lips. "Yeah. Tastes nice."

Your face feels tingly all over. You raise your fingers to touch your lips, skim over the skin just around them—and sure enough, the sticky residue is all over. You'd kissed most of it off, but a good amount of it had just smeared.

"I'm gonna go freshen up," you say, gesturing toward the girls' bathroom. "I was just laying on a floor a few moments ago."

Sal follows your line of sight. "Okay. I'm gonna head toward my next class. Text me if anything happens."

You smile and wiggle your fingers in farewell as he turns and walks into the dense crowd of students. You breathe out a shaky sigh as a feeling of complete and utter disbelief washes over your body.

When you entered the bathroom, you avoided locking eyes with anyone else inside of it—instead, you made a beeline for a roll of paper towels, ripping off a sheet and crumbling it up in your palm. You moved toward the sink, turned it on, and passed it beneath the steady stream of cold water running from the faucet. You then raised it to your lips and wiped the stickiness off.

Once you'd done that, dried your lips, and thrown the paper towels away, you allowed yourself a moment to stare into the mirror.

It was kind of hard to look at yourself. Every time you made eye contact with your reflection, all you saw was the sight of a head with blue hair between your legs—and pale hands clad with silver rings holding your thighs open.

Your body began to feel fuzzy, so you whisked the thought away, fixed your hair, and continued to your next class.

When it was time to gather in the cafeteria, you ran into Ashley on your way toward it.

"Hey!" She called, approaching you from one side of the hallway. She tucked a wispy strand of hair behind her ear, blinking down at you with lash-fringed green eyes. "Let's walk together."

You had no problem with that. "Sure."

You absentmindedly watched her pull her sleeves down to make sweater paws as the two of you walked side by side.

Your lips felt dry. You wished you knew where your lipgloss had gone. It had been in your jacket pocket earlier—but had fallen out or gotten lost inside of it. You had no clue, but chalked it up as a mysterious disappearance and accepted the loss.

The both of you found Todd first, then Larry and Sal who were together.

A nervous feeling swirled in your gut. You knew Sal wouldn't, you trust him—but something inside of you feared that he'd told Larry what had happened. Which made no sense, on your part. Sal definitely wasn't the type to get up and tell someone directly after having a sexual encounter.

Your anxiety worsened for a different reason when you'd realized that Sal and Larry weren't interacting like you were used to. Larry's body language was stiff—and his features were drawn into a frustrated expression.

The whites of his eyes weren't red anymore, though, so you guessed his high wore off.

Sal didn't seem to be in the same bitter mood the other boy was, but you'd grown accustomed to reading his body language in a lot of different situations—and he didn't seem as chilled out as he normally would be.

Sal was a laidback person. Seeing him so tense was strange.

On the way into the cafeteria, you and Sal were momentarily separated from the rest of the gang after a group of students cut the two of you from the other three. Even though you had this moment of alone time, you didn't ask Sal about his and Larry's behavior. It wasn't your business.

You felt ringed fingers wrap around yours. Your heart jumps, and you seriously think Sal is going to walk you into this cafeteria by the hand—but instead, he raises your arm and places something in your palm.

You look down. It's that pink tube of cherry-flavored lipgloss.

You laugh and meet his eyes. "Where did you find it?"

"I- uh, went back into that classroom," he replies. "I left a ring in there."

The crowd is thinning out, and you watch your friends settle at a table. You redirect your attention back to Sal, inclining your head toward him. "Why did you take them off, anyway?"

He speaks to you closely, leaning toward the side of your face so he can speak lower. His hand ghosts your waist.

You've quickly begun to understand that a huge part of your.. involvement.. with Sal involved a good amount of touching. You weren't uncomfortable with touching him, and that gave him the confidence to not be scared of doing the same to you.

"I thought I'd be using my fingers," he answers, the tone in which he speaks a bit nervous, as you place the lipgloss tube in your jacket pocket. "But I got carried away, I guess."

Your heart pounds against your ribs, anxiousness rushing through your blood more so than your blood did. You want to reply, continue this conversation—but you know this interaction has been going on for too long and you can practically feel someone's eyes burning holes through your back.

You hadn't realized how close you were to him until you'd stepped back. "Come on, we should sit before-"

Before you can even finish, someone's rested their hand on your shoulder. You jerk, instinctively whirling towards the person and bumping back into Sal. You steady yourself quickly and look up to lock eyes with Travis.

"Holy shit," you breathe, genuinely startled. "What the hell?"

Sal hasn't said anything, yet. But you know he isn't very shy. He isn't really afraid of Travis.

"You're in my way," Travis sneers, not looking at you, but at Sal. "Move."

You look around you before meeting his dark eyes and giving him a deadpan expression. You weren't blocking anyone's way, as countless students were continuing to file around the both of you and head towards their tables. "There's more than enough room for you to walk around us." You reply even when he isn't speaking to you.

Travis's gaze locks with yours, pupils dilated. He looks back to Sal. "Your friend here really loves to involve herself in our business, doesn't she, Fisher?"

Your jaw clenches.

"You involved her whenever you touched her," Sal says lowly. His voice grows deeper as he speaks slower. "If you have something to say to me, talk to me."

Travis's face slowly grows red with rage. He jerks, his cross necklace glistens in the corner of your eye, and suddenly his fingers are gripping your arm. You barely have time to process before you're pulled just a bit and your blood goes cold.

It's not like he's yanked you hard enough to hit the ground—but you stumble, just a bit, and now you're closer to him. His initial grip didn't affect you, but the moment he'd tightened his fingers to pull, it hurt.

You hear the sound of someone abruptly standing off of their seat. You know it's Larry, you saw the mood he was in—and you pray something happens before he can make his way over here and beat Travis to a bloody pulp.

All because of you, everyone would be in trouble.

What happens is not what you expect.

Sal reaches forward, wraps his long fingers around Travis's skinny wrist, and hastily rips the other boy's hand off and away from you. Your mind goes blank and the feeling of your raging heartbeat dissipates when he laces his cool fingers through yours and tightens his grip around you.

He flicks his eyes over Travis' paling face, meets his wide eyes, and leads you off.

It doesn't take very long to reach the table. Just before you've parted through another small crowd of teens, Sal lets go of your hand. You have nothing to complain about—you knew it wouldn't last long.

You assume the number of people bustling through the cafeteria would have obstructed your friends' view a bit, so you doubt they saw the handholding. You knew that they'd seen the altercation, though—because you'd heard Larry jump from his chair.

As soon as you've finished easing into your seat, someone's speaking.

"So?" Larry starts, impatiently flexing his fingers atop the table. He looks you straight in the eyes and continues, "What'd Travis say? Why did he grab you? Do I need to-"

"He was just being Travis, Larry,"  Sal cut in, tone short. You witnessed each and every person at the table's eyes widen. Your heart jumps a bit, too—you've never heard him sound like that. "He'll probably try to find me after school later and beat the shit out of me. I'd let him, at this point."

"He's never done that before, though," Ashley points out warily. "This time won't be any different than any other time, right?"

"Not unless something else happened," Todd speaks up about the matter for the first time, swallowing a bite of his sandwich.

"But it was different," Sal breaks in again. "I touched him."

Larry's dark eyebrows jump. "Did you hit him?"

"No." You assert for Sal, nervously glancing his way. "Nothing like that."

Everyone at the table seemed like they wanted more information—shifting in their seats anxiously (save for Todd) and casting inquisitively wary glances toward Sal—but you guessed no one wanted to make Sal any more uncomfortable than he already seemed to be.

Eventually, Larry dissolved the intensity with a joke and eventually a conversation started back up. You put your input in occasionally, wanting to make an effort and be present.

That was a bit hard, though—considering Sal's current timidity. He hadn't spoken for the rest of lunch and barely acknowledged anyone on the way out of the cafeteria.

When your classes had finished for the day, it was time to attend detention.

That was uneventful as well. Sal was placed on the opposite side of the classroom, so even with the teacher who was nodding off and pounding rain concealing any noise you would have produced, you couldn't have genuinely spoken with him.

On the way home from school, the sound of squeaking wet grass and squelching mud beneath your feet grew very unbearable and you quickly broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, Sal, but-"

"You should just stay away from me."

Your heart jumps. It seems to leap from a cliff because it seems to settle in the pit of your stomach. "What?" Your eyes fly towards his prosthetic face, wishing you could search it for anything—but you can't. "Sal, what do you mean?"

"This'll just keep happening. I shouldn't have involved myself with someone like you in the first place."

"Someone like me?" You echo, feeling a bit faint. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Someone who deserves better than the likes of me," he says lowly. "You don't deserve to be grabbed and made fun of just for associating with someone, Y/N. I don't want that for you."

"I don't give a shit, Sal," you bite, tugging at your backpack straps roughly. "I think I can choose who I hang out with."

Sal's quiet after that. It's torture, listening to the breeze rustle the tree leaves and whistle past your ears for 5 whole minutes. Something that calmed you so greatly now made you feel like punching something. You just wish he'd speak.

He does after that thought. "I just want something good for you. I don't want someone else to be dragged into the mess that's my life. Within a few days, Larry's already gotten you fucking high as a kite, you've had to deal with Travis more than once.."

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm not an angel, Sal. I hadn't gotten high before I met you because I didn't have friends—I wasn't tainted because of you or Larry. And as for Travis, he's just a dick. We've all had to deal with someone like that in our lives."

You're both now stood on the pale concrete of the sidewalk. You watch Sal's blue hair blow a bit, the sky blue shade of the strands blending prettily against the multicolored sunset behind him.

"You don't know me," he tries.

"You don't know me," you reply.

The mask shifts and he looks down at his shoes. You follow his gaze, tracing the color of his cornflower blue sneakers.

"I think we shouldn't do this anymore," Sal mumbles quickly, and you wouldn't have picked it up if you hadn't been straining to hear him so much.

You swallow thickly. "Do what?"

He does the same, Adam's apple moving against his throat. "Whatever.. this is."

Your eyebrows pull down. "For 'my sake' or because you don't want to bother with me anymore?"

Sal doesn't reply, flexing his fingers and standing there helplessly. He avoids your eyes and chooses not to reply.

"You're not supposed to choose what's right for me," you chide. "You can't-"

His head jerks up, and he seems to snap. "I don't want this anymore. There, is that good enough?"

Your heartbeat stutters, and you feel the blood draining from your face. Initial confusion and shock are quickly replaced by vexation and frustration. You turn around and hastily walk away, away from Sal and leaving him behind you.

You walk, and walk, and walk. You continue even when the sun disappears behind the line of Nockfell's horizon and when the stars show themselves in the sky. The night is even colder than the day and continues to grow even more frigid as your legs carry you away.

Eventually, your feet are too numb to continue, and you settle on the sidewalk. You shiver, the night's breeze gusting into your face. You pull the denim jacket you wore closer to your chest.

You try not to think about it too hard, but the thoughts are intrusive. You've never felt stupider than you did at this moment.

He didn't want to deal with you anymore. You should have never involved yourself in Travis and Sal's business. You'd just made it all worse for him. He didn't want to have to protect you—who would?

It was over. Whatever it was—it was gone.

Eventually, you find yourself laying on your side. The concrete is cool against your cheek, and the wind is even cooler.

The cars stop coming. You don't know what time it is, and you don't want to check.

You stare out at the sideways road for a while, and eventually the numbing cold lulls you into a dreamless sleep.

You're not even fully awake when a blinding light is shining into your closed eyelids. You groan, pressing the palm heels of your hands into your eyes before blinking them open. In front of you, a vehicle has pulled to the side of the road, just up against the curb. The headlights are way too bright to tell the make or model, or even the color.

"Holy shit, that's Y/N!"

You pull your body into an upright position, wincing as your stiff joints protest your movements. You're barely on your feet before someone's firm hands are on your shoulders. You blink, your eyes trailing from a male's chest to his face.

It's Larry. And stood not far behind him are both Todd and Ashley.

Well, that's certainly a sight to see. Despite your disorientation and overall confusion, you still find it within yourself to feel embarrassed.

"Are you alright?" Todd asks, adjusting his glasses and stepping to Larry's right. "We were driving by and saw someone sleeping on the sidewalk, and turns out it was you."

Suddenly. Ashley is on Larry's left, her pretty features twisted into an expression of terror. "What are you doing out here? It's one in the morning."

