#kevin gone from the public eye for 9 months…

[glazedcecilia]

anyone else thinking about kevin day with a breeding kin-[GUNSHOTS]

[pandabunfics]

I Followed the Plan

Disclaimer: This is FICTION, so everything written is a work of fiction and not real, everything in this does not reflect on him as a person in real life.

Sangyeon x Male Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,068

Requested by: @taehyungkim4

Life with Sangyeon has been an interesting one, working alongside him through a project was just the beginning, now the both of you have been in a steady relationship, a non platonic relationship, for almost 8 months. Naturally however, Korean society and Korean people generally don’t accept most homosexual relationships, not to mention with their idol, as much as I love Sangyeon, although I’m yet to tell him that out loud, it’s hard being very secretive, it’s not something I’m used to.

You stand in the kitchen doing the dishes, you always used doing the dishes as an opportunity to escape from the group that is Sangyeon and his members.

“BABE!” Sangyeon shouts from the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah...yeah what?”

“You weren’t answering me, something the matter?”

“Um, no nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“No….we’ve been together for a while now, it’s dawning on me how hard it is to be so secretive about all this. It’s taking a slight toll on me.”

Sangyeon walks up behind you, turning you around by the waist, you lean back against the sink, “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all to make this better?” Sangyeon wraps his arms around your waist pulling you into a little hug, giving you a little pout to add.

“Being in an out in the open relationship isn’t an option, so maybe a date?”

“A date? Where were you thinking?”

“Busan? I’ve heard a few idols have gone there for dates.”

“Umm…Sure.” Sangyeon hesitates.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to, I want to be able to give you that kind of out in the open relationship, or at least as much as I can.”

“Thank you Sanggie.” Sangyeon leans closer giving you a quick kiss, after a moment he grabs a glass of water before returning to the living room with his members.

You return to doing the dishes and begin wondering, 'I hope this date is enough for me, maybe dating an idol is as hard as I was told, maybe I’m in over my head…..just maybe.'

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

Walking quickly alongside Sangyeon you both hurry through the train station, “Come on.” Sangyeon gestures towards his left, “This way.” Sangyeon says, you nod in response, following Sangyeon you both get on the train packed with people. 

Throughout the train ride you look towards Sangyeon a few times, he’s completely bundled up, even wearing sunglasses and a mask, as are you, ‘I wonder if anyone will catch us, it feels like we’re criminals.’ You think to yourself.

Eventually you reach your stop, it’s almost 8pm, the amount of people about now is growing less as you walk through streets, “Where are we going?” You ask Sangyeon.

“Somewhere kind of private.”

“How private?”

“Very.”

“Okay.” Sangyeon stops walking almost as soon as you answered, you look up to see a restaurant sign, “Private.” You say to yourself.

“It was either this or a clearing I found, but I thought you’d take that the wrong way, so I chose this place instead.” Sangyeon grabs your hands pulling you into the restaurant, as you enter the realisation sets in, it’s almost empty and the few people who are here, seem to be all the same sex, might be coincidence.

“Table for two?” The waitress asks, “Yes.” Sangyeon replies.

The waitress gestures for us to follow, she shows us our table and we take a seat at the table as she walks away.

This place is cool but something seems wrong, like it seems almost too good to be true or, something bad is- something is just not right.

“You seem quiet, is something wrong?” Sangyeon pats your hand bringing your attention back to the room.

You try and shake off your feeling, “No, it’s all good, thank you for bringing me here, this place seems...nice.”

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

After eating and sitting at the table and talking for a little bit with a couple of drinks, Sangyeon begins getting a little touchy, “Sangyeon I think you’re a little tipsy.”

“I’m not tipsy, I just want to be affectionate with you.”

You smile to yourself and stand up from the table, “Let’s get home.”

“Oh alright.”

You grab Sangyeon’s hand and lead him to the entrance, you pay for the food and take his hand again as you walk out with him.

When you are on the street Sangyeon stays by your side, suddenly your get pulled into a small alcove by the restaurant, “Sangyeon what are you doing?”

“What? No one’s watching, it’s almost 9:30pm, there’s very few people out here and I want to give you your out in the open relationship.” He immediately finishes his sentence by kissing you, he puts his hand on the back of your neck, his other hand wrapped around your waist, you don’t put up a fight, you just allow yourself to melt into the kiss.

After some time, very suddenly, Sangyeon pulls back, “What? Sangyeon? What’s wrong?” You shake him a little hoping to get a response, “SANGYEON!”

“Yeah, yeah I heard you.” He’s keeps looking across the street at nothing.

“Did you see something?”

“No, I thought I did, but no.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, I have you, my protective little boyfriend.”

“Who you calling little?”

Sangyeon just laughs at you, he slips out of the alcove and holds out his hand waiting for you to take it.

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

You wake up to your blaring alarm, “AGH.” Sangyeon rolls over trying to ignore it, you pull yourself free from the tangle of limbs in the bed and tap your phone until your alarm turns off. 

“It’s my day off, why is your alarm still on?”

“Just because it’s OUR day off, doesn’t mean we can spend it in bed all day.” You get up and stand beside the bed, much to the protests of Sangyeon.

“Why not?” Sangyeon whines.

“Because.” You pull the duvet off Sangyeon, leaving with only a pillow and his boxers covering him, “We need to do things today and you know that.”

“Ugh fiiiine.” Sangyeon sits up throwing a pillow at you and rushing past you to the bathroom locking it behind him, you just roll your eyes and get to making the bed and tidying up your apartment for the time being.

Sangyeon comes out of the bathroom half dressed in just tracksuit pants, “Put some clothes on.” You tell him averting your eyes from his body.

“Why are you acting like you have never seen me fully naked?”

“I don’t know.”

“Awwww, it’s so cute how you get so flustered over such small things.” Sangyeon pats your head as he walks past you to your bed, picking up his shirt off the floor from the night before, you just take a minute to admire his back muscles before you leave the room. Entering the kitchen you pick up your phone, sit at the table and begin to eat the breakfast you had just prepared for yourself.

Scrolling through twitter seeing people obsessing over something about Taemin as they do, you then see a title that makes your heart drop ‘THE BOYZ Sangyeon found kissing a man!?’

You just sit there wide eyed putting your phone down on the table, Sangyeon walks in cheery, not immediately noticing you hunched up on the seat, still in shock.

When he finally notices, “Hey, what’s up?” Sangyeon sits down opposite you, you look up at him and just slide your phone across the table saying, letting out a painful exhale in anticipation of him reading the news article, as he reads his expression goes through multiple changes, shock, horror, terror, fear, sadness, “I’m so sorry Y/N”

“What?”

“I thought we were safe last night. And look, now we’re- Oh my god, this is all my fault.” Sangyeon gets up and begins to pace around the kitchen thinking to himself, you try and compose yourself for a moment, “This is just as much my fault as it is yours.”

“But it wa-“

“It was my idea to go out and on top of that, I’m in this relationship too, so when something happens, it’s also my fault.” You walk over to Sangyeon, wrapping your arms around his ribs, hugging him.

Sangyeon grips on to you letting out a few tears, “Sangyeon? Oh my god, honey.” You grab Sangyeon’s face and just look in his eyes, he smiles at you as he always does.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I have you, even though this is the worst thing that could possibly happen to me, us, I still have you, and no one can take that away from me.”

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

“A fan posted this image on Wednesday at 9:36PM on multiple social media platforms, allowing it to be seen by as many people as possible.” The man in the chair turns around to face both you and Sangyeon sitting there.

He continues, “Do you understand how much of an effect this will have on your reputation as an idol, not to mention on us as a company? We cannot allow this kind of behaviour to go on, however….despite this, I am not removing you nor am I terminating you contract.”

Sangyeon, eyes wide looks up at the man, “Wait- what? I’m still in THE BOYZ, I’m still in the company?”

“That is correct however, YOU will be the one to deal with this mess, you will be the one to clear it all up, am I understood?”

“Yes sir.” Sangyeon slouches back in relief, he seems almost annoyed though, Sangyeon and you both get up and bow to the man before walking to the door, “I hope you understand that you will need to make a public comment about the false accusations of your sexuality and the full situation.”

“Yes Sir.”

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

“I can’t believe you got caught." Jacob says resting his hand on Sangyeon’s shoulder.

“I know. You two have always been pretty careful.” Kevin adds.

“What’s going to happen?” Eric says sitting beside you on the floor.

“I don’t know, I have to do a live and explain the whole thing.” Sangyeon says leaning back on the couch, clutching at his face, rubbing eyes.

Eric and Kevin look at each other quickly before Eric pipes up, “Y/N come with me, I need to talk to you.”

“Uh sure.” You follow Eric into the dorm’s kitchen, seeing the rest of his members in there, Eric closes the door behind, “Eric what’s going on?”

“We just want to ask you something about Sangyeon.”

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

Sangyeon sits in the seat behind the table and in front of the camera, looking pressured he takes a deep breath before nodding to one of the managers overlooking the live, you sit off to the side being able to watch him make the announcement.

The manager turns on the VLive, Sangyeon introduces himself as expected, “As some of you may have seen recently, some things, have been said- about me and...another person.” Sangyeon quickly looks at you, you give a reassuring smile, he smiles back, “As some of you have seen, some things were said about me, a picture of me and someone else has been circulating, and I wanted to just say…….that’s my boyfriend and I love him.” The managers eyes widen and all of them panic and try to end the live as fast as possible, Sangyeon stands up with an aura of pride around him.

“What’s wrong with you?!” The manager yells at Sangyeon, “I was told to explain the situation, I did just that.”

The manager stands there in complete confusion unable to pull together a response, Sangyeon grabs your hand pulling you out of the room and down the hall, “Sangyeon what the hell have you done?”

“I followed the plan.”

“What plan?”

“Kevin’s plan.”

“For me? You did all this for me? What about the other members? Their reputation, your reputation, your career-”

“Babe, who do you think told me to do it?”

“I love you.” You slap your hands over you mouth in immediate shock.

Sangyeon just smiles at you…..as he always does, “I love you too.”

Rules

Masterlist

[lexosaurus]

Everything Was White: Part 10

Part [1] / [9]

Read on [ffn] [ao3]

---

Click.

“Danny Fenton Phantom was spotted today exiting from the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle at the Kaufman Health Center, a recovery center specializing in adolescent mental health and trauma—”

Click.

“—what I want to know is what the hell happened here? Okay? Because in this video I see a kid who can’t walk, who’s looking around like he’s terrified someone’s going to come get him, and you’re sitting here telling me that this is Danny Phantom? This kid? So what happened inside—”

Click.

“—was released from his inpatient stay at the Amity Park Psychiatric Center just this week. Though it is unclear at this time if we’ll see him soaring through the skies again anytime soon, sources say he is recovering quickly—”

Click.

“—no, Dave, I agree that something’s not right here. If you ask me, he’s gotta be a ticking time bomb—”

Click.

“—a ghost or a human? That’s the question we’ll be discussing tonight—”

Click.

“—while what happened during his time within the government’s hold is still unknown, one thing is for certain: Danny Phantom has a long way to go if he wants to get back to his former glory.”

Click.

The screen went black.

“You shouldn’t be watching stuff like that,” Jazz said from behind him.

Danny stared blankly at his lap, not even bothering to turn around and face Jazz’s disappointed gaze. His therapist had told him—had told his parents—that Danny should avoid the news for a while. In her office, Danny found it too easy to comply because he was only just beginning to jigsaw together the broken pieces of his life, so why the hell should he care about the news?

But now it was different. It was unavoidable. The media had been tipped off that Danny Phantom had returned to modern society—somewhat—and that he was attending a PHP program, and now any brief semblance of anonymity he had was gone.

Just like that.

“Twitter’s worse,” he muttered.

Jazz sighed and came around the sofa, sinking into the cushions next to Danny. Her hair was up in a messy bun with strands sticking out like gravity didn’t exist. She pulled the sleeves down on her oversized hoodie and wrapped her arms around her legs.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Danny prepared himself for a Jazz-style lecture about teenage psychology and how he needed to listen to his therapist because she was the expert here, not him, but instead all she gave was a small “I know.”

His stomach turned, and in a moment of vulnerability, he uttered, “I think the worst part is...they’re right.”

“Danny—”

“No. They...I...I used to get this stuff all the time. When I was just Phantom.” He paused, waiting for Jazz to butt in, but she didn’t. “It was so much—so much easier to ignore. Back then. Because they were wrong. I—I knew they were wrong. I wasn’t...a ghost. I was a halfa. They were...they were looking at me like a full ghost, you know? And...the theories were wrong. They didn’t know…”

“Some of the things they said were pretty ridiculous, I remember that.”

“Right?” Danny twisted around to face Jazz. “It was obvious to us, but they didn’t know! They sounded crazy!”

Jazz looked at him with an uncertain gaze. “You realize that they still sound crazy, right? All the people talking about you?”

“No...you don’t get it. The theories are updated, and they know—they know I’m Phantom. Don’t you get it? Everything they’re saying...it’s all based in truth.”

Her expression turned pained. “Danny, stop.”

“But I’m right.” 

“Danny just—come on, think about it for a second! The public hasn’t seen you in months, everything they’re going off of is based on rumors!”

“They saw me this morning, didn’t they?” Danny gestured at the television.

Jazz scoffed. “And you’re really going to take their word over mine? Because of a five-second video of you going into a building?”

A headache was building in his skull. Jazz was trying to guilt him, wasn’t she? But he knew the truth.

The public didn’t need much more than the short video of him going from the GAV to the building, because there wasn’t much else to the legendary Danny Phantom anymore. Everything in that video...that’s all he was now.

Just a traumatized teen going to a health center.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Danny—”

“No, I’m—I’m...” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

Her voice was so quiet, so defeated . Danny couldn’t remember a time where Jazz ever sounded like this.

He was selfish, wasn’t he? He had spent all this time so caught up in his problems and his anxieties that he never thought about what Jazz was going through. They had talked, but not really. 

A wave of guilt swept through Danny because he was such a selfish and awful brother who didn’t ever think to check in with his sister despite everything she had done for him and she deserved so much better than him.

His throat felt tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, cut it out,” she said, slapping his arm playfully.

He tensed and immediately felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He kept his eyes trained down to his lap, not wanting to see if Jazz noticed his reaction.

“It’s not your fault, Danny.”

Danny didn’t know what she was referring to. Even so, she was probably wrong. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“With what, spending quality time with my little brother?” 

“Sure.”

“Well...” She yawned. “See? I’m too tired to do any more homework. Guess I’m forced to chill here on the couch with you. Woe is me and all.”

He rolled his eyes. “The horror.”

“I know, you should pity me.”

“Maybe you should take a nap.”

“Why do that when they’re showing reruns of ‘The Bachelor’ on TV right now?” Jazz plucked the remote from Danny’s fingers.