You blink fast, absentmindedly raising your hands and placing them atop Larry's which are on your shoulders. He was the only thing steadying you right now. Your body felt weak and sore and your feet were stinging.

"I'm- I'm fine," you breathe. "I sat down and I fell asleep."

Everyone in front of you exchanges concerned glances before returning their attention to you.

"Y/N," Larry speaks first. "I'm sorry for letting you smoke so much. Maybe you're still high-"

"I'm not high," you scratch the back of your head. "That wore off a while ago. I just.. was walking.. for a while."

That was when you finally realized the proximity Larry's hands were to the bruises on your neck. Nonchalantly you slid his fingers off of your shoulders and pushed your hair to shadow the bruised flesh.

It was too dark to see much out here. You doubted they saw anything.

After answering the same question a few more times over ("You're sure you're okay?") you all climbed back into Ashley's vehicle, Todd in shotgun and Larry in the seat beside you, and began the drive to Addison Apartments.

Soon after the vehicle began to move the volume of the radio had been turned higher. The tranquil sound of an acoustic guitar soothed your aching skull as you watched the streetlights pass by. You leaned your head against the window, the cold glass pressing against your forehead spreading a chill down your face.

You breathed slowly. Every puff of hot air that escaped your lips blurs the glass before the frigidity of the window itself evaporated the fog. This sequence continues until you've arrived at Addison Apartments.

You hadn't even realized Todd had been dropped off already until you looked at him to say goodbye and he wasn't there.

Ashley bid both you and Larry goodbye and drove away. Silence hung between the both of you until you entered the bittersweet interior of Addison Apartments. But, for once—the atmosphere of the ground floor calmed you. The lights were dimmed, and a shaded lamp was the main light source of the lobby. The walls were cast over with a calming golden hue.

It reminded you of home—a home you'd never known.

"Weren't you with Sal?" That's the first thing Larry says to break the newfound silence. "You had detention together."

You hesitate. "Yeah. We went to detention—didn't see him afterward."

Larry searches your face with deep, cryptic eyes. "I'm seriously sorry about the weed," he states, the tone on his tongue sincere. "That was my bad—and I see that now. Sal told me how high you got, dude."

Your heart tumbles in fear. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing—just how you'd ran into each other and you were high."

"Was that the reason things were so tense between you before lunch?" This genuinely made you curious.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I think that's why he was kinda snappy. He's never really like that when it comes to Travis. Sal's a patient guy—he usually just avoids talking about anything at all after a confrontation with Travis."

You didn't want to talk about him or any of it anymore. You wanted to climb in bed and stare up at your ceiling and listen to the dead air and the static in your ears. "I just-" you swallow. "I... never mind. I'm gonna head up and get to bed."

Larry blinks down at you, his inquisitive eyes searching for something. "Alright. Get some shuteye, dude. Okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, nodding tiredly and retreating toward the elevator. Larry walks back outside—you assume to light a cigarette—and you step into the elevator. As soon as those doors close, the light inside shuts off.

You're too tired to jump in surprise or feel fear. Instead, you wait it out and walk to your apartment once you're free.

Once you've unlocked the door and stepped lightly to your room, you fish your flip phone from the depths of the pocket in your denim jacket and open it up.

Sal :) Missed Call (3)

Sal :) just let me know you got home safe

Sal :) i'm on the roof if something's wrong

That message was sent 11 minutes ago.

Maybe he'd still be there.

But why would you want to go after what he'd said to you? Why would you want to see him so soon?

How would he have even got to the roof, anyway?

Despite yourself, and all of your better judgment, you go towards your window and slide it open from the bottom. Sure enough, the stairs of the fire escape sit just below the sill. You swing a leg over it, then the other, and pull yourself onto the metal steps. They rattle a bit, but they're steady.

You pull the majority window closed (leaving just a bit of space so you can get it back open) and head up the steps of the fire escape.

It doesn't take long to reach the top. Whenever you step on the roof, despite the fact your feet are planted on something firm, you sway dizzily.

Maybe you had a fear of heights.

There he is. He's sat on the edge, legs hanging over. His back is to you, but you can make out the fact that he's holding a cigarette by the way smoke trails from in front of him into the sky.

You walk forward, making slow movements. You then step beside him and lower yourself to where you're sitting on the edge with him.

And as you stared out into the night, felt the breeze grow warm, almost like it had done so for you—all that you felt was inner peace. Your feet swung back and forth, nothing below to catch them but a free fall and the concrete.

You looked out at the sleeping town and the golden streetlights that lit it.

"Do you ever think about it?" Sal murmurs, his voice is a bit clearer than it was normally because of the way his prosthetic was halfway unbuckled. You heard the crackle of a cigarette and then smelt smoke.

"Think about what?"

"Jumping," he replies. "What if we jumped together?"

Your chest tightens painfully. "Sal-"

"Think about it," he says. "No one would know what went through our minds when we jumped—they'd never stop talking about it. Nothing ever happens here. Something like that.. you'd feel important."

"You wouldn't feel anything," your voice shook despite your best efforts. "You'd be gone for everyone. All of the people who love you now would only lose you."

Sal stays silent, taking a drag from the cigarette and inhaling.

"I know how it feels to want to be missed. To want to feel appreciated." Your hand grows closer to his. "I know that's how you feel. The difference between us, though—you're loved, you're probably even missed when you skip a day of school," you smiled softly. "I'm not. I know what being unloved looks like, Sal. You're not that."

You turn your head to meet his gaze. Moonlight shines against the white of his prosthetic face. He blinks those blue eyes slowly, tiredly. Instead of saying anything, he closes the distance between your hands and locks your smallest finger with his.

"I didn't mean what I said," he whispers, smoke falling out of the mask. "It's sick but I told you that because I care."

Your shallow breaths are barely audible to yourself beneath your racing heart.

"I want to take it at a pace with you, Y/N," he continues. "I don't want to fuck it all up. I wish I could just get up and leave you here so you wouldn't have to deal with me but I can't do it."

You hesitated. "Why not?"

"I don't know."

"I don't want this to be over," you breathe. "I know you don't want me to involve myself with you because you're scared of what will happen. But this involves me, too. This is about both of us. Let me decide for myself."

Maybe he was right. Maybe you shouldn't be doing this—involving yourself with the mess that is Sal Fisher. There's too much you don't know about who he is.

But you wanted to try.

"We can take it slow," you assured. "I understand you're scared but there's nothing to be afraid of."

Your hand inches over his, interlacing your fingers, your palm on the back of his hand. You squeeze them in comfort, not searching for any reciprocation, but it's given anyways.

Nothing is said after that. You sit with him until you're drifting into sleep while sitting upright. You know you can't leave him here—so you wait until he's ready to go home.

You can wait.

[starlocked01]

Beautiful Mistakes

AO3 @tsshipmonth2020

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary-  Remy can't think before he has his coffee and that causes problems for him and his soulmate.

A/N- Slightly altered so that the marks disappear a few minutes after they’ve been received.

Day 9 Remile- Whatever you draw on your skin shows up on your soulmate

Emile could feel the slight itch on his cheek that indicated a message from his soulmate had appeared. He flushed with embarrassment but kept his composure. He quickly scrawled on his wrist.

Not now, Rem. I'm with a client.

He turned back to his patients with a smile and his wrist itched as Remy replied.

Oops

"Doc, you okay?"

"My apologies, my soulmate likes to send messages when he wakes up. Except he works… at night," Emile sighed, affectionately yet exasperated.

"Well the flags look cute, I guess as long as you're okay with your patients knowing..." Dot smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Emile paled, "he didn't…"

"I think he did," Larry replied.

Emile put a hand to his cheek, "it's a pride flag isn't it?"

"Oh don't worry, Doc! It's so cute! Larry, isn't it cute?"

"He's going to be rather upset with me. I can't check it, and he's not out at work yet… but enough about me, back to Dorry! Or if you prefer, Larrydot?? " Emile grinned despite the looks of confusion the couple were giving him. His cheek and wrist continued to itch but he insisted on staying focused on the session.

By the time Larry and Dot were leaving, the itching had crawled up his forearm. Remy must be rather upset.

He checked his watch. The next appointment was in 20 minutes. He could take 5 to read through the tirade and would still be able to review notes for the next couple. He rolled up his sleeve to see a block of text that grew more frantic the farther it got up his arm.

Babe check out the drawing!

I worked hard on that girl pls appreciate me

Em i have work in an hour

Look. At. Your. Cheek.

This isn't funny!

Okay it was supposed to be funny but i can't have a gay flag on my face at work they will kill me!!!!

Bitch

Bitch

You don't love me im gonna die because you don't love me

No one is gonna believe me if i have to lie about this

Please????

>:[

Emile chuckled and wrote back quickly.

This is your fault for drawing on your cheek. You know I work and can't check messages right away.

He checked the time again and pulled out his phone, opening the camera app. He admired the little gay flag crossed with a pan flag. He took a quick selfie to preserve the drawing on his phone. It really was sweet, if unfortunately timed. Luckily, most of his clients would be fairly understanding. Remy's coworkers on the other hand would not.

The tirade on his arm had faded and  been replaced with a new line from Remy.

Don't judge me I didn't have my coffee yet girl

Emile chuckled and pulled his sleeve back down, finding the file and notes he had for the next couple's session.

Remy sat in his car, obsessively checking the mirror until the flags on his cheek faded away. The last thing he needed was to get outed by a soul mark. He was usually late anyway because of the line at Starbucks, what harm would one more day do?

A lot of harm, apparently.

His boss was waiting by the loading dock, impatiently tapping his foot as Remy strolled up.

"'Sup? What are we-"

"Don't even bother clocking in. You don't do shit here and this is the fifth time you've been late this month. You're done."

Remy sputtered, "this is homophobic!"

His boss stared hard at him, eyes narrowing, "You're lazy and you're gay? You're FIRED!"

"Whatever! Your loss, you prick!" Remy turned and flipped the man off as he walked back to his car. He got in and locked the doors, taking some deep breaths. He considered writing to Emile, but decided this was probably an in-person topic.

He restarted the car and drove home, mentally preparing for a lot of explaining.

Emile was surprised to see Remy's car in the driveway when he got home and more than a little concerned. He parked and hurried inside. He found his soulmate sitting in the dark, sipping coffee, and scrolling instagram.

"Remy? Are you okay?"

"Got fired."

"Oh my stars! What happened?"

Remy gave an exasperated sigh, "he didn't like me being late. He also blamed me being gay so idk maybe there's a lawsuit there."

"Was it because of the flags? I tried to check as soon as possible…"

"No… I'm usually late anyway," Remy sank deeper into the couch and Emile moved to sit down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe it was time for a career change. You can find somewhere more accepting with less crazy hours."

"Maybe I'll become a stripper. They make good money right?" Remy mused, leaning into Emile’s side. The other man wrapped him in a one armed hug.

"While I am sure you'd be a natural, I'd be very concerned for your safety as a sex worker, dear. What about something you're passionate about?" Emile tried to be encouraging, numbers running through his head calculating exactly how long they could live off a single salary.

The outlook was not super promising.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll do some research tonight and fill out some applications. Promise," Remy gave Emile a smile that was skin deep, "what do you want for dinner? I'm starving."

After a week of Remy submitting applications and hearing nothing back, Emile was about ready to suggest the exotic dancer route himself. It wasn't that they were under financial stress (yet), moreso that Remy was a lot more rambunctious being cooped at home during the night. He kept waking Emile up too early and the loss of sleep was starting to affect his clients.

"Hey Doc? You're kinda unusually quiet today…"

Emile shook himself back to alertness, "sorry about that Elliott, where were we?"

"Um," they tapped their fingers together while thinking, "I think I was talking about how my soulmate never writes back. They check every message but I never get any from them. It doesn't… feel good."

"Remember what we've said before, Elliott, your worth isn't based on your soulmate. Whatever reason they choose not to write back, the fact of the matter is that you're still an amazing and powerful person in your own right."

Emile was interrupted by an itching on his wrist. Remy would usually still be asleep by now it was late enough in the morning.

He resisted the urge to check the mark as he spoke with Elliott and he could feel the itch crawling up his arm.

After the session, Emile quickly pulled up his sleeve, praying for good news.

I GOT IT!!!

Finally got an interview for tomorrow!!