“Oh god.” A grin began to creep on Danny’s lips. “I get back from—from being abducted by the government...and you want to torture me with trash television?”

“Yup!”

“Unbelievable.” 

Jazz shot him a playful smile. “Well, your options are either ‘The Bachelor’ or you could always find Dad and let him blather on about ghosts for three hours. Choice is yours!”

“And become the victim of his—his latest invention? You drive a hard bargain.”

The depressive fog was beginning to lift in the room, and it was as if Danny could see clearly for the first time. Here he was, joking around on the couch with Jazz, just like before. There was nothing holding him down. He didn’t need to stand up and walk anywhere, his chest was surprisingly calm for once, and his brain felt clear and calm.

This was what he’d always wanted, right? To sit here with his sister, watching mindless television and joking about whatever was on their minds.

This was what he’d dreamt of nearly every night in the Guys in White compound.

He was safe.

Right?

“Ugh, I don’t know why she got so far into the season,” Jazz said, her eyes glued onto the screen. “She was awful.”

Danny watched as a brunette on the screen threw her purse at another girl and stormed out of the scene cursing. “The producers probably...they made her stay.”

“Oh yeah, no doubt. She was crazy. There’s no way Kevin actually liked her.”

“I mean, it is reality TV. It’s not—not actually real.” 

Kind of like how this isn’t real, huh, Fentino? 

Danny gripped his shirt. No, his brain needed to shut up right now. This was real. He was safe and the government was nowhere near him and they couldn’t touch him because the courts had made sure of it. 

“Well, she was annoying either way. I know they like to keep someone on there every season to make drama but ugh, she was just the worst. Like, look!”

“This whole show is the worst though. I can’t...believe you’re make—making me watch this.”

“Well, there’s always those packets Lancer left you!” Jazz said in a singsong voice.

Danny couldn’t hide his disgust. He flopped back against the cushions. “Ugh, don’t even joke about that.”

She took one look at him and laughed, her voice light like a stone skipping over a pond. It was a bright and cheerful sound, one that reminded him of the time he tried to attempt duplication in front of Jazz, resulting in an extra arm sticking out of his torso. 

Danny stared mesmerized at his sister, watching as her smile widened across her face and her eyes squeezed shut, crinkling at the corners. He tried to recall if she’d laughed like this at all since his release from the government, but came up blank.

Sure, they’d had moments of sibling bonding since his release, but they were all held back by something. Whether it be the watchful eyes of nurses or Danny’s body perpetually in recovery mode, there was never a moment where they could truly relax and enjoy each other’s company.

But now he was safe.

Well…

His brain drifted back to the leaked video, and his mood instantly soured. His phone felt heavy in his pocket, and he resisted the temptation to take it out and scroll through Twitter.

He couldn’t even imagine what people were saying.

He was probably a joke to them now, wasn’t he? Amity Park’s hero, reduced to nothing more than a shell of his former self. To go from a confident teen who would soar through the skies, protecting citizens from all sorts of unsavory characters to a traumatized, disabled teen who couldn’t get through a day without hours of therapy and needed his mom’s help to get inside of a building was...well, if that didn’t make him a joke, what would?

Jazz’s attention was now back on the TV screen, and Danny tried to emulate her. After all, he was safe and comfortable and with his sister and there was nothing else to this moment, that was all there was to think about. 

But then something flashed in the corner of his vision, and for a moment he hoped that his eyes betrayed him because it looked like a white van but that was...it couldn’t be…

No…

But it was.

He glanced over to Jazz, but she was too transfixed on the screen to notice him, and he wouldn’t know how to get her attention anyway because his voice wasn’t working and he couldn’t even breathe now and he was going to die, wasn’t he? He was going to die.

They were coming back for him.

He was going to die.

The van slowed to a crawl, and he desperately tried to see inside of the tinted windows but he couldn’t and they wouldn’t roll down their windows either so who was in the van? Was it...was it…

But it had to be him, right? Who else would come back for him?

He tried to suck in a breath but couldn’t. His chest wasn’t working anymore. 

He blinked and the backs of his eyelids were green. Just like his cell floor and the splatters along his wall and his rib when he awoke to it in front of his face and oh god he was going to die, he was going to die, they were coming back for the rest of his core and his ectoplasm and he wasn’t going to survive another round of the compound he knew it he would rather die than do that but his core wouldn’t let him because it needed to protect him his stupid Obsession was going to force him to endure whatever they threw at him in order to protect him.

Unless they ended him first.

Which they were probably here to do.

He was shaking. He was distinctly aware that he was shaking and he hoped that Jazz hadn’t noticed him but she probably would have said something, wouldn’t she?

Oh god. She was going to have to go through it all again too. No...he couldn’t let her...he couldn’t let that happen.

He needed a plan.

But...there was no plan. He couldn’t do anything. The only thing he was capable of was sitting here like some helpless dog watching the van slowly drive by his house. All he could do was wait for it to stop at his driveway, for the agents to jump out of the doors and surround his house, for Operative O to step out with that signature smirk on his face as he held up the inhibitors in one hand and the fucking red bag in the other hand and say with his deep, arrogant tone, “You ready for round two, dog?”

But then, just when the van looked like it would stop, it sped up and turned the corner of their block.

Danny blinked, staring at the empty spot where the van was just seconds ago. 

Had it really...left?

He let out a shaky breath. And then another.

It left.

But it had been so close to stopping.

Oh god. Oh no. Oh no no no.

“Danny?”

The room was spinning. He needed air. The lights were so bright. When he looked up, the ceiling was white and he kept trying to tell himself that it was a wooden ceiling but the room was spinning and he couldn’t see correctly and the lights were too bright.

It was too late. His cover was blown. His hands flew up to his hair and he felt a comforting tug on his scalp.

Get a grip, get a grip…

“Oh my god, Danny! Hey, look at me!”

Danny shook his head. Or, he tried to. He didn’t know if he was able to or not, because he definitely couldn’t look at Jazz right now because he was going to be sick—

“Danny, what do you need?”

“I—”

What?

He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think. Everything was frozen. He felt something wet on his face but he didn’t know what it was or where it came from and his chest was sparking to life and his ears were ringing and he didn’t know what to do. 

“Try to breathe.”

Right, he needed air.

He tried to push himself up but only succeeded in falling back onto the couch. 

“Hey, what are you—”

Hands invaded his vision, touching his arm, and he swatted them away.

He needed to get out. Escape.

Something grabbed his wrist, and he yanked his arm back to his chest, his eyes snapping onto Jazz’s face.

“Danny—”

“Van!” he gasped.

Jazz stilled. “Huh?”

“There was…” Danny looked back out the window, half expecting to see the white van back outside their house.

But there was nothing.

“...a van.”

Why had it left? What did they come here for in the first place if not to take him back to the compound?

It didn’t make sense.

“What are you talking about?”

“I…” He hugged his chest, looking desperately at Jazz’s confused face for even an ounce of understanding.

Why did the van leave?

“Do you need me to get Mom?”

“No!” He was breathless. He couldn’t explain what was going on because he didn’t even know what was happening. Why the Guys in White decided to patrol around their street. Why they decided to slow down in front of their house. 

Jazz tracked his gaze to the window where a black APC News van was stopping to park across the street.  “Danny, I know there are lots of news vans around here now, and I know it’s really stressful. But Mom and Dad tinted all the windows so they can’t see inside of the house, okay?”

Danny gritted his teeth. He wanted to yell out that it wasn’t the news, it was the Guys in White, but his voice wasn’t working and even if it was, Jazz would just call him paranoid and insist that the government wasn’t there to get him again, that he was safe, even though he knew that was a lie.

So instead, all he could force out was a tense “sorry.”

“I know this is hard, but we can get through this together, alright?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see her bright, trusting eyes. And, with a final shuddering breath, he felt the last of his adrenaline rush out of him.

Because maybe Jazz was right. After all, this was Jazz. She was always the smart sibling, the one who everyone could trust. She must have been right. It had to have been just a news van.

Maybe he really was unstable.

“Sorry. I’m fine.”

He was suddenly hyper aware of where he was, sitting on the living room couch with his sister, who was looking at him like he was a ticking time bomb—and maybe he was. Maybe that was all he was destined to be from now on.

Either way, it was embarrassing. 

“Sorry, I—I’m gonna go lie down for a bit.”

Jazz’s face almost looked relieved. Danny couldn’t blame her. 

“Sure, Danny. Do you need help getting upstairs?”

“No.” Danny glanced over to the stairlift, grimacing. He really couldn’t get his core back quick enough.

He began the arduous task of getting up to his bedroom, trying to remember the stupid grounding techniques that the PHP therapists were making them practice. “When you feel your brain trying to pull you into your trauma, remember your senses. Try to think of one thing for each of your five senses to bring you back to the present.”

It was stupid. He didn’t need grounding techniques because he wouldn’t even be in this situation if not for the Guys in White trying to ruin his life again.

One, touch. He could feel the loose ectoplasm beneath his fingers, the way his hands were sticky against the damp tile, the burning electricity they would use to punish him, the cold metal straps chaining him down to the examination table, the ecto-inhibitors weighing down on his neck, the way Operative O’s fingers trailed his chest just before the scalpel sliced through his skin, his flesh tearing off of his body all while he lay there, silently screaming, waiting for the pain to take him because he couldn’t do it anymore.

No, that’s wrong. You’re doing this wrong. 

But how could he come back to the present when the past refused to leave him alone?

Think, Fenturd. 

He closed his eyes and felt...his sweatpants. And…

Two, hearing. He could hear Operative O’s deep voice—

No.

—and the way it would echo around the tiled rooms, the sounds of nice black shoes hitting the pristine floors, the squeaking of Phantom’s damp hero suit as the operatives dragged him across the floor, the—

Stop. 

—machines whirring to life as they prepared to drain him of more ectoplasm every day, the scraping of tools against a metal table, the metal straps clicking into place each day, the slight squeak of the IV drop they would have to wheel into the experimentation room after Danny stopped being able to eat—

STOP.

His hand slammed the emergency brake, and the stairlift lurched to a halt. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he sat there at the top of the stairs, focusing on breathing if only to prevent hurling all over his dad’s stairlift. 

He needed to calm down. Ground himself. Be present in the moment. Do what the therapist told him to do.

He could hear his heartbeat. The TV Jazz was watching. The crickets outside.

He flipped the stairlift back on and continued forward.

Three, sight. He could see the controls for the lift. The red emergency brake. His hands. His human skin.

He ascended the last few stairs and, like a robot, rolled off the platform and pushed himself to his bedroom.

He could see his door. It was a wooden door, not like the metal door in the Guys in White facility. The metal door smeared with green ectoplasm—he got punished for that one—with a sickening pool of ectoplasm right in front of it from Danny’s attempts at eating the meals they would bring to him every evening. He could see the cameras in the corners of his cell, always pointing down towards him as a constant reminder that he was always being watched. He could see the granola bars on the other side of his cell mocking him, the tube Operative O would show off before he would shove it down Danny’s throat—for being an insolent, disrespectful creature, of course—the scalpel glistening under the bright lights, ectoplasm speckled on it like jewels.

He could see his bed. His window. His rug.

His nightstand, which he knew if he opened the drawers he would see pens, batteries, his phone charger, and a bottle of oxycodone.

Danny pulled himself onto his bed, pointedly turning his head to face his wall. He could see all the cracks in the wall. When he first got out of the hospital, he used to spend hours tracing the cracks. It was the only thing that would help distract him from all the pain.

He ran a hand along the rough surface, but to his disappointment, the magical distracting aura of the wall had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a broken surface.

Four, smell. Ectoplasm. Nothing but ectoplasm. Burnt battery acid with a hint of lime. Disgusting, revolting, inhuman. On his skin, in his hair, under his nails, everywhere. 

The smell of Clorox in the hallway, the distinct rotting of his cell, the red bag…

He covered his face with his hands. He was doing this exercise all wrong, he knew he was, but for some reason he needed to do it this way. He wanted to forget, but there was another part of him that almost needed to relive what happened as if to punish him for existing. It was an ugly, revolting part of him that he loathed right down to his core but it just wouldn’t shut up.  

He glanced over to his nightstand.

He needed to make a decision, didn’t he?

Five, taste.

---

“So, Danny. Your mom’s been worried about you,” the therapist said, scanning her clipboard. 

Danny prodded at the stress ball in his lap. The one in the hospital had been blue, but this one was green. It could have looked like a ball of ectoplasm if it weren’t so dull. 

“Oh?” He feigned surprise.

“She said you’ve been having trouble eating again.”

He hummed, neither confirming nor denying her statement. There was no point in really responding anyway. This was his personal therapist, the nice blonde lady he saw three times a week. She knew him better than anyone at this point. If he even thought about lying, she would call him out.

She tapped her clipboard with her pen. “She told me your father made hot dogs last night. Do you remember?”

Danny stared down at the white carpet. It was so clean, so fresh. If it weren’t for the small grey diamonds patterning the material, it would have looked nearly identical to the government floors.

This office was much brighter than the one she used in inpatient. Much cleaner, and the sofa was more comfortable too. Yet Danny couldn’t help but have a sudden urge to walk straight out the door.

If only he could.

“Danny?” she asked, her voice softening. 

He sighed, jabbing a finger into the stress ball. “My dad made hot dogs.”

“Right, and do you remember what happened after he made hot dogs?”

He wanted to forget. 

It was bad enough before, with the nurses and his parents constantly going over his meal plan and the stupid protein shakes. But now that everyone was at least vaguely aware that Danny may have had some stupid experience around food and that he may have accidentally brought that home with him and he might be failing to hide it from everyone close to him?

He did not want to get put on a meal plan again.

Maybe he could convince Tucker to pick up some Nasty Burger for them. If he ate it in front of his parents, surely that would get them off his back. That was a normal teen thing, right? He did that before everything changed. That sounded like a good plan.

Danny glanced up at the therapist, the suggestion ready to leave his lips, but faltered. She was looking at him expectantly. She’d asked him a question about dinner, hadn’t she?

“Uh…” Danny squinted at the stress ball, trying to remember the question. 

A part of his mind tried to recall what the Nasty Burger tasted like, but he couldn’t remember. It was good, he knew that much. He used to eat there all the time, but now he couldn’t remember.

What if he didn’t like their food anymore? What if it smelled wrong and he couldn’t eat it? The Nasty Burger was a normal teen thing, so if he couldn’t eat it then that would make him abnormal which was the exact thing he was trying to avoid with this plan.

This was a disaster. He knew he was going to fail at eating the Nasty Burger. Why did he think he could do this? He was too much of a mess of a person to even think of eating a burger.

Not a person, remember? You’re just a—

“I’m not,” Danny whispered. “Shut up.”

“Yeah?”

Danny dropped the stress ball into his lap. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, trying to fight off whatever game his brain was about to play, before groaning and burying his head into his hands.

“Take your time, Danny. Deep breaths.”

Right, he needed to breathe.

In...and out…

In...and out…

He was fine.

“Are you alright?”

Danny nodded, rocking back and forth in his chair ever so slightly. He was fine. He was fine. 

He allowed the silence in the therapist’s office to stretch a bit further, focusing on calming his racing heart and embracing the dark, silent parts of his mind. They were his safe havens, the parts of his brain that he could lock himself into to escape the ugly memories of the government facility.

His brain felt like swimming in a hurricane with no land in sight. But every once in a while, he managed to spot the eye in the storm, and sometimes he could even fight the riptides just long enough to swim to safety.

He was fine.

“It’s stupid anyway.”

“What is?”

“This. Me. Everything...dinner.”

“Why do you think it’s stupid?”

He shook his head. “The whole thing...it’s so dumb. I don’t…”

The therapist didn’t say anything. Vaguely, Danny could hear the click of her pen, but he couldn’t hear the familiar scratching of the pen on the clipboard. 

She must have been waiting for something, Danny realized. 

This was the perfect opportunity. Dinner last night had been a complete and utter disaster. He had already been on edge courtesy of the white van—which now he was almost positive he was such a paranoid idiot because it was probably just a news van—and then the next thing he knew he was curled up in the bathroom trying to fight off the smell of processed meat that was attacking his home. 

He could have told the therapist right then and there. She knew about the dissection, about the night he tried to escape, about the nights he’d spent locked in his dark, damp cell, shivering, desperately trying to cling to the memories of his family and friends because he knew—or he thought—that those memories were all he’d have left of them.

And suddenly, he wanted so badly to tell her because what was worse than being ripped open and torn apart? What could possibly be worse than being electrocuted and dragged away from his family? What could be worse than hearing gunshots and not knowing for weeks after if the Guys in White had actually shot and killed his family?

It was all so screwed up. He was so tired of the panic, of the pain, of the lapses in his memory and the freaking therapies and the chest pain that never seemed to go away. This was his life now and he was exhausted.

This was the only part of his captivity that he hadn’t told her. He could end all this secrecy right now. She could help him.

He looked up at her, and there she sat with her blonde, curly hair clipped back, revealing a patient smile paired with her signature soft, grey eyes. Her legs were crossed, and in her hands, she held her clipboard and pen. She was here, radiating kindness and a judgment-free environment where Danny was sure he could reveal exactly what the hell was going on without worrying about seeing that horrified face he saw from his mother or Jazz during family therapy.

She could help him. He just had to say it.

“I…” He took a shuddering breath, dropping his eyes back to his lap where the green stress ball still rested. “Um…”

Say it.

“I…”

Say it.

“In the...in the…”

SAY IT.

“...”

Why couldn’t he say it?

He glanced up again and she was still sitting as patient as before. She was waiting for him, because she trusted him to tell her what was wrong, and he wouldn’t say it.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he was weak. 

Because Operative O did train him, just like he had promised he would.

And worst of all, Danny had let him. He knew exactly what Operative O was trying to do, and he’d let it happen. He hadn’t tried to fight him off at all, and he hadn’t eaten the granola bars when asked. He could have easily avoided all of this, but he didn’t. Because he knew, and Operative O knew, that Danny deserved it.

“I don’t know.”

The therapist hummed in response. “Food can be just as powerful of a weapon as a knife. It can be used against us as a means for control. And then sometimes, we may take that trauma home with us. Do you feel like the Guys in White used food to control you?”

“Of course they did,” Danny snapped. What did she think the entire meal plan was for?

“Can you think of a time where they did this? It can be any time that jumps out to you.”

Danny frowned, rolling the stress ball around in his lap. If he outright refused to answer, then she would tell his parents and they would start crying again and would threaten to send him back to inpatient. And after yesterday, he was already on thin ice. 

So he would have to give an answer, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

“They were mad that I had to use IVs,” he started. “So they tried to force feed me.”

“That must have been really scary.”

“Yeah…” His throat tightened, and his eyes started to burn.

“Can you tell me about it a little?”

No.

“Uhh…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “By that point, everything just hurt so much. I don’t really...I can’t…”

“What was hurting?”

He hugged his torso. “My back, mostly. My arm too. Ribs. That was before...before when they—with my chest, you know. I didn’t have that then. There was time in between my back and that.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” He was starting to feel hazy. Things were blurring together, and he didn’t know if the tingles in his chest were a sign of his pain medication wearing off or if they were just a part of a distant memory.

“Did the smell of the hot dogs bring you back to that place?”

“Kinda. I don’t know. It shouldn’t have.”

“Why do you think that?”

Danny pressed a hand to his chest. The tingles were starting to get worse, and Danny tried to remember if he had taken his medication that morning. 

He had to have taken it. His mother controlled his medication, per doctor orders, and she always made him take it with breakfast.

But the tingles in his chest were starting to feel like fire licking at his skin, and even when he tried to smother the fire with his fingers, it only seemed to grow worse. 

It didn’t matter, he would get more medication soon. He just had to grit his teeth and bear it until then.

He was fine.

“Danny, what’s on your mind?”

Danny flinched, and once again, he was made aware that he was still sitting across from his therapist who seemed to have an unlimited supply of patience for his bullshit. 

He glanced up at the clock. They still had a half hour left of this session.

“Yeah.”

What were they talking about again?

---

The phone lit up, illuminating the dark room.

Danny wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on his bed, staring out the window at the stars speckled against the sky. It was a clear night, a full moon. It would have been perfect for a flight if he could. If he didn’t have this chip in his neck.

He ignored the phone. Whoever was trying to contact him would have to wait. The night was too perfect, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gazed out at the stars.

It was so serene. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was outside, floating face up towards the Milky Way. But he wasn’t going to close his eyes and imagine that, because it wasn’t real. And he didn’t know when he would even get that opportunity again, if ever.

And besides, if he closed his eyes, how would he look up at the stars?

His phone went dim, leaving him once again submerged in the darkness of the night.

The stars were too far away. Maybe if he tried, he might be able to at least drag himself onto his roof.

But what if he couldn’t? Did he even want to try, knowing he was likely to fail? Would he be able to handle that kind of defeat?

It was no use. He would just have to ask his parents to take the chip out in the morning. Surely they had safety-proofed the lab by now, hadn’t they? If they were so worried about Danny being hurt? It must have been a top priority for them.

But then why hadn’t they done that during the two months Danny had been in and out of the hospitals? Why wait?

Unless…

Stop it. 

It was preposterous to think that his parents would lie to him about this. After all, what was the point of keeping Phantom locked up? They knew it was hurting him to be separated from his ghost core for so long. Surely they were going to take the chip out as soon as possible.

Right?

The phone lit up again, snapping Danny out of his thoughts. Whoever was trying to contact him this late could certainly wait till morning. If Danny hadn’t picked up the first time, then what made them think he was going to answer now?  

He snatched the stupid device off his nightstand, fully intending on shutting the damn thing off, but froze. There, displayed perfectly on the caller ID, was the name of someone he hadn’t thought about in months:

Vlad Masters

His blood ran cold. Vlad? Why him? Why now? As far as Danny knew, he’d kept his distance since the court case. Of course, Danny had known that he was the one financing the entire lawsuit—Danny wasn’t an idiot—but he assumed it was either Vlad’s attempt at either reconciling his own stupid guilt or, the more likely scenario, that it was Vlad’s way of making sure the Guys in White couldn’t keep their grimy little hands on Danny’s halfa biology. 

Either way, Danny assumed that Vlad would have enough tact to know to stay the hell away from him.

But Vlad was never one to uphold unspoken boundaries, now was he?

Danny’s finger lingered over the end call button just a moment too long.

Although his stay with the government had changed him, his poor decision-making skills and teenage impulsiveness had unfortunately survived these past few months.

Danny jabbed the answer button and whipped the phone up to his ear.

“What do you want, Plasmius?”

---

As always thank you so much to @imekitty for beta-ing this fic. If you like this fic, check out her fics on ffn, they are very angsty and brilliantly written!

Thanks for reading!

---

<previous / next>

[lovemesomesurveys]

A Random Survey Inspired By My Tweets Created by Guia from scyphozoan

1) How are you doing in this time of COVID19? Do you personally know anyone who is not taking COVID19 seriously? Well, now I’m a real hermit crab because I only leave the house literally once a month for my doctor appointments. Pre-Covid I spent most of my time at home, but I got out more compared to this. It’s been a stressful and scary time to say the least. However, a lot of people have been hit hard and seriously affected by this in different ways, so much more than me, and it’s heartbreaking. And yes, I have some cousins who aren’t taking it seriously at all. They’re still going out all the time, partying with large groups of people, and just going about life as normal. 

2) What do you think of TikTok? Have you jumped on it yet? Why or why not? I love TikTok. I don’t make them, but I watch a lot of it. There’s a real wholesome side to it that I really enjoy. 

3) What game have you gone back to playing or missed playing because of this time of self-quarantining? There hasn’t been any.

4) How internet-savvy are your parents? Can you think of time(s) when they surprised you with what they know (i.e. memes, platforms, emoji uses, etc.)? My dad has a Facebook, he browses and shops some online (though he often asks me to do it), and I think he watches YouTube, but that’s about it. He often asks my brother and I for help with something. In fact, I handle all his online billing for him. He’s not hip with memes and whatnot. I was surprised when he mentioned TikTok once haha. As for my mom, she’s a lot better at it. She has Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. She likes to spend a lot of time watching videos on Facebook. She likes sending Snaps to her friends. She texts a lot and uses emojis and Bitmojis and all that. She’s familiar with memes and whatnot. She does her own online billing and shopping. She only asks for help with something now and then.

5) What is your favorite foreign cuisine? What is your favorite food/dish from that cuisine? Italian. I’m a pasta gal. I used to really love Mongolian BBQ, Chinese, and Mexican, but not as much anymore because a lot of what I liked was spicy and I can’t eat spicy foods anymore. :( Mongolian BBQ was my absolute favorite, but I used to load it up with spicy stuff and sauces. I still eat Mexican and Chinese, but it’s not the same. I miss adding hot sauce and hot chili oil to everything.

6) What is an electronic gadget that you’ve had for more than 5 years? Would you say it was worth your money? Do you plan on replacing it any time soon? My laptop, phone, and TV are all less than 5 years old. I do want to upgrade my phone because it’s the XR and in tech world that is considered old.

7) What TV show would you say you’ve re-watched more than two times? Are you re-watching anything now? I’ve seen all of Roseanne (its original run, not the reboot) and The Golden Girls numerous times. I started to re-watch Sister Sister recently.

8) Do you remember the moment when you started feeling alarmed by the development of the COVID19? How did your life change since? Back in March when the lockdown stuff started happening. That’s when shit got real. Like I mentioned earlier, I don’t go anywhere now except for my once a month doctor appointments.

9) What viral video/meme last made you furious or annoyed? Hm. I can’t think of one at the moment that made me furious or annoyed.

10) When was the last time you woke up feeling pumped and determined to have a great day? How did that day unfold for you? Uhhhh. I don’t think I’ve ever woken up feeling like that to be perfectly honest. Certainly not in the last few years. I’ve just never been like a super optimistic, positive person. Well, not when it comes to myself anyway. I am for other people. I don’t know, man. I don’t wake up feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the day. It’s definitely been the worst the past few years with my severe lack of energy and motivation, but even before. I did used to have more energy and I actually had motivation once upon a time, but.. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. Like, I didn’t set out to have a bad day, but I wasn’t so... gung-ho either. Now I’m just grumpy and moody.

11) Do you use e-mail a lot at work? If so, what are your biggest e-mail pet peeves? If not, what mundane task do you do on a regular basis at work and what do you dislike about it? I don’t have a job.

12) What hobby or interest of your significant other do you have ZERO interest in? What about something you actually think might be fun or something you actually picked up thanks to them? If you don’t have an SO, you can think of a relative or friend as an example instead. My dad is obsessed with sports, which I have zero interest in.

13) Do you use Uber? If so, how often do you use it or cabs in general? Have you ever had an awkward moment with a cab driver? I’ve only used Uber a few times and it was during my vacation at the start of this year. I’ve only taken a cab a few times as well. 

14) If you are employed, what would you say are the best and worst parts of your company’s culture. If you don’t work, what would you say is the busiest part of your day? I don’t have a busiest part of my day, I do nothing. 

15) What was the last craving you fulfilled? I had Wingstop for dinner and I got my white chocolate peppermint mocha from Starbucks as well, which I’ve had just about everyday since Starbucks released their holiday drinks. I’m obsessed.

16) Do you like stand-up comedy? Who are your favorites? When was the last time you remember discovering someone new that you actually liked? I find Kevin Hart to be funny.

17) Have you ever felt affected by the death of a celebrity or public figure? If so, who? Do you remember when you found out and what was your reaction to it? Yeah, there’s been a few. For example, Ryan Dunn’s death was crazy. I had been really into Jackass and the guys for a long time and it was just really sad.

18) What positive affirmation do you need to give yourself right now? Uhhh.

19) How often do you get headaches? What are usually the cause(s)? What are your go-to remedies for it? What was the worst headache you’ve ever had?  I get tension headaches a few times a month. I used to get them more often in high school. I can’t take aspirin and stuff like Advil and Ibuprofen don’t do shit for my headaches. Tylenol definitely doesn’t, which I don’t take anyway because it has acetaminophen and the pain medication I take regularly does as well and it’s not good to take too much of that. So, the only thing I can do is a cold washcloth over my eyes and sleep.

20) What was the last purchase you regret making? What about it that made it regrettable? How about the last purchase that you found absolutely worth your buck? The face masks I recently ordered because they’re way too thin. As for worthwhile purchases, I’ve done pretty well with my Christmas shopping. I’ve found good deals. And I just love buying gifts for my family, so that makes it worth it in itself.

[redsoapbox]

MY TOP FIFTEEN TRACKS BY WELSH ACTS IN THE PAST DECADE.

Pictured - Davey Newington. Davey features in the list twice - as Boy Azooga and as a member of the gone but not forgotten Houdini Dax.

In my introduction to Pop Hack, my debut collection of reviews/interviews, I make the claim that ‘some of the best records I have heard in my lifetime come from the unsigned and unsung acts that I stumbled upon covering the Welsh music scene’. I repeated that claim the other day while being interviewed by Bill Cummings for his Cymru Am Bop podcast (see link below), so I thought it was about time I put some flesh on the bones. In no particular order, then, are fifteen tracks from some of the best singer/ songwriters and bands in Wales.