<3 <3 <3

There were several more hearts and Emile allowed himself a small smile of relief. He doodled back a heart or two for Remy before returning his focus back to work.

They could celebrate when that interview turned into a position.

He greeted the next couple with a broader smile and a tad more exuberance, much to their dismay.

Remy was nervous. This job sounded too good to be true and they'd practically hired him on the spot. He wasn't about to let his soulmate down though.

He followed the man down the hall, sipping his tea for comfort.

"Honestly just don't let anyone eat anything inedible or hit each other and you'll do great," the man smiled, showing Remy into a room with a dozen kids and two other frazzled looking adults.

Piece of cake right?

Emile was in the middle of a session when he felt the itch on his cheek. He tried to smile through it, but then he felt more itches on his legs and arms and nose. His clients were too preoccupied actually talking through their issue with each other so Emile checked his arm to find a rainbow of scribbles that kept growing.

He put a hand to his face to cover his nose and cheek. What had Remy gotten himself into?

Pretty soon his clients were used to seeing Emile with colorful marks all over his face. He explained that his soulmate worked with kids and almost everyone nodded knowingly. He did ask that if they ever saw an inappropriate drawing they let him know so he could check it right away.

Some days he would draw little cartoons for the kids to fill in. They loved that and he always sent them little hearts back when they did a good job (they always did a good job).

And most importantly, Remy was having a great time with his job and got to be home at nights, so they saw each other a lot more often. They both enjoyed that.

[justsomevoltronstuff]

OKAYOKAYOKAY IM SO SORRY FOR BOTHERING YOU WITH A REQUEST, but could I possibly get the paladins x reader watching Dear Evan Hansen?? I saw someone's vlog doing one where they saw Les Miserables and while Lance was quite a theater kid, Shiro stayed there in shock crying through every number-- it doesn't have to be that long, because I know it's a lot to request, but thank you!! Stay safe and take care of yourself PLEASE 💕💕💕 ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

ALRIGHTY AFTER LOOKING THROUGH 50,000 OR WHATNOT I FOUND SOMETHING THAT LITERALLY SOUNDS JUST LIKE ME?? MAYBE I ACTUALLY DID WRITE THIS AND I FORGOT, BUT IM GONNA ANSWER THIS ANYWAY- (in the next ask they asked for only Shiro, Lance, and Keith?? I’d do Hunk and Pidge but I’m still in school right now and I couldn’t wait so-)

THIS IS MY DEBUT PEOPLE-

Okay, so if you know me, I’m an incredibly, really, really big Dear Evan Hansen fan. The admins here were amazing enough to let me elaborate when I was still anon, and that made me feel really welcomed! Admin Rori and L are so amazing ajajajja

ALRIGHTY, SO:

Shiro: 

Has no idea what the cinnamon toast frick a musical is 

Well, he’s known musicals a lot for a while, sure

But has he ever watched one??

Noooo

He has no idea what a Program is and what a first and second act is

“What’s an int- intermission, honey?”

He just looks so confused as he’s just trying to understand how a stage could be so big

But once it finally starts, he finally shuts up no that’s a lie

He’s so surprised at how fast Evan Hansen was talking at the start of the number

Shiro’s low-key kind of interested, but not enough to make him stop wondering, “Wait, so they sing, dance, and act?”

Shiro’s super sweet about it, don’t get me wrong, but he’s so confused

But by the time Waving Through a Window starts playing, he’s into it

And he’s decided that maybe, just maybe he could deal with it for the rest of the show

He ends up getting absorbed

He’s so mesmerized by the fact that they’re all so talented vocally

He’s nodding his head the whole time to any moment Heidi has to deal with Evan and looks at the other paladins skeptically

By the time it’s the intermission, Shiro was officially absorbed

He can’t stop talking about how much Heidi reminds him of, well, him!

He’s rambling at this point saying, “See! I’m not the only one who’s trying to control their temper,”

When the intermission’s over, and he sees Larry

Oh boy.

He’s just jamming to To Break In a Glove and he’s not letting it go

You can’t help but laugh as he keeps on looking like a kid in a candy store

Shiro’s not being as immature as I’m describing it, trust me

Okay maybe not

By the time So Big/So Small plays, he literally can’t stop thinking about everyone he lost in the battle of his life

Shiro can’t stop thinking about it

Once the musical’s over, Shiro’s up and clapping, he’s standing

And yes-- he’s decided musicals are pretty cool.

Lance:

A total dork for theater

He has a pretty big family that’s very cultured

He definitely knows what Dear Evan Hansen is and has seen every recorded show out there on YouTube

So yeah, he’s more than excited to watch it in theaters instead of illegally online

Lance has heard every song to Dear Evan Hansen at least fifty times, so he’s assuming he’s walking into a piece of cake

...

that is, a piece of cake that fell out of a tree like an acorn (SOMEONE PLEASE UNDERSTAND THIS REFERENCE)

He was so wrong

The show was 1000000 times better live than recorded

He’s seen so many musicals live, but Lance is just vibing

Lance also claims to be the king of Sincerely, Me

It’s his favorite number by far

He knows it by heart, he’s literally always singing (yes, every lyric) in the shower

He’s laughing, almost in tears on how much more magical it is live

Lance is just hard-core jamming out at this point

He’s fine for a while

He’s actually doing really good and listening super intently

Until it is, until the worst and most painful number:

Words Fail

WHAT THE FRICK BEN PLATT, HOW CAN ONE BE THIS TALENTED??

Lance can’t stand the song Words Fail

It’s the one song he’s listened to once and decided he’d never listen to it again

He’s holding your hand the whole time the song is playing

“No, I'd rather pretend I'm something better than these broken parts Pretend I'm something other than this mess that I am 'Cause then I don't have to look at it And no one gets to look at it No, no one can really see,”

He hates that song because it ALWAYS MAKES HIM CRY AJJAJA

He dreads it. The vocals, spot-on, but he dreads it with a  burning passion

After the musical is over, he’s crying. You’re crying. We’re all crying-

Keith:

Didn’t even know that musical theater was a thing

Almost BEGGED not to go

Thought it was just singing and moving and decided it didn’t even take much effort

But of course, you were against all of that and dragged him along anyway

Keith followed unwillingly but to you, it was all worth it

He steps into the theater and his jaw drops

Keith just takes a moment to look at the set, dumbfounded in shock

You both sit down and Keith’s still staring at how amazingly detailed the set is, but he doesn’t really care as he starts to get bored

But once it starts he sits up

He’s definitely shocked at how fast Evan can talk and you see him smile, which makes you feel better

After the first number, he immediately decides he likes Connor, especially considering his personality

He blinks furiously in You Will Be Found and he leans against your shoulder

During the intermission, you notice that he definitely looks happier than he did before

“Do you like it so far?”

He’s obviously trying to hide how much he wants to talk about it, but you don’t say anything much about it

Once you head back in, you discover that Keith really liked the number To Break in a Glove and finds himself smiling again

In Words Fail all efforts to hide tears are in vain when Evan is alone on stage

In So Big/ So Small, that number really hits home to him, especially since his mom left

You hold his hand during the song to remind him that he isn’t alone

By the end of the show, he’s this crying, happy slobbering mess but regrets nothing as you two clap and stand at the end of the show

*exhales* Rori and L, I don’t know how you do this every day

Anywho, thank y’all so much!! To this and many more to answer <3 Stay safe, you lovely little beings!! <hugs>

*throws skittles and butterscotch*

- Admin Sera💝

[inkinghubris]

Hemingway and Other Things You Shouldn't Talk About

Hemingway Said, You Do Not Talk About Writing

Rule number one: You do not talk about writing. Rule number two: You do NOT talk about writing! I always picture Brad Pitt walking around telling a group of authors all the rules before a furious word slinging writers event, in some dark, seedy basement covered in sweat and coffee stains.

Hemingway and Fight Club have things in common, such as rules about not talking. Obviously this is not the case. However, as writers we have a series of unwritten laws that we tend to either abide or pretend to be oblivious too. I am Jack's complete lack of interest. Writers Have Heroes, Too As writers, we have authors as heroes just as those school kids look up to athletes. Stephen King, Ernest Hemingway, Henry Miller and Stu Stein, to name a few. These authors broke the first rule of Writing Club: they all have a publication called On Writing. "Throughout Ernest Hemingway's career as a writer," says Larry W. Phillips in his introduction to Ernest Hemingway on Writing, "he maintained that it was bad luck to talk about writing." So what else are we mortal writer's, superstitious or otherwise, not supposed to do or say? There is quite a list, actually. I am Jack's bleeding heart. Rule #1 As we have established, it is bad luck to talk about writing. Thanks, Ernest. Why, though? Basically, as Hemingway explains further, it is better to just write and not speak of it. In his method of removing all the bullshit and leaving behind only the greatness. I disagree with this almost completely. Almost. I feel that we are just glorified campfire story-tellers. It is our duty to tell stories. Written down for others to enjoy at their leisure, obviously, that's why we are "writers". At the core of it all, however, we tell stories. Talking about our stories is just in our nature. I am Jack's gaping mouth. I do agree with the concept that we shouldn't brag, and we also shouldn't try to school or teach every passer-by with our knowledge of the process. Just tell the story, mate. Rule #2 Another no-no myth is that we should write perfect. I am Jack's decaying ego. As the saying goes: practice makes perfect. I disagree. I used to tell my football teams that practice does NOT make perfect, only perfect practice makes perfect. They just looked at me and nodded "yes coach".

Don't practice writing, practice perfect writing. In writing, this same method applies to an extent. If you practice writing you will get better, but only so far as you write perfect. The problem is that no one just writes perfectly out of the box. If we did, there would be no need for drafts and we would just pump out perfect final drafts day in and day out. James Patterson was said to have written over a million words before he wrote his first novel. Writing makes you write better, but to write better you don't just write words, you write better words. The one issue I have with this is that trying to write every word perfectly distracts from the art. Instead, I suggest that you just write. Worry only about perfection while editing and focus on writing perfectly whilst writing the final draft. Otherwise, just write. Rule #3 Don't write like your idols. Sigh. I have heard this over and over and over and every time it upsets me to no end. Believe it or not, there is a finite number of writing genres. We are drawn towards certain ones and turned off by others. I, for example, love thriller and horror and dislike romance and most young adult. Having authors as idols is not a bad thing and if we aspire to be an author then who should we emulate? Our idols. Exactly. So why are we told not to? The reasons vary from one mouth to another, but the main theme seems to be that we should write our own style in our own voice. I tend to believe, though, that our own style and voice will come out, anyway. We should write like our idols. I don't write romance, and would never try to emulate Nicholas Sparks. However, writing horror I see nothing wrong trying to write in similar styles of King, Koontz or Barker. Will I ever write a book and have a publisher read it and say... "Hey! did Clive Barker write this?" No. That will never happen. However, if I am trying to sell a horror book and someone compares it to Clive Barker, then I should feel overwhelmingly excited about that. Writing like your idols is never a bad thing. Rule #4 You should never ask your mom for feedback. Again, heavy sigh. Friends and family are essential for writers' feedback, especially if you are just starting out. While it is true that mom and dad will have a harder time giving you negative feedback (generally) this is not a bad thing. As a writer, you will experience enough setbacks and hardships and negativity to last five lifetimes. Eventually it will harden you, make you better, make you more fierce. In the beginning though, it's detrimental to your writing career. If you start out with negative feedback, you will eventually believe it. Having mom coo and gush over your first few works will help boost your ego and keep you going. From there, you will begin perfect practice and have thousands more words under your belt. You must seek out your mom and close friends for feedback in the beginning (and again any time you need to return to your happy place of believing you can accomplish this task). It is essential, and helpful. I am Jack's boastful pride. Rule #5

If you don't know, believe you know. Base it on natural physics or biology and readers will believe it as real, too. Write what you know. This is tricky and I agree with it to a very limited extent. Readers (and publishers alike) know when you are bullshitting them. If you are writing about car mechanics and you know nothing of repairing an engine, you will turn your readers off. Once you lose a reader because you don't know what you are talking about, they will never believe another word you write, if they even finish the book. However, just writing what you know will severely limit what you write about. And what about things that no one knows about? Aliens, vampires, deep space... if we only ever wrote what we knew, then books like Lewis' Narnia or Tolkien's ring quests and hobbits, would never exist. I take the phrase "write what you know" and change it slightly to "write what you believe." A simple change that allows the author to have a slight edge in the truthfulness in the story. I am Jack's cancer-ridden mind. We Don't Know Everything Certainly no one knows about hobbits, but Tolkien believed in them so much that what he said about them was a gospel of truth. No one doubts hobbits because Tolkien didn't doubt them. However, we can't always write absolute fantasy. So you should know your material. You need to know how wounds heal, how radios operate, or how television signals work. Otherwise, if you bull shit these small details, You won't have much success. Roald Dahl wouldn't have such success with Willy Wonka. Sure there is a great deal of fantasy in that chocolate factory, but imagine if Dahl had simply made up how television signals work? We would never believe that it was possible to travel through those television waves and might have put the book down. Believe what you write and learn what you do not know. Don't be afraid of research and get the small details right. Rule #6 Don't write cliche. The main problem I have with this "advice" is that we then have to define what is cliche. Then, further, if we don't write cliche, there wouldn't be cliche to write. The issue there is that cliche works. That is why it is cliche. Now you are asking yourself how many more times can I possibly say that word in one paragraph. The answer is 97. However, I will refrain. Yes, the works can be overworked or even trite. They are important. This is never more obvious than when you get ideas for stories. Just like Hollywood, the literary world goes around in a circle. For example, right now we have an influx of super hero movies that followed a slew of Romance and Romantic comedies. True, too, will be that the literary world will follow suit. Wizards and broom stick games followed by vampires and werewolves. It's all a Cycle Horror is popular when Young Adult is on the decline and Romance blooms when Fantasy fades. Just because you write cliche projects (96) don't worry about it. You may have to put it in a drawer and forget it for a few years, but soon and once again, the time will be right and people will be clamoring for that long-forgotten cliche (95) to be unleashed. Don't be afraid to complete a project, just because the market is currently flooded with a similar style of work doesn't mean it won't get noticed. "It's only after we've lost everything that we are free to do anything." Rule #7 You must find your unique voice. Umm. This is such a convoluted piece of advice. Yes, you do, but no, you do not. Confused? You should be. I spent too many wasted hours trying to follow this seemingly simple "fact". Hours I will never get back. Quickly (as I have other posts and pages about voice here that go into deeper detail), voice is not how you talk or the sounds that come from your characters mouths. Voice is, in essence, a style. The catch, however, is that your book's voice is unique to that book. Your voice will change from project to project. Do you need to find it? The real answer is that you will notice the voice emerging as you work. From draft to draft your project's voice will emerge and you can then focus more on it. For now, in the beginning, it isn't such a big worry. It will come and if it doesn't, then that is one tale-tell sign that perhaps that particular project isn't making the finish line. Rule #8 Finally, the old tale to ensure you write every single day. You must write X amount of words, or for X amount of hours every single day if you are going to be successful. There are so many "facts" to support this: King writes 2000 words every day and won't stop until he's done it. Or, Koontz ensures, he writes for a minimum of 2 hours each day. Yes, that method works for some, even a lot of, people. However, these famous authors are paid to write. Are you yet paid to write every day? I know that I am not. I have work, and children and family and friends and shopping to do and places to go. Let's be frank. You need to make the time to write. It does need to be a habit that you can do and get into. If it's ever a chore, then perhaps it isn't for you. It is nice to have goals. However, I will fight to the death against anyone that says I must write a certain amount or for a certain time every single day. We Have Lives I have a life. You do too. While you, like me, want to make a career from writing, you also have other obligations and other spontaneous things that appear that take our time, focus and attention away. Go with it. Get a break. Take a day or even two off. Go outside. Research. Read. Watch a movie. Get some sun on your skin. Go shopping. You do not have to write every single day. Just as long as you don't fall in the hole and make not-writing the habit. I am Jack's exhausted colon. Write. Write often. Get lost in it. Talk about it. Get positive feedback. Enjoy what you do and do it with a fervor and a vigor that rivals pure passion. Read the full article

[mindthebulletso]

What?! No I'm not !! the only side I am in is that of my way of seeing the world, my conscience, my cynical character and experience. Because I am very selective and I have chosen people to follow. I don’t follow you because you are a Louie but because I consider you a smart girl, so seeing how easily many have fallen into this, imo, manipulation hurts me. For Louis above all else. Because I remember being one of the first in 2018 to speak openly about Sony Sabotage in HS2 favor and I perfectly remember what and how it was answered to me!!

Because I remember Why I looked for the Rads ....and how the world has turned upside down 🤣 Having moved away from Styles for other reasons, having taken a different approach before this perhaps affects my thoughts and reasonings but how can you not understand that you are doing exactly what Sony wants (regardless which Label we will discover has louis now) years of Larries VS Anties hasn't really opened your eyes? How is it possible? Have you ever noticed how many Louies (not larries) always write "team" and never "Sony" Have you ever noticed how full their accounts are with everything Harry does / doesn't do in real time? Twenty-five years of Kardashian (Hello Uncle Irving) did not help to understand StarSistem is based on chatter and not only on good things? They often update before Larries! if you want to know what happens in Harry Styles life follow a Louie. nice no? If you watch MV to "see how shabby it is" and then talk about it on social, however, you contribute to creating curiosity, chatter, comments, quarrels. If you always complain using Harry as a yardstick, you keep Louis in this funnel that L is crushed in one way or another. If you look back and you don't see how much 2015!Louis was tired and only blame Xander for that , thinking that he was happy for singing a bit more because Zayn was gone or for the water fights with Liam it is you who considers him half of a ship!! If you confuse his nostalgia and humility for lack of ambition or trust , you consider him half of a ship. If you love Louis and have decided that Harry is an active part of his sabotage why don't you get to completely ignore him, always, in the most absolute way after having clarified your position? And if you have decided this, how can you accept Niall and Liam, whom you consider his brothers do not take sides with him but rather, as soon as they can, they raise Star!Styles? Have you ever thought about how he can feel seeing that his fandom, while insulting Styles' new life, spends days asking for OneDirection!Louis? And the braces, and the hair, and the beanie, the headband, and the tank top .. he had to admit this is frustrating but nevertheless Louies continue and if you point it out the answer is "Old!Louis receives more likes " 😒

anyway let's go.. “Because I loved Styles anyway and I have a past with him” Ok. Let's start from here then. Azoff and Sony in 2013 begin to seriously plan H solo career. Azoff has a story, a very clear story, but you voluntarily ignored it at that time, only to blame Styles for choosing them (being chosen) now!! Like three silly kids Louis Niall and Liam until 2016 believe in an 18-month hiatus 😂 . Do you really think they are so naive? Seriously? Louis William Tomlinson who at 20 sees a hole in the writing process of the band and turns everything upside down does not understand what is the destiny designated? Among other things, the same for all boyband before 1D and info easily accessible on google But “he was in love "ok. But then you have to admit you start from the starting point that you now strongly reproach Larries. You have to admit you are living in Young & Beautiful Spin Off because instead I see a strong, smart, brilliant man, who for 10 years has been fighting tirelessly for his individuality. I think this passive Louis is the result of the FF you read because you are the first who make everything go around Styles, even before Sony. Someone stuffing your head saying Harry doesn't need Larries anymore. Are you Sure? Because business is brutal and Labels don't exist for your enjoy. They don't invest in you leaving you power. It is quite the opposite. The more you make money, the more you are a puppet. Just check the difference in numbers between H and Justin, Ariana, Selena, Ed, DuaLipa to understand what I mean!

the Direction taken is the right one, it is having a good success - well deserved - but, believe me, not enough to justify the investment made. And do you really think Azoff, manager since the barter still existed, evaluates the point of view of a 25-year-old who even made almost deny the first album? Who no longer took his mommy on holiday when Harries started complaining about her presence? Do you really think these guys signed contracts to their advantage (I'm not talking about money of course)? Do you really think Styles can say in Sony -I don't do this-? Based on what? Do you blame Harry for his ambition but do you really think he has alternatives? Especially in Sony that has no other icons of this generation? Someone make you believe Harry is loved by everyone but have you ever come out of the fandom bubble to read what so many locals write about him? don't you read how much hate he receives? Azoff arrives in 2013, from that moment on did you see his life change for the better? Less work, more attention to his health or did you see him arrive at the end of 2015 without voice? or do you think "better life" is going out with Taylor Swift and Kaya Gerber Because in that case you love the life Louis says he hates 😟 And considering the type of music he produced, do you think his 2021worldtour is to safeguard his voice and health? Really!? And how is it possible if Azoff loves Harry person and not Harry MoneyMachine? Do you really think Harry is so naive that he doesn't know this? Do you often notice how bad it is aging, How dull are his eyes.. Isn't this already an answer? And if you want to say "that's what he deserves" wow do you remember that you don't really know them and that they are only singers / strangers you love? They are not really your son? that you've never been to their room and their songs aren't a gossip magazine?

Same talk about Louis Fam. Louis Tomlinson openly lashes out against Euphoria chatting with his HetStalkerNumberOne creating more promo or against Zayn when he drops GY but is unable to tell his stepfather / sisters to stop using his life like that? Really? Or do you think he did this but Mark ignored that ? Everyone uses him but he, passively again, cannot do anything. Do you really think Louis is this? Why? Look Louies focused on commenting What Harry is doing in istagram? Look how much power they are giving this stupid thing? They put Harry at the center of Louis' life, they considered him Mrs L. Styles weak and closed in the suitcase with the only ambition to jump on his cock. why this daily need to highlight how disappointed you are with the person who has become? Are you more concerned that Harry cheated on Louis or that Harry cheated on you? Because if you think Louis has a new life why you don't go on too? The position is clear, why keep playing the Sony game? How do you think Louis feels when he sees his fandom has absorbed that his pubblic life has been closely linked to his girlfriend for years now? When you read that H's lunch with stringer was cruel and nobody mentions anymore three days later he was paps with El and the dogs? Just because The Sun canceled? What does it matter he had to undergo this, he had to get out of bed, go out and go to the pap (in 2020 only if you are 12 you can think that the paps are not scheduled) You can also think that there is a friendly relationship with E but why you accept that she is also present when a month later they go to GoKart? Why can't only Louis spend The first Christmas without Fizzy and Jay with his sisters? Why can't Louis alone participate in the B.L.M. march? We told ourselves that the cause was more important than the company and it is true. But important for whom? For us or for him that of B.L.M. did speak before everyone when it wasn't “trendy” ? Why doesn't even his fandom fight for his freedom? from everyone?! Why Do you think this imposition is healthy for him? Or do you think he chose this, because if you think this then all JLYMV was a joke for you and it's okay but I ask you, do you really believe that it is no longer hard for him suffer the presence of Eleanor than a Harry Styles SmileyNails ? Are we talking about what's harder for him or for you? Does Louis individual really care about anyone? Because my heart breaks to see how, even if it were reality, his pubblic life is linked to this girl as if she were the star! Everyone has a girlfriend but not even Kilye Jenner was so present in Travis Scott's career, private life. Why don't you rebel against this? Why "thank you Eleonor" ? Why is your selfishness more important than he has to live this actively? Why do you think it is easy for him after 10 years? Whatever your opinion about , Louis has not interacted publicly with Freddy since 2018. Why don't you get angry with Louies who do not care about this and clog social with his pics not respecting Louis' will? Why do you only get angry with a certain part of fandom and not with those who help a small group of people to spread this child's face wildly despite Louis not doing it? Why don't you ask yourself "louis does not do this, it is the case that I do it"? Who is your Louis landmark or the baby's family? Why is Louis never enough? Why don't you see Louis' individual freedom is not seized by Harry Styles but by Sony which is who should protect him from Azoff / Styles? If your answer is "Sony does not believe in him enough" I'm sorry I have news for you, you believe Louis tomlinson is not worth enough .. and while you continue this useless fight between Louies Larries Labels will continue to use Harry, Louis for their bank accounts and only for that laughing at us whatever the real personal situation between the two of which I honestly care zero but, as you can see, in one way or another it is still at the center of our attention and if Larries have the justification "I believe in them" what excuse do you have?