1. Dan Bettridge - Third Eye Blind (2015)

Released as a single in 2015, and wisely included in Dan’s exceptional debut album Asking For Trouble three years later. “Third Eye Blind” is a stirring soul workout, hugely influenced by Van Morrison’s classic track “Real, Real Gone”, and a surefire set closer by anybody’s standards.

2. Pretty Vicious - Cave Song (2014)

The mighty tune that famously sent the major record labels into a lather and into a headlong race to Merthyr in pursuit of the teenage rockers. I caught the band at the EVI (Ebbw Vale Institute), a few months after they had signed on the dotted line, and filed one of the earliest national reviews of the band for Wales Arts Review. I spent most of the review decrying their major label status; ‘Pretty Vicious has signed with Virgin, it’s the first uncool thing they’ve done’ I moaned. I ended the review on a note of caution - ‘Pretty Vicious would be wise not to rush into the recording studio just yet. You never get a second chance at a debut album’. My scepticism about the multinational’s motives was on the money - the band was unceremoniously dropped by Branson and Co in 2017 without even releasing an album!

https://soundcloud.com/prettyviciousuk/cave-song

3. Houdini Dax - Found Love In The Dole Office. (2015) 

I was a huge fan of Cardiff’s sadly defunct power-pop trio, whose two albums, You Belong To Dax Darling (2011) and, particularly, Naughty Nation (2015), are packed with bangers/earworms/crackers - take your pick. I was bemused by their complete lack of success, but nevertheless surprised when they morphed overnight into Monico Blonde. Drummer Davey Newington went on to bigger, if not necessarily better things, with Boy Azooga of course. “Found Love In The Dole Office” is a typical Dax track, matching a punchy melody with a clever lyric. 

4. Jodie Marie - Everyone Makes Mistakes (2015)

Taken from one of my all time favourite albums, Trouble in Mind (2015), “Everyone Makes Mistakes” is one of four or five outstanding ballads that form the centrepiece of this truly fine record. This is a heartbreaking song that leaves the listener reeling!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNBraJss7-4&feature=youtu.be&autoplay=1

5. oblong - Light Sleeper (2019)

I tossed a coin with this track. Llanelli’s bilingual post-punk combo has released two scorching albums, Brilliant...Gwd (2017) and Hollalluog (2019), which are brimming over with terrific tunes. Any one of them will set the pulses racing.

https://oblong1.bandcamp.com/

6. Danielle Lewis - West Coast Sun (2016) 

When we beat this virus and lockdown truly ends, this is the record that I’m going to emerge from my hideaway playing. A joyous tune that deserves the sun on its back and for people to be of good cheer when they listen to it. Danielle’s current single “Flowers” is another beautiful composition.

https://daniellelewis.bandcamp.com/track/west-coast-sun

7. Aled Rheon - Wrap up Warm  (2016)

It’s never the done thing to quote oneself, but as this feature is partly to publicise my book Pop Hack I’m going to take a diabolical liberty! In my review of the song I write ‘It’s a beautifully judged lyric with a performance to match, as Rheon’s fine-grained vocal manages to make James Taylor sound like Jello Biaffra’. Not bad, even if I say so myself!

8. Armstrong - Gratitude (2019)

Although this song dates back a good number of years, it was included in the deluxe release of Armstrong’s majestic album Under Blue Skies (2019). As with oblong, above, I was spoiled for choice and very nearly chose the exquisite “My Resistance”, then again I very nearly opted for the heartaching “Perhaps It’s Time To Say Goodbye”. “Gratitude”, though, has a life-affirming quality that somehow transcends the times in which we live.

https://bigtakeover.com/recordings/ArmstrongUnderBlueSkiesTheBeautifulMusic

9. Climbing Trees - Aliosi (2013)

Does this song really contain ‘the most romantic couplet in the history of pop’, as I somewhat fancifully speculated in my review of Hebron, the Pontypridd combo’s debut album? Perhaps not, but that’s what a great pop song can do to you. I happily plead guilty to getting carried away by ‘Sunlight streams into my eyes, It always brings me to /  I didn’t mean to wake you darling, but I can’t keep my eyes off you’. If that doesn’t set your heart racing, what will?

https://ilikeclimbingtrees.bandcamp.com/track/aloisi

10. Silent Forum - Limbo (2017)

Silent Forum had a great 2019, with their debut album Everything Solved At Once earning them rave reviews across the board. It’s a wonderful album and it would have been easy to choose its centrepiece, the stupendous “How I Faked The Moon Landing”. I opted, however, for “Limbo” an old favourite of mine and a song that stood out for me the very first time I saw the band play in 2015. This is Indie-noir incarnate!

https://silentforum.bandcamp.com/track/limbo-2

11. Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard - Love Forever (2019).

Can there be any doubt that Tom Rees and his band are heading for the big time? The man writes killer tunes and has the chutzpah to carry them off. Rees is a real political animal, but he tends to separate that out from his music. On “Love Forever”, an ‘all you need is love’ protest song, he puts a hippy-dippy toe in choppy political waters for the first time. 

12. Boy Azooga - Loner Boogie (2018)

After missing the boat with Houdini Dax and Monico Blonde, Davey Newington’s ship finally came in with his solo project Boy Azooga, leading to support slots with the likes of Bob Dylan and Neil Young. This tune is as fun ‘n’ funky as pop music gets.

13. Burning Ferns -  Bullet Train

Newport’s Burning Ferns are often compared to stellar names like Big Star, Teenage Fan Club and The Byrds, so if you admire classic songwriting, chiming guitars and three-part harmonies then their two fine albums on Country Mile See Saw Seen (2013) and Public Mono (2017) are must-have records.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TM6m3GTm7DE

14. Georgia Fearn - Catch Me When You Can (2018)

An edgy and imaginative songwriter, Georgia Fearn was just 17 when she released her debut album, the dark delight that was Perfect on Paper. Equally influenced by TV, cinema and literature’s tales of the macabre, Perfect on Paper is something of a black comedy, one that you might want to listen to crouched into the foetal position whilst hiding behind the sofa!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgVmBKAbn6c

15. Head Noise - Microwave (2018)

It defies explanation that Mitch Tennant left the mini-masterpiece “Microwave” off last year’s 14-track debut album Uber Fantastique. A fun pop artefact in the vein of Landscape’s “Einstein A Go-Go”, every home should have one - “Microwave” the song, I mean, not an actual microwave. Although I’m given to understand by the cooks in the household that a microwave is a product that comes in handy, personally I never venture into the kitchen, so I can’t properly comment!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wXV_7fr7k8 

The five next best

Travelator - Anonymous Iconoclasts, That Night at the Table  - Beth Goudie, Just Rock ‘n’ Roll - I Fight Lions, Obsolete - Matthew Fredricks (not yet released), High -Clwb Fuzz.

http://www.godisinthetvzine.co.uk/2020/05/11/podcast-cymru-am-bop-episode-three-featuring-kevin-mcgrath/

All of the above acts are featured in my book Pop Hack

http://bit.ly/PopHack

[mylesudland]

Some thoughts on youth sports

Baxter Holmes at ESPN has a fascinating story out about the NBA’s concern over injuries in its young players. For anyone who has spent time training — at any level — the concerns outlined will be ones you’ve heard before: a lack of mobility in explosive athletes and a lack of flexibility in strong athletes create ticking time bombs that go off in the form of broken legs, broken ankles, and warped backs. 

The concerns voiced by executives and doctors at the NBA level are also familiar in the modern world of youth sports — by specializing in one sport at a young age, these athletes are set up for disappointment. They will be disappointed by their health and disappointed by their in-competition performance. In 2019, the issues surrounding the culture of youth sports are not new. The parents, the kids, the coaches, the administrators in every part of the country at every level in every sport have heard this story a thousand times. 

And the “answers” end up sounding a lot like what AAU board member Rod Seaford told ESPN. 

“The NCAA and the NBA loves to lay fault for their ills at the feet of youth sports or AAU,” Seaford told ESPN. “That's a pretty common thing. We've approached the NCAA and NBA with various proposals [only] to get lip service. We don't get much serious conversation. I don't doubt that it's a legitimate concern. But it's really easy to lay all those faults of the youth coach.”

The only answer is that there is no answer. Except that as I see it, the current youth-sports-industrial complex has a pretty straightforward incentive structure that perpetuates and accentuates that unathletic athletes that are filtering into the highest levels of American sports. It’s called the NCAA. 

---

For a brief time, I ran cross country in college. My results are not inspiring. But my path to college athletics began during a heated dinner conversation in the winter of 2006 when I told my parents I was going to give up baseball. It was a decision my father didn’t really understand: why did I need to run all year round? 

The previous fall I’d had a decent cross country season for a sophomore. Especially with the limited training I’d done the previous summer. After a string of races that showed promise, I ended up with a hairline fracture in my leg that resulted from running a race on an already stress-fractured leg. I ended up in a hard cast for a month. For me, the injury did not prompt questions about whether running was a viable long-term pursuit — was there, for instance, something anatomically that would disadvantage me as a long distance runner? — but instead convinced me that a tighter focus on running is what would stave off these injuries in the future. 

In the spring of 2006, the first during which I gave up baseball to pursue distance running as a singular pursuit, I ended up with a lingering shin injury and eventually my season ended with torn ankle ligaments after hitting a rock the wrong way on a run. For the second time in six months, I was in a hard cast. 

The next summer’s training led to a fall with a nagging hip injury. My results did not improve from the prior year. I survived the season, however, without a cast. Then the winter and spring of 2007 proved relatively injury free. And the results were just good enough that the opportunity to run in college was realistic. This, of course, had been the point all along. 

---

In March, the public was made aware of something we all sort of knew was happening, we just didn’t know how. Rich parents were buying their way into college. 

And while the FBI explicitly outlined that putting your name on a building and getting your descendants admission to an elite university as a result is not illegal, paying someone to take the SATs for your kid is. So is sending money to a fixer who sends some money to a college coach who then makes a spot for your kid on a team. Even if they’ve never played the sport. But the system that I think was laid most bare in Operation Varsity Blues is found in the name: it’s about the sports. 

If you watch any college sports, you’ve see a version of this commercial before: “There are over 400,000 NCAA student athletes,” we’re told, “and most of them will be going pro in something other than sports.

And so while the NBA is worried about the load borne by kids playing over 100 games a year between AAU and their school-sponsored team, for those kids the NCAA is the finish line. 

And as the FBI’s investigation into college admissions bribery outlined, one of the surest ways to overachieve your academic limitations is to be a good athlete. 

---

My modest success running long distances encouraged both of my brothers — always superior athletes to me — to pursue running both at a younger age and more seriously than myself. Both of them had considerable success. Both of them attended elite universities they would never have been accepted to based on their academic achievements as a result of this athletic success. The specialization that came to the Udland family ultimately worked out. 

Most weekends in the summer now we play golf together. None of us are particularly great. But the thing with golf is that everyone always thinks that if they could just spend more time practicing... So when we get together, the conversation sometimes leads to “what could have beens” about how things might be if we’d focused on, say, the three sports we all played as young kids (football, basketball, baseball) once we got to high school. Or what kind of golfers we could be if we’d played in high school, and so on. 

It’s the idle talk of former athletes re-living a not-lived version of their glory days. But what these conversations usually ignore is that the specialization we might now dream away was the right decision. It opened to each of us a college experience that would have otherwise been impossible. 

And so when we speak of the ills of youth sports, we must remember that the parents are not motivated because of professional sports, but about college sports. And while playing a sport in college is not realistic for most youth athletes, it is way more realistic than playing a professional sport. And the benefits — namely, an education at a university you might otherwise not be qualified to attend — are worth the risks of having more fun as a kid. Or, at least, that’s how many parents see it. 

---

When I sat down to write this piece, I don’t think I meant to apologize for youth sports culture. And I’m not sure I really did. But re-reading this piece it seems that I have a lot of sympathy for a culture that directs money away from families who don’t have a lot to spare and takes time away from kids who won’t ever get their youth back. 

The youth sports industry is fueled by bitter parents who think things should’ve gone a different way and put that anxiety on a child who is not equipped to know they’re but a pawn in an insecure adult’s do-over. Youth sports should be fun. And for many kids, they are not. 

But the incentives that underwrite the youth sports industry are also not hard to decipher. Athletic achievement for many kids unlocks academic — and in turn, professional — doors that otherwise don’t exist. You can be a national level concert pianist and make your pitch to Harvard on that basis, but if you’re a high school boy that breaks 9:00 for the 2 mile, you’re pretty much in. 

This argument is also the one used by NCAA executives who believe that paying college athletes is not justified. “They get an education,” you hear the amateurism defender saying. “That’s the payment.” And for an Olympic sport athlete, this may well be true. For the members of a major football program where television rights and ticket sales bring in tens of millions of dollars a year, this argument is obfuscating bullshit. 

This argument also leaves out the kids who end up at schools they aren’t really qualified to attend. But the lack of investment in public schools in America is beyond the scope of this post. (The demonization of public schools is one of our nation’s most shameful public policy stances.) 

Holmes’ article simply struck a chord for me because the NBA viewing itself as a relevant stakeholder in the culture of youth sports seems to me like an odd position for the league to take.

The league is defined by a dozen or so stars and their backgrounds are highly varied. LeBron James was The Chosen One at age 16 and has, improbably, exceeded that hype. Kevin Durant went to a major university to play college ball, was a star from the beginning of his freshman season, then entered the league and was one of its best players within three years. Kawhi Leonard and Paul George were overlooked high school players, mid-first round picks, and have grown into themselves. Giannis Antetokounmpo’s journey to the NBA from Greece earned the 60 Minutes treatment. 

All of which is to say that the NBA’s worry about youth sports matters little to the league’s players that actually define for the public what the sport really is about. Which is about stars. 

Certainly, some NBA general managers would like the deeper parts of the league’s pool to be more mobile and less injury prone. The freak leg fracture suffered by Julius Randle — a product of the AAU system and the University of Kentucky’s NBA farm system — was certainly a blow to Randle, his family, and the Los Angeles Lakers. 

But the lesser versions of Julius Randle, the kid from Dayton he played in a summer league tournament back in 2011 that ended up getting a scholarship to Kent State, probably doesn’t regret his choice to overextend himself during high school summers. Because while that kid might’ve had his eye on Ohio State, a scholarship came through. The gamble paid off. 

And when you’re at a desk making calls to sell P&C insurance in suburban Cleveland, you don’t worry about your chronically stiff ankle in the morning. 

Instead you wonder what could’ve been with your buddies, knowing it worked out just fine. 

[junker-town]

The 5 best types of photos Kevin Love posts with his dog Vestry

Kevin and Vestry forever.

Do you follow Kevin Love on Instagram? If you don’t, I’d strongly suggest slapping the follow button to see Love’s fits, his wild vacations, but most of all, his dog Vestry.