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at a private farm in Sunbury, Australia - January 27, 1974

The Sunbury Pop Festival ran from 1972 to 1975, and was seen by many as Australia’s own Woodstock (Sunbury is a small town about 40 kilometres from Melbourne). For years it has been said that Queen played on February 2, but the 1974 festival ran from January 25 to January 28. A journalist down under is certain the date was January 27 (although another source has stated they played on the Saturday night, the 26th). Thanks to Martin at Queenconcerts.com for doing the detective work. For some reason, Queen (at the time unknown in Australia) were actually the first non-Australian act to play at this festival, something which upset established local bands and promoters. Apparently both Freddie and Brian were ill that day, and combined with some other events, both on and off stage, this day would turn out to be one of the lowest points of their career. A local DJ (and Scottish-born musician) named Jim Keays acting as MC introduced Queen as such: “Well, we’ve got another load of limey bastards tonight. They’re probably going to be useless, but let’s give them something to think about!” He then mooned the crowd, and proceeded to call the band “stuck up pommies” before leaving the stage. In addition to that, Queen were looked down upon as being snobs for bringing their own lighting rig and crew, and thus their lighting rig was sabotaged by the local roadies. “D'you want anymore from these pommie bastards, or do ya want an Aussie rock band?” asked the DJ who returned to the stage about 45 minutes later. Queen left the stage whilst hearing jeers from the audience like “go back to Pommyland, ya pooftahs!” Freddie Mercury bravely responded by prophetically declaring, “When we come back to Australia, Queen will be the biggest band in the world!” They would return to Australia in 1976, and indeed, by then they were well on their way. Another performance was scheduled for the next day, but the band flew home instead. Brian May recalled this show years later. “It was all just a series of misunderstandings. Queen were unknowns and we never expected top billing. We were supposed to go on as the sun was setting so we could use our lighting equipment but we had to wait a while (the schedule had failed to account for daylight saving). The Australian stage crew didn’t like this and started fighting with our stage crew.” He has also stated that he felt the band went down well. In a 1977 Australian radio interview, Brian goes into more detail, but interestingly enough he isn’t quite as hard on the MC: “I got very ill on the flight because we got injections for smallpox, feeling really dead, apart from the journey, which is about 30 hours or something. And it was very hot. We just couldn’t handle the heat, having come from English winter. We played the gig. Freddie had a lot of trouble with his ears. A lot of problems. It’s very strange. He went swimming, and he completely went deaf. He couldn’t understand what was happening. He was getting very worried. We did the first night, and lots of strange feelings on stage, a lot of animosity from not the Australian groups, but from the road crews, and they didn’t want to move our gear. The didn’t want to give us any help. We finally went on stage and played the set. There was an MC, I can’t remember his name, who, before we went on, said ‘Don’t worry, you’ve got some Australian groups afterwards, but here they are anyway, Queen.’ We couldn’t believe it. In the beginning it was, we were all sort of looking and not sure what to make of it, I think, but after a couple numbers we went well, and we thought we got everybody going and everything. And we came off stage, and there’s a lot of [audience] reaction, and the same guy went back on the stage and said, 'Well, that’s all of them now,’ and they’re kinda still going, saying, 'we want more’ or whatever, and he says, 'Do you want to hear more Queen or do you want to hear Madder Lake?’ So that was it, and he basically managed to kill the sort of reaction from us, which was quite amazing, yet he was on there about five minutes during this applause and eventually saying, well, OK, we’re gonna have Madder Lake now. So we felt a little unhappy about that! The musicians we met were great. It was just these few people." This is the recollection of a fan from Australia: "Queen, largely unknown, played their set and were very well-received. They did get calls for an encore. They were to be followed by Madder Lake, an Aussie band that were very well-known and popular at the time. The MC egged the crowd on saying things like, "We don’t need these pommies back. We want an Aussie band.” Naturally, the largely drunken audience did boo, not about Queen’s performance, but at not wanting Queen to come out and wanting their local band instead. The press being what it is figured booing the band sounded better and so was born the story, albeit not an accurate one.“ Madder Lake’s bassist, Kerry McKenna, recalls the eventful day: "The issue revolved around Queen refusing to go on at their allotted time because the light wasn’t right. I remember it was sundown, so whoever went on stage wouldn’t get the full benefit of their light show. It came down to a battle between management, which then spilled into a fracas between the roadies of our respective bands, as each crew jostled to set gear up. The MC (or some other promoter) goaded the crowd into an us and them vibe, with the local band in favour over the unknown "pommie bastards.” It ended with us going on stage first, and Queen redeeming themselves to the crowd and showing a hint of what they were to become. And that is how I remember it.“…

…The 1976 book "An Official Biography” by Larry Pryce quotes producer Roy Thomas Baker as saying the band won the audience over. Ultimately this seems to be accurate, with the addition of the MC manipulating the audience out of giving Queen an encore. Here are a few pro pics from Queen’s set.

The last photo is of the band at Heathrow Airport in London after returning.

The only other non-Australian act to play the Sunbury festival was Deep Purple in 1975, one of the last shows before Richie Blackmore left the band (the first time). A similar war broke out between their crew and the local crew. In 1964, a Melbourne crowd didn’t treat Judy Garland well, either. The legendary contralto had shown up an hour late, and the audience managed to boo her off the stage within 45 minutes. She later described the crowd as “brutish.”

Fan Stories

“Sunbury was a three day outdoor rock festival of the Woodstock kind, held near Melbourne at the height of a stinking hot Australian summer. Alcohol was being served for the first time at such an event and the mood was variously happy, ugly, violent or ecstatic. I was 17 and loving it. Late in the afternoon of the second day, Daddy Cool (local favourites) played what was supposedly their last ever gig before splitting. The well-lubricated crowd received them rapturously, squeezing out several encores. Then, the “headline” act of the festival was due to play. No-one had ever heard of this English band called “Queen” (sounds poofy, though, doesn’t it?) and their arrival at the festival site in limousines alienated some people. Then there was a long delay on stage. We were told there were technical problems but after a while the slow handclapping and jeers started. After what seemed like forever, four casually dressed men came out on to the stage and exposed their arses to the audience, then walked off. I have always assumed that this was the band, although I have never been sure. In any case, it made a bad situation even worse. Eventually Queen came on and played to a response that varied from uninterested to positively hostile (but always alcohol impaired). I was trying to be openminded, but wasn’t very impressed. The set was short and there was no encore. It took a lot of persuading from my friends to go and see Queen in concert a year or so later, after that negative experience. Fortunately, I did go and was converted, but it was touch-and-go for a while. Anybody else remember Sunbury?” - blind freddie

[quakerjoe]

In the end, not even the Progressive Bernie Base showing up for Hillary in larger numbers than her own supporters did for Obama in 2008, could prevent the inevitable. A massively flawed candidate who failed to electrify the Democratic base and make the case to Rust Belt voters- why she is the better option than the Populist candidate spraying out anti-trade rhetoric.

Blame whatever you want. The blame rests squarely on all of us. But there is so many lessons to learn from the 2016 Primary and General Election. Populism and Progressive policy became the central topic. Healthcare is a right. The ultra-rich are KING in America, and they must be reigned in. Primary process should be more fair. Flowery platitudes aren’t enough to generate excitement for the poor to turn out, etc.

Literally ZERO of these lessons were learned. Even in the face of an ACTUAL Corona-virus pandemic, with over 30 million unemployed, more and more uninsured at the time of writing this- the Democratic party has done nearly nothing to fix the problems from 2016. Actually, in all my shock- they’ve made them worse. The Democratic party pulled every string it could. Bent over backwards to not only stop Bernie Sanders, but stifle Progressives and our policy agenda. All in an orchestration to crown their nominee just years after a 2016 lawsuit said the DNC can meddle how ever they like in their own “Democratic process”. All to push a man who did next to no campaigning in any states past South Carolina. A man who didn’t actually work for your vote, but instead- coasted on “Hope and Change” establishment nostalgia, for when times weren’t so chaotic.

So for pragmatism sake, let’s push all that aside for just one moment. We can debate all day about how “fair” Joe Biden’s path to the Democratic Nomination has been. But let’s view Biden on his own merits for his candidacy’s sake. What’s the incentive for Progressives to vote for Joe? Well- unless you’re sticking to the concept of the very first paragraph of this article, the answer is: There isn’t one.

If Hillary Clinton were a flawed candidate, Biden may just be the worst nominee in history. A long history of terrible behavior including coddling racists, racist behavior, repeated threats at slashing the safety net, warmongering for a devastating Iraq war that’s helped kill endless innocent civilians all based on a lie, the nomination of Justice Thomas and controversial treatment of Anita hill, the Obama administration’s failure to even pass a Public Option with a Super Majority government, while pushing a healthcare plan that was little more than barely a small step in the right direction.

Now- Biden stands as the presumptive Democratic Nominee, and with a sizable Progressive Bernie Base up for grabs, what has Joe Biden done to earn our vote?

Answer: Nothing. Well, at least nothing significant.

Three items come immediately to mind on what Joe Biden is doing to “reach left”.

1: Joe wants to lower the Medicare age to 60. By comparison, Hillary Clinton wanted to lower it to as low as 50.

2: Joe Biden wants to eliminate student debt for those making under $125K. By comparison, Bernie Sanders wanted to eliminate it universally.

3: Nebulously- Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders have created “working groups” on various policy issues focusing on education, criminal justice, climate change, immigration, the economy, and health care policy. As of yet, nothing has come of these “groups” on policy.

As the Primary was coming to a close, I as a Progressive- was completely open to Joe moving (not reaching) left on policy positions.

Overwhelmingly, if you ask Sanders supporters what they care about most, it’s Policy.

What will you do for the underprivileged working class people of America?

What will you do for my children and grand children facing a Climate Change future?

What will you do for your Mass Incarceration mess, ending the drug war, legalizing Marijuana, and freeing non-violent drug offenders?

What will you do for the upwards of 45K people who die each year because health care is not affordable?

The 67% of American bankruptcies being due to health care costs?

BUT. Sanders supporters also believe in principle. Consistency. History. Fighting for change. Decency. Human rights. We’re also majority young people (a group Joe Biden did not do well with). Perhaps these things could be talked out. But now there’s a bigger elephant in the room. One that establishment Democrats and Joe’s supporters are ignoring.

Joe Biden was credibly accused of rape.

Democrats spent months yelling about “Believing Women” during the Kavanaugh Confirmation hearings. Rightfully fighting for Christine Blasey Ford’s story to be heard- knowing it would be a fruitless task at the hands of a twisted Senate Republican majority. Now, establishment Democrats are making the media rounds with Biden campaign talking points with denials and every attempt to downplay Tara Reade as not a credible accuser, even as several corroborations of her story have surfaced, 1 of which was an archive video of who Tara Reade alleges is her mother discussing the issue with Larry King on CNN in 1993. Meanwhile, Joe Biden’s campaign has it’s surrogates and supporters on news networks shielding Biden. Nancy Pelosi downplays the accusations, Kirsten Gillibrand (who helped cancel Al Franken) is downplaying the accusations. Alyssa Milano, prominent #MeToo voice, who made a performative appearance at the Brett Kavanagh hearings, now wants to “change the rules” on the movement in favor of a sort of ‘Due Process’- a process that many perpetrators cancelled by #MeToo never got, in favor of protecting Joe Biden.

What this means to me is that Democrats think it’s perfectly fine to be selective on who and who doesn’t deserve to be heard and taken seriously, based on who’s on your team. As if it should be that easy to just shed your principles like Snake skin, hypocritically protecting one predator, while gunning for another that doesn’t fit with you politically.

In 2016, I was perfectly fine voting for the “lesser evil”. Now that the party has loudly stated that not only does my values, principles, and policy demands for the poor and sick of America, not matter- I should fall in line with a candidate that has helped endless innocent people die overseas with America’s imperial military reach, helped endless people die at home because they cant afford a doctor, said that he has “no empathy” for young people- the same young people that have to live and suffer under the conditions of Climate Change while he’s dead and gone, sexually assaulted and violated multiple women, said that nothing will fundamentally change for the same rich people who are now gaining BILLIONS under pandemic conditions while their workers get sicker, if they’re even employed at all.

Moderate establishment Democrats and voters tell me that Trump is the number one threat. That we need to “vote blue no matter who”. Just how “blue” is Joe biden? Just how dissimilar is Joe Biden and his supporters from Trump and his following? For all of the cries of the “angry Bernie Bros” online, I see countless accosting and abusive discourse examples from Biden supporters calling any dissenters “Russian Bots”, or “MAGA Hats”. Being told that I’m somehow a Trump voter by default, for not immediately supporting Biden. All this when all I’ve ever seen from “the Bernie Bros” is aggressively holding smear artists to facts and truth in a thick environment of misrepresentation of Bernie Sanders and his platform.

So- Why shouldn’t Progressives vote for Joe Biden?

This Democratic party doesn’t give a damn about you. Nor does it care about Progressive policy. The party and its supporters spend all this time, smearing Sanders and his base as “Not democrats”, angry “socialists who want free stuff”, “How are you gonna PAY for it?!” etc etc, all while claiming to support SOME form of our policy, and then dropping it the second it doesn’t feel politically advantageous. This party threw everything it could into stopping YOU. With tactics like voter suppression, using a silly app suspiciously funded and supported by shady actors in Iowa, taking WEEKS to give final results, running Super PACs against Bernie and our movement, fear-mongering about Bernie when he did win states, gas lighting the public on “elect-ability”, using a literal pandemic against Bernie to guilt him into dropping out while attempting to blame him for continued spread of COVID-19, while they sent voters to the polls and we didn’t.

And after zero policy concessions, zero good will, repeated demands we fall in line after more than a year of being slammed and disrespected, showing up for Hillary Clinton and then being blamed for her loss anyway, which is inevitable again if Joe loses? Are we just going to keep allowing that? Just how long do we have to hold our noses, voting for Moderate do-nothing lite Republicans who would sooner see you die, than provide you affordable and universal healthcare, because a Billionaire would stand to lose money. Even NOW, during a Pandemic this party has done next to NOTHING to secure the livelihoods of American citizens, as more and more die, get furloughed, and cant pay their bills. All while Trump and Republicans take credit for pitching more common sense plans (even though they want to send us all back to work/school to feed the machine).

This- is the “resistance” party? THIS is the best we can do? Performative rage against a fascist clown while propping up an accused rapist warmongering corporatist with cognitive decline and previous racist tendencies? THIS is what the party keeps telling us we better support or be shamed as somehow supporting the “bad guy”?

Listen, #NotMeUs- this will never stop. This party will NEVER stop using us as a prop for our ideas and passion, then throwing us under the bus when they think they no longer need us. They cannot continue to be allowed to drag us further to the right with guilt trips and shaming. They will NEVER take you seriously unto you take serious action. We’ve been preaching about “action” this whole campaign. Why should that “action” stop in the ballot box? Have some foresight for just a moment and envision how this plays out in future elections, unless you stand up and make them WORK for your vote.

I, for one will not vote for Joe Biden. But I wont shame you for your vote, no matter who it’s for. Why? Because the party did a terrible job at earning -your- vote. I’d maybe only criticize you if you don’t show up at all. There’s so many down-ballot candidate who need support. Even if you leave the President box unchecked, at least show up for the other races.

But consider: There are other options that have been stifled for way too long. Perhaps its time we give them a shot, no? Green Party is running Howie Hawkins and a platform that is much closer to our principles that Biden would ever try for. Justin Amash just jumped into the race if you’re a little more on the Libertarian side. Jesse Ventura is also discovering running on the Green ticket as well. Just imagine Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura on the debate stage with Donald Trump? Popcorn for DAYS.

In order for us to be taken seriously, we must prove that we’re capable of holding the party accountable. Not voting for them is the ultimate accountability, and you get to keep your principles intact.

Now- to the ultimate argument you’d inevitably get: “You would be helping Donald Trump secure 4 more years”.

My response? You don’t have to bare the blame for that. You wont be at fault for Joe Biden losing any more than those who chose not to vote at all. It’s on the party to earn these votes. That’s how elections work. If you hate the candidate and don’t feel good about them as a person, why is it your responsibility to put them in office? To me- one of the most personal things a person has, is their vote. Not their dollars, or their Tweets. It’s checking a box for the person YOU chose to represent you. If that person doesn’t believe in hardly anything you personally believe in- why is it that they deserve your vote, again? How is it that they’re are somehow entitled to that vote? They don’t, and they aren’t. I’m looking at you too, Republicans.

In closing…

Progressives, I’m sorry to break it to you but- Medicare For All is not on the ballot. Taxing the rich is not on the ballot. Ending corruption and crooked politicians is not on the ballot.

But- ending a terrible two-party system IS on the ballot. Taking your personal vote back, IS on the ballot. In my opinion- the only wasted vote, is the one you were demanded in giving up to what you don’t believe in.

-LZ

https://medium.com/@legacyzero/why-sanders-supporters-should-not-vote-for-joe-biden-a9146bee189b

[yehet-me-up]

Frozen North ~ Night Two

Pairing: Chanyeol x reader

Genre: Horror/Suspense/SPOOP in general/light romance (because who else would I be?)

Word Count: 1,927

Rating: PG13 (nothing gruesome, but knowing me there will be swearing)

Summary: You run a late night radio show dedicated to telling scary stories and urban legends, the creepier the better. Listeners call in and share their own, creating a small but loyal community of folks like you who love this sort of thing. One night, a man calls in with what sounds like an all-too-real story and before you know it, you’ll do anything to make sure he’s safe.

Frozen North Masterlist

Your dreams that night are full of howling wind, women with long white hair and red eyes, chasing you off a tree-lined path and onto a dark and haunting expanse of ice. You claw at the sheets, unable to pull yourself from the dream.

The sound of ice cracking, deep and earth shattering, snaps you from sleep and you gasp in the freezing air.

When you realize you’re safe in your bed you huff out a laugh and slump back into the pillows. The readout on your phone tells you it’s not even six in the morning, but you can’t fall back asleep. 

You want to call the number again. Logically you know it was a one-off. A prank or someone trying to be entertaining.

But something in your gut tells you that Chanyeol is in serious distress and you want to yell in frustration. What more can you do?

To stave off your unease you take a quick shower and review your essay for today’s class on the widespread cultural and psychological effects of contemporary mythology. 

The professor is a genius. Getting Dr. Paul Langford as your thesis advisor was a coup. Every class he’s taught during your combined MA and PhD in Mythology has been riveting, and this quarter’s is no exception.

When you’ve killed enough time you bundle up in your parka and thick boots. Before slipping your phone in your pocket you stare at it, willing Chanyeol to call again. To tell you it was a joke and that he’s fine.

You shake your head. ‘Ridiculous,’ you say to yourself. Why on earth would you care so strongly about someone you’ve never met?

The gnawing in your gut begs you to dig further, but you smother it. Shoving your phone in your pocket, you march out the door and begin the walk to class.

‘Today we’ll be talking about panic,’ Professor Langford says from the front of the class. ‘And, just to be wild, let’s start with my favorite widespread mass psychological panic - Koro.’

He clicks the button and a photo appears on screen, black and white and grainy, showing a cluster of men lying in hospital beds. Abjua, Nigeria 1981 reads the caption.

‘Koro is a delusional disorder in which someone believes their sex organs are disappearing, retracting, or have otherwise been stolen or taken. It has infected mass communities across Africa, Asia, and Europe at various points over the centuries.’

He clicks and a slide showing an illustration of men and women burning a witch appears. ‘An outbreak of this contagious belief struck Europe in the fifteenth century. Over a dozen women were burned for reportedly stealing men’s penises.’

The class stifles laughs and muttered jokes. 

‘Exactly,’ he says with amusement.

‘Obviously the incidents of women stealing men’s genitals in reality is very few. But what makes this belief that their genitals have been stolen so contagious? Why has it appeared at so many places at so many different times? That is what we’ll be discussing this week - the insidious and manipulative nature of myths and how they’ve been weaponized over history to eliminate certain groups.’

On your way out of class the professor calls out to you. ‘Great show last night, Roxy,’ he says with a wink at your stage name.

‘Really?’ you say, surprised. ‘I had no idea you listened to it.’

He straightens his tweed jacket. Though he’s older than you there’s a youth in his eyes and his manner. ‘I might be a teacher, but I promise I’m still hip with the underground scene.’

His lips twitch and you both laugh. ‘It was a pretty wild show. What did you make of that Alaska story someone called in with?’ he asks.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. ‘I don’t know if it was a story. It felt - it sounded - I don’t know. Like he was really in danger.’

He leans against the desk and folds his arms, considering you. ‘Really? What makes you so sure?’ There’s an intensity in his eyes you can’t understand.

To someone as intellectual and established as him it feels like unsteady ground to admit that you believe in something that might not be real. ‘I’m not sure it’s anything tangible. Just something in my gut.’

He nods, watching you closely. ‘Well, keep following it. If you find something it might be an interesting twist to your Phd.’

‘Yeah, we’ll see.’ You feel your phone in your pocket and suddenly a chill runs down your spine. 

You can’t explain it, but you need to be anywhere but in this room. ‘I should get going, I want to get in some library time before work. Thanks for a great class today.’

‘Thank you for your contributions, as always,’ he says with a wave. The odd sharpness has left his eyes and you breathe easier on your way out.

When you walk into the station later you’re surprised to still see Jennifer, the station manager, at her desk. She’s on the phone and waves to get your attention when you walk by.

‘Yep. Got it. Thanks,’ she says and hangs up the phone. ‘Hey lady, come on in, have a seat.’

Over the years you’ve sat in this office a handful of times. Once when you interviewed for the open spot. Once to review the format and logistics for your show. Ever few months since to check in about advertising plans, listener numbers, and other such things. She’s never been so animated before.

‘Great show last night!’ she says.

Your mouth drops. ‘Wait, you listened to The Long Night? I thought you hated this kind of ‘spooky stuff’?’ you ask, using your hands to make quotes in the air.

‘I normally do. I listened when I got in. Larry let me know that the streaming numbers for your show were through the roof this morning and I wanted to see what the fuss was about.’

‘Really? What kind of numbers are we talking about?’ You lean forward in your seat.

She turns the computer screen so you can see that chart on it. The blue line is steady and then at the point showing the last 24 hours the line curves upward sharply. ‘Triple. And growing by the hour.’

You gasp. ‘Why?’

She snorts. ‘That Alaska thing. It was compelling stuff. Your show is always good, Rox. But last night, I don’t know, it was chilling. People are interested. The blog for The Stranger even highlighted it. I think that’s what brought in a lot of the traffic.’

You sit back in your chair and toy with the phone in your pocket, torn. Everyone seems to think it’s just a stunt. Why does that feel so wrong?

‘Anyways, just wanted to say, keep up the good work,’ Jennifer says with a wink.

‘Thanks,’ you say absently, standing.

In the hallway you watch the street through the blinds. Night has already fallen, blanketing the Seattle neighborhood with darkness. You lean against the wall and pull out your phone, unlocking it and pulling up the call list again.

Chanyeol’s picture stares up at you. With your thumb hovering over the call button you debate with yourself. What if he’s just some guy? What if you call and he says you’re nuts for ringing him back?

After a minute, he makes that decision for you. Your phone buzzes and his face enlarges, filling the screen. 

CHANYEOL WOULD LIKE TO FACETIME reads the screen.

You’re so surprised you almost drop the phone. Quickly, you press accept.

This time, there’s only darkness. Silence. No howling wind or blowing snow. After a beat, you hear breathing.

‘Hello?’ you call into the phone. ‘Can you hear me… Chanyeol?’

Bumping and scuffling are heard and finally you can hear breathing. ‘Hello? Who’s this?’ comes his voice.

You sag in relief. ‘It’s… Roxy, from the radio show? You called last night? About the… white woman?’

Silence greets you and you wonder if you’ve lost him. But the call lingers on the screen. 

‘What… what day is it?’ he asks quietly.

You frown at the screen. ‘It’s Wednesday the twenty second. Why?’

He groans into the phone. ‘I can’t- I think I’m losing time here.’

You want to push to understand. ‘Is your name really Chanyeol?’

‘Yes, of course it is,’ he says and grunts, you hear something scraping as he moves. ‘Fuck, I - what happened to me?’

‘I don’t know. You called the station last night. You sounded like you were in danger.’ You hold the phone closer, trying to make out anything in the blackness.

‘I think I might be,’ he says. His voice sounds thin, haunted. The calls cuts in and out.

‘I can send help,’ you rush to say into the phone before you lose him. ‘You’re in Nome, right?’

‘Nome? Like in Alaska? Why-’ he says, confused, before the call drops.