Meet Vestry. She’s right here:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on Jun 20, 2019 at 8:30am PDT

She’s a Vizsla that Love and model Kate Bock brought home on Christmas 2018. Vestry is a very sporty dog who is VERY attached to Love.

You’ll know when Love is about to post a video of her because he’ll start the caption with “SOFT POST:” and then elaborate on how many days he’s been gone and how she’s missed him.

What I’m trying to say is that Vestry is a very important part of the NBA family. This is her first full season and we should welcome her appropriately, with a blog.

Let’s recap the best type of Vestry posts for now.

When Love comes home to Vestry

These are some of the most wholesome posts that often start with “soft post”.

Here’s one when Love was gone for two days:

View this post on Instagram

WARNING: SOFT POST. There are few better feelings in the world. Was only gone for 2 days but my little shorty and I were happy reunite in the city. Excuse my subtle puppy talk—just understand she is still a puppy...so I have a few more months. Love to @vikkicicak15 & @guadango for sneaking the video .

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jul 30, 2019 at 11:08am PDT

Here’s one when he was gone for 11:

View this post on Instagram

CAUTION: SOFT POST. Got home from an 11 day road trip and this is the love I get. It’s like pressing the reset button. We don’t deserve dogs.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Apr 6, 2019 at 9:12am PDT

Here’s one where he just came back from a game:

View this post on Instagram

When Daddy got home from his game

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on Dec 25, 2018 at 5:33pm PST

And here’s a sad one when Vestry knows Love is leaving:

View this post on Instagram

Showing so much love this morning—she’s not into the idea of me leaving again after being separated for just 24hrs.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Oct 29, 2019 at 7:56am PDT

Love and Vestry nap

These are an increasingly popular form of Love and Vestry post. Vestry seems to always settle on his chest and just knock the heck out.

Sometimes on the couch:

View this post on Instagram

Emotionally Supporting. (Watching Euphoria)

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jul 22, 2019 at 6:42pm PDT

View this post on Instagram

Apparently my end to the long weekend.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on May 28, 2019 at 8:19am PDT

Sometimes on a plane:

View this post on Instagram

Time Flies—Hell of a trip though!!! Now back to the Big .

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jul 11, 2019 at 10:27am PDT

Sometimes in the car:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on May 6, 2019 at 8:37am PDT

Sometimes while Love is getting a massage:

View this post on Instagram

WARNING ⚠️⚠️⚠️SOFT POST: This is what a Sunday treatment looks like now that Vestry is back from training. A different type of healing—Velcro.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Sep 15, 2019 at 8:15am PDT

Sometimes in bed:

View this post on Instagram

There’s been something driving a wedge between us for months @katebock

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jul 17, 2019 at 9:42am PDT

View this post on Instagram

Pretty jealous of this Polo Bear sandwich. #thesnuggleisreal IS THIS NOT THE CUTEST THING YOU’VE EVER SEEN?!

A post shared by K A T E B O C K (@katebock) on Aug 23, 2019 at 8:15pm PDT

And sometimes at the doctor:

View this post on Instagram

Helping Daddy through his Dr’s appointment

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on Jan 2, 2019 at 1:58pm PST

So what’s Vestry so tired from?

Vestry is a the sporty dog

Love and Bock were smart to get a Vizsla for their high-intensity vacation and travel lifestyle. Vestry doesn’t slow them down for a minute (except swimming, she is not a good swimmer but she tries — OK?)

Vestry races on the beach:

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Saturday Living—“...Gotta be quicker than that.” Vestry’s first intro to the sand & ocean. Slow and Steady couldn’t shake her.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Aug 10, 2019 at 12:03pm PDT

And hikes in the snow:

View this post on Instagram

Pt. 2—Twin life jackets. She got her ass snatched up trying to jump in the freezing water. ‍♂️ ‍♂️

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jul 10, 2019 at 12:03pm PDT

She (kinda) swims:

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WARNING: SOFT POST. I spent the morning of July 4th teaching my dog how to swim—Here is her first attempt in deeper water. I have no idea what I’m doing...but there’s a big difference between “winging it”, and “seeing what happens”. Now let’s see what happens... And side note, all that “baby talk” is @katebock guiding her to safety. So the audio is worth listening to and making fun of her.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jul 4, 2019 at 12:15pm PDT

She rides on helicopters:

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T R A V E L D A Y. what up. ✈️✈️✈️ LAX. ALSO, it’s V’s first birthday!! Doesn’t she look gorgeous?!

A post shared by K A T E B O C K (@katebock) on Oct 19, 2019 at 9:31am PDT

She works out:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on Jun 3, 2019 at 3:49am PDT

She takes a drink from the public fountains:

View this post on Instagram

Central Park Sunday.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Sep 22, 2019 at 11:19am PDT

And of course, she hoops:

View this post on Instagram

Handle is

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jun 12, 2019 at 5:42pm PDT

View this post on Instagram

Babe loves ball

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on Jun 24, 2019 at 10:09pm PDT

Vestry is also a model

Vestry is athletic as hell, but she cleans up nice for pics, too.

You can’t teach this:

View this post on Instagram

Vestry Love. #nationaldogday

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Aug 26, 2019 at 2:36pm PDT

Or this:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vestry (@vestryvizsla) on Jun 20, 2019 at 8:30am PDT

She rocks a bandana:

View this post on Instagram

Trashed my sneakers in this week of doodoo brown weather...Summer Solstice finally brought sun to the city. Nothing better.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Jun 21, 2019 at 4:01pm PDT

She’s game for being part of Love’s winter wear:

View this post on Instagram

That unconditional love. Vestry is officially a year old as of today—so here’s a picture of us for her birthday...back when she was small enough to fit in my jacket.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Oct 19, 2019 at 1:51pm PDT

View this post on Instagram

Merry Christmas from one Filthy Animal to another.

A post shared by Kevin Love (@kevinlove) on Dec 25, 2018 at 2:47pm PST

And while these are all great, there’s one type of Vestry-Love picture that’s better than the rest.

Love and Vestry pose for “Don’t Talk To Me Or My Daughter” pics

Do y’all know the “Don’t Talk To Me Or My Son Ever Again” meme?

Anyway, they pose for these with Love playing the role of the overprotective dad. If you don’t understand what I mean, you will now:

View this post on Instagram

Eggs, coffee and this eye contact ... the best way to start the day. ��️☕️☕️

A post shared by K A T E B O C K (@katebock) on Oct 23, 2019 at 7:29am PDT

View this post on Instagram

Ughh miss these two already ... but how can you not when you get to wake up to that every morning.

A post shared by K A T E B O C K (@katebock) on Jul 21, 2019 at 11:25am PDT

There’s your recap on Vestry and her greatness. Please send me any and all Vestry content as the season progresses so we can appreciate a wonderful NBA dog in action.

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 10

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: Fletcher Foley is a real Archie comics character, but I haven’t read any of the issues he’s in.

A/N 2: Apparently I forgot to post this a few days ago when the chapter went up on Ao3, so for those of you who only read here, here you go :)

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/26328312

All previous chapters of Second City and Nobodies Nobody Knows under the tag #second-city and on the Who Sings Heartache to Sleep series page on Ao3.

10. In which a change of scenery takes place

She steps out of Jughead’s apartment and into an uber. Well, not immediately. She can’t telepathically summon ride-hailing services. Though she’s sure someone in Silicon Valley is working on that very problem in this exact moment. A hysterical laugh gets caught in her throat at the thought.

She’s worried Jughead will come after her, so she zigzags a couple of blocks until she’s on the far side of the square. In between a coffee shop and a wine bar, she finds a large hedge to stand beside, and then she summons the car. Thankfully, his neighbourhood is still busy on a Sunday afternoon, and there are many small black icons zooming around when she opens the app. The wait is less than two minutes.

Kevin, she knows, is at work, some special project keeping him up at all hours and in the office, even on weekends. Polly doesn’t pick up. It’s her day off, so Betty assumes her sister and her sister’s boyfriend are enjoying their last few days of kid-free time. And, while she’s so glad she and Veronica are reconnecting again, she doesn’t think they’re quite at the point for this. Even if they were, she also doesn’t think she’s quite ready for Ronnie’s particular blend of supportively brutal honesty. Archie is an option she doesn’t even consider.

So, she goes to the only person who knew her then.

She manages to recapture and hold onto her anger all through the car ride. It feels righteous, powerful, and, unfortunately, all too short. Because once she steps into Mary’s house, she bursts into tears. Something deep inside her, long forced closed and held together with glue, staples, tape, cracks open and grief stampedes through her. She’s vaguely aware of Mary pulling her to the couch, wrapping her arms around her, and rocking her. Mary rubs circles on Betty’s back and makes calm shushing noises. She speaks only enough to ascertain that no one’s been injured or died, then she just lets Betty unload until she’s empty.

She cries for an embarrassingly long time, in violent sobs that wrack her body and cause a headache to bloom behind her eyes.

At some point, she comes to and slides from the couch to the floor. It’s still light out, though it is the middle of summer, so all that really tells her is it’s before 9 pm. Her throat is dry and lips parched. There’s a water bottle on the coffee table in front of her. She grabs it and drinks half in a series of gulps. Mike must have brought it out for her. She hasn’t noticed him in the haze of her heartache, but he must be around somewhere.

Betty settles back against Mary’s legs and lets her stroke her hair, allowing herself to be comforted by the maternal gesture.

“He lied to me.” She doesn’t know if she’s talking about Jughead or her father, but, in the end, she supposes, it doesn’t really matter.

Once she gets to her gate, Betty tries to take up as much space as she possibly can without feeling guilty about it. She picks a seat at the end of a row and sets her purse next to her, her sweater in the seat next to that. Her suitcase she slides so it’s partially in front of a fourth seat. She creates a forcefield of belongings so no one can approach her.

Yesterday had scooped her out and left her numb, depleted. But the one good thing about a multi-hour crying jag is its cleansing power. Sitting at the gate, she feels a renewed sense of purpose.

As soon as it’s crossed nine o’clock, she calls Cynthia.

“Betty, why are you calling me? Why don’t you just come down the hall? We can start our Monday meeting a little early.”

“I’m not in the office, Cynth. I had a bit of a personal emergency. I’m actually at O’Hare waiting for a flight back to Riverdale.” In all her years of grown-up-hood, Betty’s never done something like this. When her father died, they’d known it was coming, so she’d made arrangements to work from home and had trained the person who’d filled in for her on the things she couldn’t do remotely. Anxiety bubbles in her stomach at the thought of disappointing Cynthia.

“Oh no, is everything okay? Your family?”

“No, they’re fine. It’s more a me thing. But I’m so sorry to just leave like this. I know I don’t have vacation time or anything yet, but I was thinking I could use some sick days? Though I don’t know how long I’ll be gone—no more than a week surely. But I can also just take it as unpaid time, I know I’m leaving you in the lurch. And I have a piece half-finished—”

“Betty, stop. We’ll survive. We were gonna run your FP Jones interview this week anyway before his pre-publication publicity circuit starts next month.”

“Oh right.”

The flare of anger she has at the memory of her and Jughead in the bar in May, the moment she first started letting him back in, gives her the courage to get to the thing she’s been thinking about since she cried herself to sleep, then woke up at midnight on Mary’s couch and bought the plane ticket.

“Look, about that. The personal thing. I have a piece to pitch you. I think we should extend the Jones series to three articles. I’ll still review the new book. But I wanna write about—about Betsy Coleman. About being her. About what really happened, all the stuff Jughead omitted from the story. I want to write about it.”

But Cynthia knows her. Knows how deeply uncomfortable she’d been at the prospect of being publicly connected to the character.

“Oh honey, no. Why don’t we just talk about that when you get back?”

She lets Cynthia talk to her down, but she makes notes on the story anyway, while drinking the largest Starbucks green tea frappucino she thinks she can get away with without totally wrecking her blood sugar. She doesn’t mind that Jughead had written about her, about their life. She’d always known he would, had believed it in all the years between their break-up and The Final Fissure’s publication. She couldn’t begrudge him the one thing that she knows has always kept him sane, the thing that he does so beautifully it would be a crime to keep it from the rest of the world. She can’t begrudge the world for wanting to share in that. But, now, she’s pissed that he made her the heroine. She’s pissed that he put her on a pedestal, even while her own family was just as dirty as the Blossoms, the Kellers, the McCoys. In the Civil War between the North and the South of Riverdale, it was the Montagues that were blameless. Her own Capulets commanded every gun, every sword, every gavel.

She does wind up talking to Veronica, huddled against a charging station, and Ronnie makes her laugh through the tears that occasionally threaten.

Betty is jealous of Veronica (what else is new?). She is jealous of how sure and easy things are between her and Archie. And god she’s jealous of the sex she knows they must be having.

“It’s like the universe was saying here’s what you get, Elizabeth. You finally get to have a really great lay and then it all comes crashing down around your ears,” she whisper-yells, all too aware of the businessman in the row behind her. She hates being on FaceTime in public. Headphones make it marginally better, but not enough dispel her anxieties over being heard.

“Betty, that’s not how it works and you know it. You and Jughead, it sounds like you were a ticking time bomb anyway. Both physically and emotionally.”

“Bomb is exactly the right word. Only there’s a hell of a lot more shrapnel than I predicted.”

“Are you sure you should be leaving right now? I’m sure Jughead’s worried about you if you just ran out on him. And your mother—look, I may have only known her a short while but Alice Cooper makes an impression. Don’t you want to be calm when you see her?”

“I need to know, Ron. And she’s out of town right now, so I’ll have some time to figure out what I want to say. To look for, I don’t know, something.”

“Do you want to talk to Archie? I can wake him up.”

“No, I’m not ready yet.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t know.” She feels her nostrils flare.

“How could he not know?” She doesn’t know what would be worse — if Archie had lied to her or if Jughead had lied to Archie. Even through her own pain, she’d noticed how deeply Archie had felt Jughead’s loss. She’d been so pleased when she’d heard they’d reconnected. She didn’t want to come between them. Even at the time, she’d felt guilty for being with Archie. And sometimes, she’s pretty sure he felt the same. But they’d needed each other then, to hold each other up when the foundation had crumbled beneath them.

No, she knows what would be worse. As much as she hates having Robin Scherbatsky-ed them, the thought of her lifelong best friend, the only person who’d always been there for her, who’d always been honest with her, even when it would have hurt her less to lie, the thought of him keeping something like this from her—Well, it’s almost as bad as Jughead keeping it from her.

As she readies to board the plane, she finally pulls up their text message thread. He called her eight times yesterday, before finally giving up around 11 pm. He also sent her twenty-two texts, none of which she’d read. When she’d awoken at midnight on Mary’s couch, she’d opened the apps to get rid of the notifications, then pulled up the internet to book her flight. She hands her boarding pass to the gate attendant to scan, then shuffles along the jet bridge and scrolls through them.