Frantically, you hit the call button. The line rings and rings and you growl with frustration. No matter how many times you try you can’t get through and you run a hand through your hair and groan.

‘Hey, Rox. You ready?’

You turn to see Daniel leaning out of the booth, tapping his watch. The time on your phone says 7:55 and you jolt. 

‘Shit. Sorry. I’m coming.’

He ushers you into the booth and you hurry to take your coat off and pull out your notebook.

The show itself goes fine, even though the entire time you’re anxiously waiting for the show to be over so you can try to call him back. 

A writer who goes by Lisa the Forsaken calls in with a Slenderman-inspired story that gets a lot of good traction. Your bit on the connection between spiders and trickster myths is followed by a nice discussion.

Just before midnight, when you’re yawning and tapping your foot, preparing to wrap things up, a number pops up on the screen that makes your heart stop. 

1-907-613-2458 - UNLISTED NUMBER - NOME

You hit answer, cutting off the ad that’s playing.

‘Hello? Chanyeol?’ you ask frantically. ‘Are you alright?’

Behind the glass Daniel raises his brows at you. You wave at him and mouth ‘later.’

A whining sound is heard faintly through the line and you press your headphones closer to hear it. ‘Hello? Is... someone there?’

You smile with relief. ‘Yes, hi. It’s me. Are you okay? Do you remember talking to me earlier?’

At this Daniel gives you a surprised look.

‘No, not really I -’ the sound cuts out on a deep sigh. ‘I’m not sure where I am. I’m - oh god,’ he says, his voice going low and making your heart speed up.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘She’s back,’ he moans, closer to the phone. ‘Please. Please no. Help me-’

The line cuts out and a tone comes through. You and Daniel stare at each other. He looks just as shaken as you feel.

Reluctantly you hit the disconnect button and wonder what to do. The time reads 12:01 and you jump back on the line, swallowing to clear your throat of the fear that had taken root. 

‘I’m Roxy and this has been The Long Night. See you guys tomorrow… stay safe.’

Daniel hits play on the pre-set content and hits the button to speak into the booth. ‘Roxy, what the hell was that? What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say as much to yourself as to him, staring at the number still on the screen. ‘But we have to do something.’

Tagging @itskindofafairything and @yeoldontknow <3

[thisismandee]

The Rebel and The Criminal

This is the last chapter following the actual script. I do plan on continuing this story. I don't know how long I will continue it but we shall find out. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone that had read this story so far.

Chapter 11) Sincerely Yours

We all sat there in silence for a minute. I was shocked that she gave into peer pressure that was surrounding her.

"I never did it either, I'm not a nymphomaniac, I'm a compulsive liar." Allison says with a cheeky grin on her face.

"You are such a bitch! You did that on purpose just to fuck me over!" Claire yelled at Allison. She had every right to be upset, Allison sat there and pushed Claire to the edge.

"I would do it you love someone it's okay." Allsion says. I think she is trying to defuse the tense situation, but I don't think it is going to work.

"I can't believe you, you're so weird. You don't say anything all day and then when you open your mouth...you unload all these tremendous lies all over me!"

"She has a right to be upset. You all did just attack her all at once." I said trying to stand up for Claire. She looked over and gave me a small smile.

"You're just pissed off because she got you to admit something you didn't want to admit to" Andrew directs towards Claire.

"Okay, fine, but that doesn't make it any less bizarre." Claire did have a point. The one time Allison has a full conversation with us, it is to get Claire to admit information of her personal life.

"What's bizarre? I mean we're all pretty bizarre! Some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all." Andrew also has a point. I had my own secrets, but I have just been good at hiding them.

"How are you bizarre?" Claire looks at him doubtful.

Allison is quick to answer for him. "He can't think for himself." She gives him a look. Like she knew things about Andrew. Was there something going on between the two of them and I just haven't noticed it.

" She's right. Do you guys know what, uh, what I did to get in here? I taped Larry Lester's buns together." I had heard about that, but I didn't know that it was Andrew that did that.

"That was you?" Brian asks.

"Yeah, you know him?"

Brian nods his head, "Yeah, I know him."

"Well then you know how hairy he is, right? Well, when they pulled the tape off, most of his hair came off and some, some skin too." I give him a look of disappointment. I can tell from his face though that he feels bad about what has happened. He continues to tell his story. "And the bizarre thing is, is that I did it for my old man...I tortured this poor kid, because I wanted him to think that I was cool. He's always going off about, you know, when he was in school...all the wild things he used to do. And I got the feeling that he was disappointed that I never cut loose on anyone, right...So, I'm...I'm sitting in the locker room, and I'm taping up my knee. And Larry's undressing a couple lockers down from me. Yeah...he's kinda... he's kinda skinny, weak. And I started thinking about my father, and his attitude about weakness. And the next thing I knew, I uh, I jumped on top of him and started wailing on him...And my friends, they just laughed and cheered me on. And afterwards, when I was sittin' in Vernon's office, all I could think about was Larry's father. And Larry having' to go home and...and explain what happened to him. And the humiliation...fucking humiliation he mustuv felt. It must've been unreal...I mean." Andrew has tears in his eyes. " I mean, how do you apologize for something like that? There's no way...it's all because of me and my old man. Oh God, I fucking hate him! He's like this...he's like this mindless machine that I can't even relate to anymore..."Andrew, you've got to be number one! I won't tolerate any losers in this family...Your intensity is for shit! Win. Win! WIN!" You son of a bitch! You know, sometimes, I wish my knee would give...and I wouldn't be able to wrestle anymore. And he could forget all about me."

I didn't notice it until now, but I also had tears in my eyes. I felt bad for Andrew and what he had to go through at home, and the way that it made him act in person. "I think your old man and my old man should get together and go bowling." Bender says from his spot in the circle. Andrew lets out a laugh. I then hear Brian starting to talk.

"It's like me, you know, with my grades...like, when I, when I step outside myself kinda, and when I, when I look in at myself you know? And I see me and I don't like what I see, I really don't."

"What's wrong with you? Why don't you like yourself?" Claire asks him.

"'Cause I'm stupid...'cause I'm failing shop. See we had this assignment, to make this ceramic elephant, and um...and we had eight weeks to do it and we're s'posed ta, and it was like a lamp, and when you pull the trunk the light was s'posed to go on...my light didn't go on, I got a F on it. Never got a F in my life... When I signed up, you know, for the course I mean. I thought I was playing it real smart, you know. 'Cause I thought, I'll take shop, it'll be such an easy way to maintain my grade point average." I scoffed. He thought it was going to be easy? Shop actually takes some smarts.

"Why'd you think it'd be easy?" Bender asks him. I could tell that he was annoyed.

"Have you seen some of the dopes that take shop?" Brian asks.

" I take shop...you must be a fuckin' idiot!"

"I'm a fuckin' idiot because I can't make a lamp?"

"No, you're a genius because you can't make a lamp." I could sense the anger in Benders voice.

"What do you know about Trigonometry?"

"I could care less about Trigonometry."

"Bender, did you know without Trigonometry there'd be no engineering?" Brian questions Bender. I don't get why these boys were arguing over something that was so stupid.

"Without lamps, there'd be no light!" Bender says back. Okay this conversation was going nowhere and it wasn't needed. Why are they arguing over something so miniscule.

"Okay so neither one of you is any better than the other one," I say to both of them. They stop their pointless arguing.

"I can write with my toes! I can also eat, brush my teeth." Allison adds to the conversation. I was so confused on what was going on. She was so random, but she did know how to diffuse this situation.

"With you feet?" Claire asks.

"Play Heart & Soul on the piano." Allison adds.

"I can make spaghetti!" Brain says.

"I can, uh, tape all your buns together." Andrew jokes.

" I can speak latin, Its weird but I can do it." I say trying to add to the conversation.

" I wanna see what Claire can do." Bender says.

"I can't do anything." Claire insists.

"Now, everybody can do something."

"There's one thing I can do, no forget it, it's way too embarrassing."

"You ever seen Wild Kingdom?" Bender asks. "I mean that guy's been doing that show for thirty years."

Claire finally gives in. "Okay, but you have to swear to God you won't laugh. I can't believe I'm actually doing this." She takes out a lipstick and opens it. She places it in between he breasts and applies the lipstick from her cleavage. She lifts her head and the lipstick is perfectly applied. I do have to admit I was impressed. Me and everyone else claps. But then I hear Bender clapping sarcastically and slow.

" All right, great! Where'd you learn to do that?" Andrew asks Claire.

"Camp, seventh grade." She says as she is putting away the lipstick.

"That was great Claire, my image of you is totally blown." Bender says sarcastically. He is being an asshole. He needs to watch himself.

I slap him, "You're a shit! Don't do that to her. You swore to God you wouldn't laugh!" I screamed at him. He was being so rude. He looks over to me.

"Am I laughing?"

"You fucking prick!" Andrew says, also standing up for Claire.

"What do you care what I think, anyway? I don't even count, right? I could disappear forever and it wouldn't make any difference...I may as well not even exist at this school, remember?" Bender was throwing Andrews words back at him. Yes, Andrew did say that, but John was being a complete douche bag to Claire right now. He turns to Claire. "And you, don't like me anyway"

"You know, I have just as many feelings as you do and it hurts just as much when somebody steps all over them!" I could tell Claire was getting tears in her eyes and she was about to start crying.

"God, you're so pathetic!" John was getting very angry with her at this point. "Don't you ever...ever! Compare yourself to me! Okay? You got everything, and I got shit! Fuckin' Rapunzel, right? School would probably fucking shut down if you didn't show up! "Queenie isn't here!" I like those earrings Claire." He was taking this too far.

"Shut up." Claire mumbles.

"Are those real diamonds, Claire?" Why did he have to take it this far.

"Shut up!" Claire was now getting angry.

"I bet they are. Did you work for the money for those earrings?" He doesn't know how to be nice does he?

"Shut your mouth!" Claire is kicking him to try to get him to stop.

"Or did your daddy buy those?"

Claire is now crying, "Shut up!" he screams at him.

"I bet he bought those for you! I bet those are a Christmas gift! Right? You know what I got for Christmas this year? It was a banner fuckin' year at the old Bender family! I got a carton of cigarettes. The old man grabbed me and said "Hey! Smoke up Johnny!"" He notices Claire's tears. "Okay, so go home'n cry to your daddy, don't cry here, okay?" He needs to be put in his place. I lean over and slap him across the face.

"Will you stop it! Leave her alone! She doesn't deserve you being a fucking asshole to her! Just leave her the fuck alone!" I yelled at him. He looks at me but doesn't say anything back. His hand is to his face from where I slapped him.

"My God, are we gonna be like our parents?" Andrews asks.

"Not me, ever." Claire answers.

"It's unavoidable, it just happens." Allsion says.

"What happens?"

"When you grow up, your heart dies." Allison seems somber. But I feel she is right. I can see myself in my mother everyday, and it makes me scared.

"Who cares?" Bender asks.

"I care."Allsion looks like she is about to cry.

"I care too." I added. I also felt tears forming in my eyes. Bender looked over at me. He looked like he actually cared how I felt about the situation.

"Um, I was just thinking, I mean. I know it's kind of a weird time, but I was just wondering, um, what is gonna happen to us on Monday? When we're all together again? I mean I consider you guys my friends, I'm not wrong, am I?" Brian asked the group. I have to admit I hadn't thought about this until now. I felt like I would still be friends with them. I was new here so I didn't have many friends, and I had gotten to know them pretty well just in this one Saturday.

"No" Andrew answers the question.

"So, so on Monday, what happens?" Brian asks

"Are we still friends, you mean? If we're friends now, that is?" Claire asks him to clarify.

"Yeah."

"Do you want the truth?" I had a feeling Claire was about to say something that was going to be mean.

"Yeah, I want the truth."

"I don't think so." Claire seems somber from this answer. I felt the tears coming again in my eyes. I was hoping that some way, we all can be friends after this, but I guess I was wrong.

"Well, do you mean all of us or just John?" Allison ask Claire.

"With all of you." Claire looks over at me. She can tell that I am upset, but she doesn't change her answer.

"That's a real nice attitude, Claire!" Andrew snaps at her.

"Oh, be honest, Andy...if Brian came walking up to you in the hall on Monday, what would you do? I mean picture this, you're there with all the sports. I know exactly what you'd do, you'd say hi to him and when he left you'd cut him all up so your friends wouldn't think you really liked him!" She was trying to justify her answer, but it wasn't working.

"No Way!" Andrew says. I feel like he really means it though. I could see, come Monday, I'm walking down the halls and I see Andrew and we mutually say Hi to each other. I feel like he wouldn't stoop that low.

"Okay, what if I or Mandy came up to you?" Allison asks Claire.

Claire looks upset to have to answer the question truthfully. "Same exact thing." At that moment I feel a tear on my cheek. Clair had been there for me, and I had been there for her, but on Monday all of that was going to be different. I thought, maybe just maybe I had made some sort of friend finally at this school. I look over at Bender and he sees that I am upset. He then addresses Claire.

"You are a bitch!" He yells at her. I can tell that he was getting very angry with her.

"Why? 'Cause I'm telling the truth, that makes me a bitch?"

"No! 'Cause you know how shitty that is to do to someone! And you don't got the balls to stand up to your friends and tell 'em that you're gonna like who you wanna like!" He was furious.

"Okay, what about you, you hypocrite! Why don't you take Allison to one of your heavy metal vomit parties? Or take Brian out to the parking lot at lunch to get high? What about Andy for that matter, what about me? What about Mandy? What would your friends say if you were walking down the hall with her. They'd laugh their asses off and you'd probably tell them you were doing it with her so they'd forgive you for being seen with her." I was completely crying right now. Why did I have to be brought into this conversation. After what Claire told me earlier. This just makes me more upset, because was she telling me the truth, or just saying things to make me feel better? I wanted to leave so badly.

" Don't you ever talk about my friends! You don't know any of my friends, you don't look at any of my friends and you certainly wouldn't condescend to speak to any of my friends so you just stick to the things you know, shopping, nail polish, your father's BMW and your poor-rich-drunk mother in the Carribean!" He yelled at her again.

"Shut up!" Claire is now crying too.

"And as far as being concerned about what's gonna happen when Mandy and I walk down the hallways at school, you can stay out of it. It is none of you business. Just bury you head in the sand, and wait for your fuckin prom!" This comment made me feel a bit better. It felt like he was sticking up for me. I still couldn't help but cry, but I did feel some sort of comfort.

"I hate you!" Claire sneered at him.

"Yeah? Good!" There was silence, then Brian speaks up.

"Then I assume me, Allison, and Mandy are better people than you guys, huh? Us weirdos." He turns to Allsion. "Do you, would you do that to me?"

"I don't have any friends." She responds.

"Well if you did?"

"No...I don't think the kind of friends I'd have would mind." Brian then looks over in my direction.

"Would you ever do that to me or Allison?"

"No, after today, all of you are my friends, in my mind anyways." I wiped away a stray tear.

"I just wanna tell, each of you, that I wouldn't do that...I wouldn't and I will not! 'Cause I think that's real shitty." Brain was getting visually upset.

"Your friends wouldn't mind because they look up to us." Claire speaks up. Brina and me both let out a laugh.

"You're so conceited, Claire. You're so conceited. You're so, like, full of yourself, why are you like that?"

Claire is crying again. I don't get why though. She is the one that is being rude. "I'm not saying that to be conceited! I hate it! I hate having to go along with everything my friends say!"

"Well then why do you do it?" I ask Claire.

She looks over at me. Then she addresses everyone in the group. " I don't know, I don't...you don't understand..you don't. You're not friends with the same kind of people that Andy and I are friends with! You know, you just don't understand the pressure that they can put on you!" Brian has a shocked expression on his face.

" I don't understand what? You think I don't understand pressure, Claire? Well fuck you! Fuck you!" He hides his face in his sleeve but I can tell that he is crying. "Know why I'm here today? Do you? I'm here because Mr. Ryan found a gun in the locker."

I was stunned. My mind started going to the worst of the worst situations. I then realized that we didn't really know much about each other.

"Why'd you have the gun in your locker?" Andrew asks Brian.

"I tried. You pull the fuckin' trunk on it and the light's s'posed to go on...and it didn't go on, I mean, I..." Brian didn't really answer the question. He was avoiding it.

Andrew asks again, "What's the gun for Brian?"

"Just forget it"

"You brought it up, man."

" I can't have an F, I can't have it and I know my parents can't have it! Even if I aced the rest of the semester, I'm still only a B. And everything's ruined for me!" My heart goes out to him. I had times in my life where I felt that type of low, but I was never pushed that far to even get my hands on a gun.

"Oh Brian" Claire says.

"So I considered my options, you know?" Brian says.

"No, killing yourself is not an option." I say calmly to Brian.

"Well, I didn't do it, did I? No, I don't think so."

"It was a handgun?" Allsion asks him.

"No, it was a flare gun, went off in my locker."

"Really?" Andrew asks and then he lets out a laugh. I was confused.

"It's not funny." Brian says. Soone everyone starts to laugh, even me. It was a pretty sad, but funny situation. Soon Brian is even laughing. "Yeas it is, fucking elepahnt was destroyed."

"You wanna know what I did to get in here?" Allsion asks. We all look over to her. I was curious. "Nothing, I didn't have anything better to do." I started to laugh with everyone else. That is pretty comical. "You're laughing at me," She says.

"No." Says Andrew. But then Allsion starts to laugh.

"Yeah you are!" Allsion says in between her laughs. After everyone lets out their laughs, Bender looks over to me.

"What about you Mandy? I think you are the only one we don't know about. What did you do to end up in this wonderful Saturday detention?"

"You guys know Mr. Ryan, this history teacher? Well we all know that he is an a-hole right? Well, I don't appreciate A-holes. So, on wednesday, he was talking about something but then for some reason he decided to talk about his personal opinions about a topic. He was getting out of hand so I asked him, 'Are you always so stupid or is today a special occasion?' And as I was leaving the classroom, I might have flipped him the bird." I say chuckling thinking back to that day. He was such an asshole and he deserved that.

Everyone seemed shocked that I said something like that to a teacher. I know why. I am a shy person most of the time but if you push me over the edge I am like a loose cannon. I just couldn't help it. Soon everyone is laughing again, because let's be honest, Mr. Ryan deserved it.

Brian gets up from the circle and goes into one of the offices. Soon, we hear music playing, we all start dancing around the library. On tables, on the second floor, just everywhere. We were free for those few moments. Nothing was holding us back. It was the best couple of minutes ever!

I looked up at the clock and realized that it was 3:15. I went and grabbed Bender. I don't think he realized the time. "Hey, you have to get going, if Vernon finds you here, you are for sure dead meat."

"I guess you are right, here come with me I am going to need some help." He grabs my hand as we go to the second floor. I watched as he climbed on a table and opened up the duct in the wall. "Hey" John looks down at me. "I just wanted to say, that on monday, I would say hi to you. Also, I had a good time with you this Saturday, thank you."

Was John Bender saying thank you? "Thank you? Are you going soft on me?"

"I'm not going soft, hell no. and you should appreciate the 'thank you' those only come along every ten years." He laughs and I let out a laugh as well. I then look up at him, and there is silence between us. Our eyes meet, it all of a sudden felt like there was a magnet between the two of us. I started to get closer to him, and he started to lean down, but then he turned around real quick. He had a nervous look on his face. "Hey see you at 4, sweets."

I felt embarrassed. Were we going to kiss just then or was that just my imagination. I decided to ignore it. "Yeah see you at 4, troublemaker." He smirked and climbed into the duct. I joined the group again.

They were all sitting on the railing just waiting for the time to go by faster. Claire broke the silence. "Brian?"

"Yeah?" Brina answered.

"Are you gonna write your paper?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, it's kinda a waste for all of us to write our paper, don't you think?" Claire did have a point.

"Oh, but that's what Vernon wants us to do."

"True, but I think we'd all kinda say the same thing." Again another good point from Claire.

"You just don't want to write your paper...Right? "

"True, but, you're the smartest, right?"

I could tell that this flattery was getting to Brian. "Oh, well."

"We trust you." I say to Brian. He looks over at all of us and we all nod in agreement.

"Alright, I'll do it." Brian finally agrees.

"Great." Claire then looks over at Allison and then me, then back at Allison. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Allison asks. Claire is practically dragged me and Allison with her.

"Yeah, Claire where are we going?" I ask for myself.

We move to the back of the library and Claire empties out her makeup bag. She then pushes back Allison's hair and starts to do her makeup. I do have to admit she had a way to really highlight someone's assets. "Mandy, can you go in my bag and grab the white top I have in there?" Claire asks me.

"Yeah." I start rummaging through her bag and I finally find the top she is talking about. "Here" I say as I hand over the top to Claire.

"Thanks." She takes the shirt. "You know you really do look a lot better without all that black shit on your eyes."

"Hey, I like that black shit." Allison says.

"This looks a lot better, look up."

"Please, why are you being so nice to me?" Allison asks. I just stand by and watch Claire work her magic. I had to admit that Allison was starting to look like a completely different person.

"Because you're letting me." Claire puts on what I am guessing the finishing touches. Allison then goes to change into the white blouse. Claire and me go back to join the boys. "Hey Mandy, I just want to say sorry about what I said earlier. I was just very upset and I was speaking in the moment. I shouldn't have brought you up in that argument with John. That kid just really gets under my skin and I can't stand it. I just knew that mentioning you was going to get him upset, so that's why I did it, and I just want to apologize."

I was happy that Claire was apologizing. "Thank you, and I forgive you." I thought about Monday. I really hope that the conversation earlier was able to sway Claire, because I really wouldn't mind being her friend. All of a sudden the doors from the room Allison was changing in open up and she walks out. She looks completely different. Her hair is pushed back and you can see her face. She was gorgeous. The boys look up and see her. Allison walks right up to Andrew. He looks like he is in shock.

" What happened to you?" Andrew asks her.

"Why? Claire did it! What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, it's just so different. I can see your face."

"Is that good or bad?" Allison asks him concerned.

"It's good!"

Seeing them makes my heart melt. They were so cute, and I could see them being with each other after this Saturday. It dawned on me that I had some unfinished business to take care of.

I leave the library and start to walk the halls cautiously. I was looking for any sign of life. As I turned the corner I see that the light was on in a supply closet. I opened the door with the hopes that I found what I was searching for. When I opened the door I wasn't disappointed. I found John Bender on what looked like a spare desk. He looked up at me.

"You lost?" He asks. I just smile at him, and he smiles back. I swallowed the lump that was in my throat. I walked closer to him and it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I was now inches away from Bender. His eyes were still locked on mine. I decided I had to go for it. I leaned forward. And I closed my eyes, before I knew it my lips met his. I felt him reciprocate the kiss. I felt butterflies in my stomach. This is what I had been waiting to do for what feels like ever. He breaks the kiss.

"Why'd you do that?" He asks.

"Because I knew you wouldn't" I smile at him. I did have one question that I want answered. "Am I just a girl you would just consider? Or..?"

He leans in and gives me a kiss. This one I lean into, and it felt like I was on cloud nine. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He again broke the kiss. "Mandy, no. You are different than any other girl I have ever met." I give him a quick kiss. That was the answer I was hoping for. I quickly left the closet, before I got caught.

As I was walking back to the library I could feel that my cheeks were beat red. This had been the best Saturday that I had had in a long time. When I got back to the library we only had two minutes left, so I took my seat and waited.

Before I knew it all six of us were walking down the hallway together. I was holding Benders hand the whole way. Allison was holding Andrews, and we all had huge smiles on our faces. We pass Carl on the way out.

"See ya Brian" Carl says.

"Hey Carl" Brian recipricates.

"See you next Saturday." Bender adds.

"You bet!"

We all leave the school and split off into our own ways. Brian waves as he gets into his parents car. Claire does the same and they drive off. I see Allison and Andrew share a kiss before Allison gets into her car. I was so happy that they found each other during this detention. I look over to Bender.

"You walking home?" He asks.

"Yeah, I don't live that far away."

"Want to walk together?" I squeeze his hand as a yes. We begin to walk through the football field. I look up at John. I swear this is the happiest he has been all day. I couldn't help myself. I stood on my tippy toes and gave him a kiss on his cheek. He looked down at me and then forward again. He then shot his arm up in a fist. Best Saturday Ever!

Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, a rebel, and a criminal. Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,

The Breakfast Club

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