“betty come back”

“you can’t just wander around a neighborhood you don’t know”

“i have more to tell you”

“i really want to talk to you”

“please answer me”

“you forgot your food. and your bra”

“hello”

“i will keep texting and calling you until you answer me”

“i just want to make sure you’re safe”

“please betts”

“i didn’t want to make it worse”

“i should have told you a long time ago”

“but in my defense it was pretty clear you’d moved on”

“shit ignore that last one”

“betty”

“betty”

“betty come on”

“answer your phone damn it”

“i’m sorry”

“just tell me you’re okay. please.”

“nvm, heard from mary”

“i’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

There’s one more text, from 5 o’clock that morning: “just please be ready to talk sometime”. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Now, she responds: “can you send me copies of the security photos you have?”

He calls her when she’s still getting settled in her seat, and his voice is a familiar cocktail of anger, panic, and pain. “Betty, where are you?” Before she can answer, the flight attendant’s voice comes over the intercom. “Are you on a plane?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t mean to be short, but it’s hard to know what to say, what she can say in this moment.

“Where are you going?”

She debates not telling him, but knows he’d figure it out anyway. “Home. I need to talk to my mother and I need to do it in person. She’s not as good at lying to me face to face.”

He lets out a ragged sigh she can hear, even over the sounds of the engine warming up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to screw up—”

But she cuts him off, “I’m not. Jughead, whatever else I’m feeling, and who even knows what that is right now, I’m glad I know.”

“Why did you walk out?”

“Not right now, okay? Can we just focus on the Jason Blossom murder mystery plot?” There’s so much still for them to say, but she almost understands why he’d asked her that yesterday.

He’s silent a moment, then he says, “Are you okay?”

“No.” She lets out of shaky laugh. “Fuck no, definitely not. But I will be, once I get some answers.” But then the flight attendant comes by and signals that it’s time to switch to airplane mode. “I have to go, Jug. I’ll—I’ll call you, I guess. Later.”

“Okay.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

She can’t get comfortable during the flight. The ache between her thighs and across her shoulder blades reminds her how long it’s been since she’s been with a man. It also reminds her of the cost. She wonders if there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but the thought is too tiring. So, she stares out the window as the lake gives way to the fields and forests of Michigan, Ontario, and, eventually, to New York.

Betty walks out of the airport, and, for the second time in two days, dissolves into a puddle of tears, this time in her sister’s arms.

“Hey, hey, little sis—what’s wrong?” Polly’s perfected her mom voice over the years, and for a moment Betty lets it lull her into a false sense of security. Then she freezes as realizes she cannot tell Polly any of what she suspects. Not until she’s sure. “No-nothing. It’s just been a hard week and I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”

Polly pulls back from her, hands still on her shoulders. “Do we maybe need to stop for some ice cream and Midol on the way home?”

Betty manages to pull a laugh out of somewhere deep inside, her spleen maybe, and says, “I hadn’t even thought of that, but sure.”

“One pint of Tonight Dough coming up! Mom only has that no sugar added frozen yogurt at her house, and, believe me, you don’t want to eat it unless you have to.”

She lets her sister console her with the promise of frozen dairy products and pain relievers she doesn’t need as they bundle her suitcase into the car and pull away from the airport.

“I’m sorry I won’t be here for your visit, Betty. And mom won’t be back from her conference for a couple of days, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

“That’s okay. I’m the one who didn’t give you any warning I was coming. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Are you kidding? A whole hour of you to myself and I don’t have to answer Cheryl’s incessant texts about SPF and not wearing mom shoes and yes I’m sure we don’t need fast passes and Disney World and Universal are plenty, we definitely don’t need to go to SeaWorld too.” Betty rolls her eyes. Cheryl is some Frankenstein’s monster of sort-of-cousin and sort-of-sister-in-law and completely overbearing, but Betty couldn’t imagine her life without her. She just wishes Cheryl would stop trying to buy the twins’ love. One, it’s unnecessary, they adore her. And two, sometimes it makes Betty feel a little bad that she can’t do the same, no matter how much Polly hates when Cheryl goes over the top.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, just for tonight? I can have Fletcher push back our reservation.”

“No you should go. Don’t let me derail your plans. Besides, I had to be at the airport so early, I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Polly rolls her eyes but keeps them on the road. “Of course not. You could have gotten a later flight, you know. Like two weeks later.”

“I know, it was sort of an impulsive decision.”

“Betty Cooper doesn’t do impulsive.”

“Maybe now she does.”

Polly glances over at her. “You look happier.” It’s surprising thing to say, considering the tears that had met their reunion.

“Pol, I just busted out the waterworks when all you did was hug me.”

“Stop it. I mean, you seem brighter. Like you’re taking better care of yourself. You’re smiley-er.”

“You spend too much time talking to twelve year olds. But yeah, I think…I think overall I am. I mean, it’s been hard, being so much farther away from all of you and basically starting over. But I like my life so far.”

“I’m so happy for you even though I miss you so much. Maybe once we all get to Orlando, I can have the twins FaceTime with you.”

“That’d be great. We all? Who else is going on this adventure again? Besides Cheryl.”

“Me, the kids, Fletcher, Cheryl’s girlfriend. Cheryl’s picking them up and we’re all meeting up at the airport Wednesday, so Fletcher and I are going to spend tonight and tomorrow in Saratoga Springs, a little mini-vacation before the crazy.”

Betty turns her sister’s statement around. “You’re happy?”

Polly’s smile is so big that Betty thinks it must hurt. She grabs Betty’s hand where it rests on the console and squeezes it.

“Yeah, I’m happy.”

Betty’s heart clenches.

For the rest of the ride, Polly chatters happily about their vacation plans. As much as Betty had enjoyed Harry Potter world, the prospect of that many consecutive days in the full buffet of Orlando’s theme parks, packed into crowds like sardines, and in August no less—she thinks it sounds like her own personalized version of hell.

But most of all, she thinks, she’s glad her sister won’t be here to see what’s coming. That she’ll have time to think of how to tell her.

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 9

-----

The pasta came back up at about 2:43 in the morning. 

Crab and cheese were not pleasant coming back up, thought Abby as she rested her face against the sink cabinet. The tile was cool to her forehead and she wanted to stay there. But instead, she turned on the sink and washed her face. Her mouth felt even grosser than her skin did, but sweat was coming off her forehead and trickling down into her eyes so she tended to that first. Abby tried to pick up her toothbrush, but the thought of the paste made her gag. She scanned the cabinet and picked up Holtz’s, which was mild in flavor and not strong mint like hers. The fact that she could stand it in her mouth was a blessing as it helped with the ick factor.

The soft strands of “It Had to Be You” played from the kitchen as she stepped out of the bathroom. Holtzmann looked so sleepy sitting at the table as she handed Abby a cup of dark liquid. Holtz knew Abby loved the song, and it had made her smile as she entered the room.

“It’s flat soda,” she said as Abby took the glass from her. “It should help settle your stomach a little.” She sipped on the beverage, trying not to make a face at how not appealing it was.

“Why did it pick today to make me nauseous?” Abby said to Holtz before looking down to her abdomen. “Could you have waited at least few more days?”

“I don’t think our bodies have a timer for that sort of thing,” said Holtzmann, smiling. “That isn’t exactly the baby’s fault.” She put a hand over Abby’s stomach.

“You aren’t to blame, are you?” Abby took another sip.

“I wasn’t throwing up before I was pregnant.” “Not unless there were shots involved.”

“Oh geez,” said Abby, grimacing. “I’ve drunk alcohol since we did the insemination, Holtz.” She sat down in the kitchen chair next to her wife.

“Abby, it wasn’t excessive,” said Holtz. “I don’t think it will hurt anything.”

Abby looked sad and buried her head into Holtz’s chest. The small sniff Holtzmann heard from her boobs made her rub the back of Abby’s head and neck.

“This hasn’t been the best of days to start this grand baby adventure, is it?”

“No,” said Abby pitifully. Holtz chuckled softly. When Abby looked up with a glare, Holtzmann rubbed her face with her fingertips.

“I love when you lean on me like this.”

Abby didn’t say anything to that, just took comfort in Holtz’s presence.

“You’re still not feeling all that great, are you?” Abby shook her head at Holtz’s question.

“I think I’m going back to bed,” she said. “See if maybe I can sleep this off.”

Holtzmann nodded and Abby got up and headed back to the bedroom. Holtz picked up her cell phone off the table and starting searching for morning sickness remedies.

-----

When Abby woke up the next morning, she wasn’t surprised that she was still feeling nauseated. She was surprised however that it was after ten and Holtzmann was nowhere around. Why had Holtzmann let her sleep that long? Abby turned over to get out of bed, but noticed a few extra things were sitting on her nightstand that wasn't there before. Saltine crackers, some Sprite, and... ginger lollipops.

“Oh Holtz,” she said fondly. Her absolute dork of a wife had been busy. Abby then felt guilty that she probably hadn’t slept since she was nowhere in sight.

Abby sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes before putting on her glasses. She grimaced at her stomach churning a little. She had always heard saltines were great for morning sickness. She picked up the box and took out a pack. The salted cracker felt good going down. It was almost a relief to eat something. Then, so had the mac and cheese. But that was probably because she had been hungry for anything at all and touched that Holtz cooked something homemade for her.

“Please don’t make me throw up this,” she said, rubbing her abdomen. “Or it’s going to be a long day.” She picked up one of the Sprites and took a sip, happy that it didn’t automatically make her want to puke. Abby carefully got up after about ten minutes of hoping that everything stayed down. She was thankful when she didn’t feel overly queasy and headed to their small closet. She really wanted to shower.

-----

Holtzmann was happy when she saw Abby come downstairs. A lollipop stick was stuck between her lips and she looked better than she had really early that morning. Abby waved from the doorway as she went down to the first floor. The blonde engineer picked up her plasma cutter to cut some copper she needed for a fitting with a smile.

Erin greeted Abby from her desk as she came down. Patty was over by Kevin. She had a large stack of papers and he was squinting his eyes in concentration. She figured that Patty had given him some copying to do and he was trying to focus on the details. Abby went over to Erin’s desk.

“Candy already this morning?” she asked, gesturing to the lollipop.

“Ginger,” said Abby. Recollection lit up in Erin’s eyes and she nodded.

“Well, Holtzmann’s interview yesterday was well received,” she said. “I don’t know if you’ve been online to see or not.” Abby shook her head.

“I thought as much,” said the red head. “She followed your notes well.”

“I watched a little of it in the studio. It was good publicity,” Abby said. “And they let us air our commercial for nothing.” Erin grinned at that. They had let Patty be the star of it by herself, and it had gone viral. Everyone was talking about this beautiful and brash woman who sold the idea of the Ghostbusters being their insurance against ghosts, saving them from the past, the present, and in the future.

“You have any plans for the day?” asked Erin.

“Besides trying not to be sick to my stomach again?” Abby sighed. “You’ve been throwing up already today?” Erin frowned. A nod was all she got in response.

“You want to write a third book together and keep your mind off things?” smirked Erin.

“Then who’s going to keep an eye on Kevin?” asked Abby.

“We’ll let Patty and Holtz do that.”

“But then who’s going to keep an eye on Holtzmann?” Erin laughed at that.

“She’ll just have to keep an eye out for her own fires.” She pushed a piece of hair back behind her ear. “By the way, Mom said to tell you congratulations.” Abby closed her eyes and groaned. “Erin, please tell me you didn’t.”

“I may... have mentioned that you and Holtzmann were trying, and she asked about it last night when she called.”

“Mine and Holtz’s families don’t even know yet!”

“I’m sorry!” said Erin with a whimper. “I didn’t think.” She picked up her cell. “I’ll call her back and let her know not to say anything.” She looked sheepish for a second, but then her shoulders seized up.

“She had her garden club meeting this morning. And you know how the old ladies love their gin and tonic at brunch...”

Abby groaned. “So all of Battle Creek will know before nightfall.”

“Sort of like how they knew I was going to be getting married before I even knew I was going to be engaged?”

“I wasn’t the one who told.”

“Well, yes, Patty was to blame for that one when she and Holtz went to pick up the cupcakes and chocolate covered strawberries. But Patty wasn’t the one who David told he was taking me back to Michigan to ask for my hand in marriage.”

“I guess maybe us flying down ahead of you and David perhaps wasn’t the best of plans.”

“No... but it was nice.”

“I’m turning off my cell phone and telling Holtz to do the same,” said Abby, pulling it out of her jeans pocket. “Mom has your number, so it’d probably be best if you did too.”

“Does she have the Ghostbusters main number?”

Abby flinched when the phone rang.

“Yes.”

“That’s not her,” said Erin.

“What if your mom called my mom?”

“Then it could be her?” said Erin sheepishly, hiding behind her hands.

“Abby!” said Kevin. “Phone!”

“I’m not here!” said Abby loudly. “No really, I’m not here.” Abby headed towards the stairs as fast as she could, much to Erin’s amusement. Kevin jogged up to Erin’s desk.

“Where is Abby going?” he asked. “Her mom’s on the phone. She sounds like a sweet old lady.”

“Abby is running away from her responsibilities,” said Erin with a smile for their secretary. She got an idea and a slow grin appeared on her face. “Let me talk to her.” Erin got up and followed Kevin back to the phone. She took it off of hold.

“Mrs. Yates? This is Erin. Hi. It has been a few months, yes. Abby’s not in at the moment, and neither is Holtzmann. They’re on a call. Oh, you talked to Mom? Yeah, I talked to her last night. Oh, she mentioned-- she mentioned that Abby was pregnant? Yeah, it’s been a rough couple of days. Mood swings, really bad nausea... the whole nine yards. Holtz’s freaking out a little bit. She didn’t realize she was still-- oh yeah. Definite surprise. Total shock. .... Oh. Well, I apologize for that. I hadn’t known that they weren’t telling anyone yet. I’m sure they’re taking it one day at a time. I think Abby has a confirmation appointment later this week. Okay, I’ll let her know you called. And yes, I’ll tell her that she shouldn’t be out doing our... yes, dangerous job in her condition.” Erin nearly started laughing when she heard Patty cackling from the conference table.

“I’ll make sure she calls you. I hope you have a good afternoon too.” Erin hung up the phone and immediately burst into very loud giggles.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” said Patty, holding her sides. “Lord, I haven’t laughed like that in days.” She grinned at Erin, who sat back down at her desk. “I wish Holtzy could have heard it.”

“Oh, Holtzy did hear it,” said a voice. They looked up and saw Holtzmann standing behind Erin. She put her elbow on Erin’s shoulder while brandishing a lit blowtorch.

“Did I just hear you imply that I physically got Abby pregnant?”

“Well, technically you did,” said Patty. Erin took the blow torch away from Holtz and put it far away from her after turning it off.

“Excellent,” grinned Holtzmann. “This is going to make the family get-togethers so much more fun.”

“Did Abby hear... ?” asked Erin, biting her lip.

“No, she went upstairs to grab something to drink.”

“She’s going to kill me when she finds out,” said Erin.

“I’m already planning your funeral. There will be a spooktacular light show,” Holtzmann teased. She took back the blowtorch and headed up to her lab.

“Well, it could be worse,” said Erin to Patty, who was looking weirdly at Holtz's back. “At least Holtzmann would let me pass on. Knowing Abby, she’d figure out some way to keep me here as a ghost and call it payback.” <– Prev | Next –> 

[socialjusticeartshare]

They were one of the first families separated at the border; 2 1/2 years later, they’re still apart

FORT MYERS, Fla. – She tries to avoid the word. What she says is that her mom is in Guatemala. Or that her mom has been deported and will try to come back soon.

By Kevin Sieff The Washington Post

But when her teacher, or her social worker, or her best friend Ashley asks, Adelaida sounds it out – one of the first words she learned in English. “They separated us.”

Adelaida Reynoso and her mother, María, were among the first migrant families broken up by the Trump administration, on July 31, 2017, long before the government acknowledged it was separating parents and children at the border.

They haven’t seen each other since.

Adelaida is now 9, a third-grader in southwest Florida, one of the top students in her class, carrying a thick English dictionary in a purple backpack. María, now 31, was deported alone to rural Guatemala. She has met with lawyers and smugglers and priests about reuniting with her daughter. Nothing has worked.

Despite a massive legal effort and protest movement, many of the migrant families split up at the border remain apart. The children have now spent enough time in the United States to narrate their stories of separation in fluent English. Their parents are back in Central America, watching sons and daughters grow up over grainy video calls.

One call came last month, from Sacapulas, Guatemala, to Fort Myers, Florida, as Adelaida leaped off the school bus on a quiet, palm tree-lined street.

“I want to show you my papers from class,” the girl told her mother. “It’s the report about how I behave.”

She held the black cellphone in front of her. On the screen, her mother’s face was blurry, a sliver of the Guatemalan countryside in the background.

“I got a 100 and a 92 and two A’s.”

“How smart,” her mom’s voice crackled through the phone.

Adelaida wore a red polo shirt and a pony tail. She waved her books in front of the phone. She showed her mother her bus stop, a stretch of sidewalk outside the two-bedroom apartment she shared with 11 people, including two aunts and an uncle.

“Do you have any homework?” María asked.

“No, they didn’t give us any today,” Adelaida said.

María summoned her most maternal voice.

“When you get home, you need to wash your hair,” she said.

They stared at each other and said nothing. Adelaida moved her finger over the image of her mother’s face, caressing the screen.

“You’re always in my heart,” Adelaida said.

It’s the same every afternoon. Adelaida spends her days at Manatee Elementary, her English vocabulary overtaking her Spanish. Then she goes home and looks at her mother’s face on the phone.

Some days, Adelaida gets angry. When other kids in class talk about their mothers. When her aunt kisses her cousin Angel good night, but not her.

María can see her daughter’s eyes getting big and glassy, her face turning red.

“I need you by my side,” Adelaida exclaims.

“I’m trying,” María responds. She hangs up and cries.

– – –

The Trump administration said in 2018 that nearly 3,000 children had been separated from their parents at the border – the parents detained or deported, the children sent to foster care or family members in the United States.

A court ordered the government to reunite them, in the United States or their home countries. ACLU and other lawyers searched for parents and children, and have reunited most.

But the actual number of separated families was much higher. María and Adelaida’s case was one of the hidden ones. They weren’t acknowledged in reports to Congress. They weren’t given the option of reuniting in the United States.

Then, last year, officials gave the lawyers a batch of Excel spreadsheets identifying 1,556 earlier cases of separation, above the 3,000 previously acknowledged. Many of these newly identified families remain split up.

Lawyers traversed Central America with only scraps of information: misspelled names and phone numbers no longer in use.

Some parents have disappeared. Others have gone into hiding to avoid the threats they once tried to escape.

The lawyers found María in December.

She’s a small woman with big brown eyes who keeps her cellphone tucked into a hand-stitched skirt. She lives in a cinder block hut at the top of a hill at the edge of Sacapulas. She’s lost weight.

“You could just see how fragile she had become, how profoundly sad,” said Rebeca Sanchez-Ralda, an attorney with Brooklyn-based Justice in Motion.

After María was deported, she tried twice more to cross the border. She told immigration agents she was trying to get to her daughter. Each time, she was deported again.

María had her interview with an asylum officer on Aug. 16, 2017. She kept a copy of the transcript.

“I hope you or the officer can give me the opportunity to stay here with my daughter,” she told the interpreter. “I don’t want to return to the things that happened in Guatemala.”

Other separated parents – the ones initially recognized by the administration – have joined a class-action lawsuit filed by the ACLU. Some asked to be reunited with their children in the United States.

A federal judge ruled in favor of 11 of them. Nine of them landed in Los Angeles last month. Twenty-nine others, aided by American lawyers, crossed the border last year.

But María wasn’t a part of the ACLU lawsuit, or any other petition, because her case hadn’t been recorded.

“This is a group who the government kept hidden from us, the court, Congress and the public,” said Lee Gelernt, an ACLU attorney. “And these children were even younger than the original group, hundreds just babies and toddlers.”

After each deportation, María returned to the hut in Sacapulas and picked up the phone to tell her daughter she had failed.

“I tried my best, but it didn’t work,” she said.

She asked Adelaida if she wanted to return to Guatemala. But by then the girl had astonished her teachers, acing math tests fast enough to read chapter books while the other kids are still working.

“She’s one of those kids who just does everything right,” said her principal, Scott LeMaster.

Adelaida tells María she should come to Fort Myers, where “they protect us.”

“I tell my mom, ‘No, you need to come here, because there, there’s a little danger.”

They’ve now spent nearly a third of her life apart. Adelaida has grown six inches. She’s lost her baby teeth. She’s learned to ride a bicycle. She sends her mother photos of her Florida life.

There’s Adelaida on the Fourth of July, watching fireworks. In a white dress as the flower girl at a wedding. Holding a stack of library books. Blowing out the candles on her birthday cake, when she turned 7. When she turned 8. When she turned 9.

“She’s such an intelligent girl,” María said. “I know she’s better off there. But seeing (the pictures) – sometimes it only makes things harder.”

– – –

The threats started even before Adelaida was born.

When María was pregnant, she says, Adelaida’s father tried to force her to have an abortion. He was married. When Adelaida was a baby, María says, he entered their home with a pistol and threatened to kill them both.

María and Adelaida fled to Guatemala City, where they were threatened by a gang. María and her younger sister Patricia, with a baby of her own, decided it was time to try for the United States. They paid a smuggler $8,000; they planned to request asylum at the border.

Once María was in custody, she said, an immigration agent approached.

“He said, ‘I’m taking your daughter with me,’ and he took her arm. I started screaming. He wouldn’t say where she was going or for how long.”

Adelaida started wailing.

“I didn’t want to leave my mom,” she said. “When I was almost going to say goodbye, they took me, so I couldn’t.”

Patricia Reynoso, Adelaida’s aunt, tried to reason with the agent. She wasn’t sure why María was separated from Adelaida, but she was allowed to stay with her daughter.

“The agent looked at me and said, ‘I’m a father. I don’t want to be doing this, but it’s my job,’ ” Patricia said.

Adelaida was flown to New York, where she was placed with a foster family.

María was taken to a detention center in southern Arizona, where she pursued her asylum case. She told the asylum officer about Adelaida’s father: “He said he was going to kill me. And that I was not going to know how or when.”

The officer put a check next to the box: “Reasonable fear of torture established.”

The officer asked where Adelaida was now.

“I was told that she was going to be taken away because I had to serve my sentence,” María responded. “I asked if I would see her and I was told they don’t know, that I was not going to see my daughter again.”

María borrowed $3,000 to hire a lawyer. But after seven months, he told her to drop her case to avoid being detained for a much longer period.

“I know she wanted to be reunited with her child,” attorney Israel Hernandez said in an email.”But with the new Trump rules and lack of evidence to support (her) claim, it was difficult.”

The guidance confused María. She had a folder full of documentation to support to her case.

“It all happened quickly,” she said. “The lawyer told the judge that I was dropping my case.”

Within days, she was on a plane to Guatemala.

Adelaida was sent to Florida, where she moved in with her aunt, Patricia, in the crowded two-bedroom apartment. Another aunt moved in, and then an uncle. Other housemates were strangers.

She started attending Manatee Elementary – but at 6, she couldn’t read or write in any language. “She needs to improve all the Spanish skills and the English skills as well,” an instructor wrote.

Officials from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, which facilitated the family separation policy, gave Patricia a pamphlet in Spanish on how to support Adelaida. It was called “How to Help My Child.”

“Spend time together as a family,” it suggested. “Make time for your family to eat together and play and take trips.”

– – –

One Saturday afternoon last month, two police cars drove into Adelaida’s apartment complex in Fort Myers. Adelaida stood near the window in a gray dress with a koala. Her shoulders trembled. Every time she sees a man in uniform, she feels a shock of fear.

The officers had made the building a frequent stop. It is overwhelmingly Guatemalan, often with 10 people or more crammed into small apartments.

Women walk around in Mayan fabrics. Many speak indigenous languages, not Spanish. The men work mostly in landscaping and construction. There are dozens of children, most newly arrived from the border, with asylum cases pending.

“When I just arrived, I was a little afraid,” Adelaida says. “There were so many boys.”

Sometimes when she gets scared, she sneaks away to her room and squeezes her stuffed bear.

“I pretend it’s my mom,” she says. “I dream that we are playing together.”

This corner of Fort Myers has become what Guatemalans call a ciudad espejo – a “mirror city” in which Guatemalan villages are replicated on this side of the United States border. A pipeline has formed between the northern Guatemalan departments of Quiche and Huehuetenango and the city of Fort Myers.

Almost half of María’s class is Guatemalan, mostly children who arrived in the United States over the last two years. LeMaster, the principal, has come to feel as if he’s on the front lines of the country’s immigration crisis, 1,500 miles from the border.

“Here it just comes and smacks you in the face,” he said. “We have 6-, 7- and 8-year-olds arriving who have never been to school a day in their lives.”

When the government began separating families, Manatee Elementary saw the consequences. In his Wednesday staff meetings, Le Master told the school’s teachers: “We need to be aware that some of these kids are missing water and clothes, and others are missing both of their parents.”

Adelaida says “about half” of her classmates “don’t have their moms.”

“It’s hard because sometimes the kids with moms make fun of us.”

She told her aunt. Patricia gave her advice: “Tell the other kids that your mom is coming.”

It was confusing for Adelaida. Was her mom coming or not? She did what her aunt advised. The bullying stopped. But Adelaida’s pleas became more frequent.

“I need you by my side,” she screamed at her mother last month.

“I know,” María said. She had run out of responses.

An American attorney had suggested María might be able to petition to return to the United States, now that her case was finally recognized. But there was no timeline, and no certainty. She was reluctant to mention it to Adelaida.

“I miss you more than you miss me,” Adelaida said.

“No, I miss you mooooore,” María said.

Their calls could go on like that for an hour. But lately, Adelaida had homework to do and friends to play with and books to read. The Florida Standards Assessments test was coming up and she was nervous. She excused herself.

“I remember less and less about Guatemala,” she said. “When I left, I was small.”

She paused.

“And sometimes it’s hard to think about what happened.”

Article Source

[sportsleague365]

In the executive lounges at the Allianz Stadium on Wednesday, there were naturally a few knowing looks and wry smiles between officials of Manchester United and Juventus about this week’s spate of Football Leaks stories, and how most of them focused on Manchester City. It was actually a fitting coincidence that the Old Trafford club were facing the Italian champions at this exact time, ahead of the derby and with all of these headlines, since the Serie A club are one of the examples United have specifically looked to follow as they attempt to keep pace with City. How things have changed. With executive vice-chairman Ed Woodward looking to finally install proper football expertise between the boardroom and the manager’s position, former Juve CEO Giuseppe Marotta and current sporting director Fabio Paratici have already been spoken to . United sources specifically talk about how this could be a way to just wholesale import a successful technical department, “in the manner City did with Barcelona” a few years ago. It is the ambitious plans of those Catalan executives like football director Txiki Beguristain and – above all – CEO Ferran Soriano that formed such a central part of Der Spiegel’s engaging and often damning series on the English champions this week, plans that have provoked Soriano to write of concerns that they could be “pointed out as the global enemies of football”. The repeated message from some close to City’s hierarchy is that the reality of these stories is a lot more “complicated” than all of the leaks have made it look but, whatever the truth of that, it’s undeniable that this whole story has been less complicated for the club than many might have expected. Ferran Soriano’s role has come under the microscope this week (GETTY IMAGES) A lot of the details regarding how they approached Financial Fair Play are eye-opening and damaging – particularly the evasion of rules they signed up to – but it is still a complicated subject that leaves many cold, and there doesn’t exactly appear much heat from football’s authorities to punish them. The justifiable debate about the very merits of FFP, and how it protected football’s old money, only further muddies the discussion. Watch moreWhat cannot be muddied, however, is City’s new attitude. It is an attitude of “we can do whatever we want”, the words literally written by club executive Simon Pearce. That is something that feels far more relevant than the past issue of FFP, because of the concerns it throws up for the future of the game. It goes hand in hand with quotes attributed to chairman Khaldoon al Mubarak about just paying whatever it takes to get the best lawyers in the world. This is what City are now, unprecedented levels of money with almost unstoppable levels of ambition, and supremely intelligent focus. The best money can buy. Manchester City’s behind-the-scenes battle with Uefa has exploded into public view this week (Getty Images) Many at the club might dispute the idea they have political power, but that’s what such wealth brings, as it has already afforded them a central founder’s place on documents about a potential European super league and seen Soriano warned – in leaked emails – about the need to “avoid at all costs the perception of a cartel”. Whether they like it or not, though, City are now a part of the cabal. They are what their fans railed against for so long. They are up there, with United, and certainly ahead of United in performance. There’s also a sobering thought. This has probably been City’s worst week since the 2008 takeover, and yet it looks like they’re going to go unpunished, and with the actual team completely unruffled. Pep Guardiola’s side continue to batter everyone in sight, having scored six goals in each of their last two games. What crisis? leftCreated with Sketch. rightCreated with Sketch. 1/12 Manchester City vs Manchester United combined XIWho makes a Manchester derby combined XI? The Independent 2/12 David De GeaManchester United Getty 3/12 Kyle WalkerManchester City Getty 4/12 John StonesManchester City Getty 5/12 Aymeric LaporteManchester City Getty 6/12 Luke ShawManchester United Getty 7/12 David SilvaManchester City Getty 8/12 Paul PogbaManchester United Getty 9/12 Kevin De BruyneGetty 10/12 Raheem SterlingManchester City Getty 11/12 Marcus RashfordManchester United Getty 12/12 Sergio AgueroManchester City PA 1/12 Manchester City vs Manchester United combined XIWho makes a Manchester derby combined XI? The Independent 2/12 David De GeaManchester United Getty 3/12 Kyle WalkerManchester City Getty 4/12 John StonesManchester City Getty 5/12 Aymeric LaporteManchester City Getty 6/12 Luke ShawManchester United Getty 7/12 David SilvaManchester City Getty 8/12 Paul PogbaManchester United Getty 9/12 Kevin De BruyneGetty 10/12 Raheem SterlingManchester City Getty 11/12 Marcus RashfordManchester United Getty 12/12 Sergio AgueroManchester City PA It is no coincidence City are coming into such sensational form now, but instead a consequence of complete design. Guardiola’s physical conditioning is planned so his sides hit peak performance around November and April. It is what was strategically started at Barcelona, and what City’s expensive sports science infrastructure have allowed him to further hone. These are the allowances of a super club. It was indeed at this time of year that Guardiola enjoyed perhaps his career performance, and his greatest victory over Jose Mourinho, as Barcelona humiliated the Portuguese’s Real Madrid 5-0 in November 2010. His City side are in similar form now, as the Catalan renews another club rivalry with Mourinho. Because, at the end of all this, there’s of course some actual football to be played. There’s the derby. Jose Mourinho’s week suggests he’s not ‘finished’ but Pep Guardiola always provides a test (Getty) Mourinho meanwhile goes into it in good form of his own, and not just in terms of results, although the two are obviously connected. As regular wins have returned, so has the sense of endearing mischief to the Portuguese. That had been replaced by a more tedious sourness for most of his time at United. Now there are proper smiles, not least when asked about the Football Leaks revelations. Read more“I have thoughts from a few years ago,” Mourinho responded on Tuesday. “But I keep the thoughts to myself.” He did reveal some of them in 2017, mind. “The FFP authorities, they have big work to do,” the Portuguese said then. “Big work to do, because probably there are some strategies of disguise but I have to believe that the FFP [authorities] are going to have difficult work to do.” United have difficult work to do on Sunday, but that will at least be fortified by the confidence and assurance that comes from three consecutive wins and especially the nature of that latest victory over Juventus. The extreme fragility of a month ago is gone, replaced by a serious resilience, and a result of the squad deciding to come together. It is understood a sense of professional pride really came into play for United. They realised they were letting so much from outside affect them in the way they shouldn’t after a difficult period. leftCreated with Sketch. rightCreated with Sketch. 1/6 Jose Mourinho’s summer of miseryA difficult few weeks for Manchester United took a turn for the worse on Sunday when they were beaten 3-2 at Brighton in the Premier League. Manager Jose Mourinho has cut a frustrated figure as his team have laboured through pre-season and the opening weeks of the new campaign. Here, we a look at a summer of discontent at Old Trafford. AFP/Getty Images 2/6 Window WoesMourinho had hoped to strengthen his squad significantly during the summer transfer window, but it ended without the arrival of the commanding defender he had wanted. Despite being linked with the likes of Raphael Varane, Harry Maguire, Jerome Boateng, Diego Godin and Yerry Mina, United added only Fred, Diogo Dalot and Lee Grant to the mix. Speculation persists that relations between Mourinho and the club’s executive vice-chairman Ed Woodward are strained. AFP/Getty Images 3/6 World Cup waitThe manager was less than impressed after having to start pre-season without some of his biggest names after France, England and Belgium enjoyed extended stays at the World Cup finals and severely depleted his resources. Paul Pogba, Romelu Lukaku, Marouane Fellaini, Ashley Young, Jesse Lingard, Phil Jones and Marcus Rashford were all missing, although most answered Mourinho’s call to cut short their post-tournament breaks. Man Utd via Getty Images 4/6 Pitch battleIf things have been tetchy off the field, they have been little more relaxed on it. United stuttered through pre-season as they lost to Liverpool, Real Madrid and Bayern Munich, and were little more than functional in a 2-1 victory over Leicester in their Premier League opener. However, they turned in a dreadful display to go down 3-2 at Brighton on Sunday with the scoreline flattering them somewhat. Man Utd via Getty Images 5/6 Martial War?Anthony Martial found himself in the firing line after leaving the club’s US tour to attend the birth of his second child. Mourinho made little secret of his displeasure at the Frenchman’s failure to return to the fold as quickly as he had expected, but 22-year-old Martial insisted his family would always come first. Getty Images 6/6 The problem with PogbaPaul Pogba has been something of an enigma since his club record £89million switch from Juventus in August 2016. His form on the pitch has been patchy to say the least, and rumours of a fractious relationship with his manager have refused to go away. Pogba did little to stem the speculation when he replied, “There are things that I cannot say otherwise I will get fined” when asked if he was happy at Old Trafford, but Mourinho, who has made the Frenchman his captain, has repeatedly insisted there is no issue. Getty 1/6 Jose Mourinho’s summer of miseryA difficult few weeks for Manchester United took a turn for the worse on Sunday when they were beaten 3-2 at Brighton in the Premier League. Manager Jose Mourinho has cut a frustrated figure as his team have laboured through pre-season and the opening weeks of the new campaign. Here, we a look at a summer of discontent at Old Trafford. AFP/Getty Images 2/6 Window WoesMourinho had hoped to strengthen his squad significantly during the summer transfer window, but it ended without the arrival of the commanding defender he had wanted. Despite being linked with the likes of Raphael Varane, Harry Maguire, Jerome Boateng, Diego Godin and Yerry Mina, United added only Fred, Diogo Dalot and Lee Grant to the mix. Speculation persists that relations between Mourinho and the club’s executive vice-chairman Ed Woodward are strained. AFP/Getty Images 3/6 World Cup waitThe manager was less than impressed after having to start pre-season without some of his biggest names after France, England and Belgium enjoyed extended stays at the World Cup finals and severely depleted his resources. Paul Pogba, Romelu Lukaku, Marouane Fellaini, Ashley Young, Jesse Lingard, Phil Jones and Marcus Rashford were all missing, although most answered Mourinho’s call to cut short their post-tournament breaks. Man Utd via Getty Images 4/6 Pitch battleIf things have been tetchy off the field, they have been little more relaxed on it. United stuttered through pre-season as they lost to Liverpool, Real Madrid and Bayern Munich, and were little more than functional in a 2-1 victory over Leicester in their Premier League opener. However, they turned in a dreadful display to go down 3-2 at Brighton on Sunday with the scoreline flattering them somewhat. Man Utd via Getty Images 5/6 Martial War?Anthony Martial found himself in the firing line after leaving the club’s US tour to attend the birth of his second child. Mourinho made little secret of his displeasure at the Frenchman’s failure to return to the fold as quickly as he had expected, but 22-year-old Martial insisted his family would always come first. Getty Images 6/6 The problem with PogbaPaul Pogba has been something of an enigma since his club record £89million switch from Juventus in August 2016. His form on the pitch has been patchy to say the least, and rumours of a fractious relationship with his manager have refused to go away. Pogba did little to stem the speculation when he replied, “There are things that I cannot say otherwise I will get fined” when asked if he was happy at Old Trafford, but Mourinho, who has made the Frenchman his captain, has repeatedly insisted there is no issue. Getty Hence they will be far better primed to take on a prolific City than they would have been a month ago. And there is suddenly the growing feeling that United are in a good position to unsettle the champions, and inflict their first defeat of the season – in the same way they ruffled Juventus on Wednesday. There is a spikiness there again. It is funny how things turn out. Then again, you only have to look at the wider recent history of the Manchester clubs. United’s historic power, from the luck of having Sir Alex Ferguson on top of his game right at the start of the Premier League and the explosion of money in the game, has afforded them the highest paid squad in football but no longer one that is at the very top of the game. City’s new power, from the luck of being selected for takeover by the Abu Dhabi Group in 2008, has afforded them one of the most lavishly sensational sides the game has seen. All of this has led to a week in Manchester with more storylines than any other – and it still hasn’t had an ending. Follow the Independent Sport on Instagram here, for all of the best images, videos and stories from around the sporting world. Source link The post Manchester City vs Manchester United: Sunday’s derby to provide fine crescendo to week of rising pressure appeared first on 10z Soccer. #ManchesterCity #ManchesterUnited #JoseMourinho

[lindyhunt]

Ariana Grande Tweeted (& Deleted) Shade at Pete Davidson

Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson became the most talked about celebrity couple of Summer 2018, melting hearts worldwide with their adorable social media love fest. On the heels of their respective public breakups, the pair entered into a whirlwind romance—and they brought all of us with them. Their PDA-filled relationship gave us multiple matching tattoos, cloud-shaped phone cases, and NSFW tweets (which have since been deleted) about Pete’s manhood. And then, it was all over.

From their initial meeting on Saturday Night Live to a surprise quickie engagement to their eventual split, here’s a play by play of everything that’s happened in this roller coaster ride of a relationship.

 March 12, 2016: Ariana and Pete meet on Saturday Night Live

Grande and Davidson first meet on the set of Saturday Night Live, where she appeared as the host and musical guest, but both are in relationships with other people at the time; Grande is with longterm boyfriend Mac Miller and Davidson is dating Cazzie David.

Omg it's true 🥀 if they're both happy then it makes me happy. ~ @arianagrande #arianagrande #arianagrandebutera #maciana #arianagrandemacmiller #arianator #arianators #arianaarmy #tinyelephant #sweeteneriscoming

A post shared by taking a lil break / offline (@greedybuteragrande) on May 10, 2018 at 10:50am PDT

May 9, 2018: Ariana confirms split from Mac Miller

Grande shocks fans when she releases an emotional and vulnerable statement confirming she’s ended her two year relationship with Miller. E News reports that the split was an amicable one with the two remaining close friends, but busy work schedules drove them apart.

 May 12, 2018: SNL after party meet up

According to Us Weekly, Grande and Davidson are spotted hanging out at an SNL after party at Zuma, with Grande spending the whole night with Davidson’s mom. She was later photographed leaving with a cloud shaped cell phone case that looked exactly like the one Davidson has.

  May 16, 2018: Pete and Cazzie break-up

Davidson reveals he’s split with his girlfriend on a Open Late with Peter Rosenberg appearance, calling her a “very talented girl” and explaining that “she’ll be great and she’ll be fine.” According to People when Davidson was asked about his relationship status, he responded, “We’re not together anymore.”

May 20, 2018: Pete supports Ariana at the Billboard Music Awards 

After both confirming the end of their respective relationships, Davidson is caught on film by a fan supporting Grande at the Billboard Music Awards, her first awards show appearance since the horrific Manchester terror attack. A source tells People, “After Ariana’s performance, they were backstage and he had his arm around her, they seemed very lovey-dovey.” Fans later discover a cloud tattoo on Grande’s finger reminiscent of the one Davidson has.

May 21, 2018: The start of something new

News officially breaks that the couple is for sure an item, but according to People, the relationship is still extremely new, labelling it as “very casual”.

pic.twitter.com/1GPM6smsBu

— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) May 23, 2018

May 23, 2018 : Ariana hits back at fan

After Miller was arrested for a DUI, fans took to twitter to attack Grande, blaming their breakup for his reckless behaviour. In a tweet that has since gone viral, Grande sets the record straight, providing new and intimate details into their “toxic relationship”.

May 25, 2018: Pete defends relationship with Ariana

Following Grande’s epic clap back, Davidson posts a long note of his own to his Instagram story, discussing his mental health, after people criticize Grande for dating someone that has Borderline Personality Disorder.

View this post on Instagram

Okay now they’re just doing it for our benefit. #CommentsByCelebs

A post shared by @ commentsbycelebs on May 25, 2018 at 2:35pm PDT

May 26, 2018: Ariana and Pete get flirty on IG

Grande and Davidson continue to fuel dating rumours, posting super flirty comments on each others IG pics all week, captured by Instagram account CommentsbyCelebs.

May 29, 2018: Ariana supports Pete at comedy show

It’s Grande’s turn to support Davidson as he performs at The Comedy Store in Los Angeles, sharing a snap to her Instagram story of him that she captions with heart eye emojis.

the chamber of secrets has been opened …

A post shared by Pete Davidson (@petedavidson) on May 30, 2018 at 10:00am PDT

May 30, 2018: The relationship is officially confirmed

The duo finally make it Instagram official, posting a homage pic to Harry Potter. Davidson’s caption is “the chamber of secrets has been opened”, possibly alluding that their relationship is outed. Grande commented, “U tryna Slytherin (I’m deleting my account now).”

  View this post on Instagram

We had a good night.

A post shared by L O N D O N R E E S E (@londonreese) on Jun 2, 2018 at 9:48am PDT

Davidson shows his love for Grande in a permanent way, getting two Grande themed tattoos; one referencing her Dangerous Woman bunny ears and the other showcasing the singer’s initials “AG”.  Davidson’s tattoo artist, London Reese, says “Pete loves him some Ariana” on his Instagram story.

June 2, 2018: Pete gets two Ariana themed tattoos

Photography by Kevin Mazur/Getty

June 2, 2018: Ariana photographed wearing her engagement ring

Long before their engagement was officially confirmed, Grande was pictured backstage at Wango Tango wearing the $93,000 sparkler.

HAHAHAHAHAHH HES BEEN BRIEFED

— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) June 12, 2018

June 11, 2018: Ariana and Pete are reportedly engaged

Reports begin to surface that the two are engaged, with Grande fanning the rumour mill with her Twitter activity. Us Weekly states, ” They are looking forward to a very long engagement together”, with People reporting, “It’s a recent engagement. They’re just two people who found love quickly and make each other happy all the time.”

u know what you’d dream it be like ? it’s better than that

A post shared by Pete Davidson (@petedavidson) on Jun 15, 2018 at 12:16pm PDT

June 15, 2018: Pete confirms their engagement

Davidson confirms the engagement on IG, with a post that shows off Grande’s massive ring.

‘pete’ !

— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) June 18, 2018

June 19, 2018: A song about Pete

While talking to fans on twitter, Grande reveals new details about her upcoming album Sweetener, explaining she made a last minute addition to the album with the song named Pete.

ariana, pete and a few of their friends got matching H2GKMO (honest to god knock me out) tattoos! hopefully we get a picture of pete’s soon #arianagrande #petedavidson #petiana #peteiana #grandson

A post shared by ariana grande & pete davidson (@peteandariana) on Jun 18, 2018 at 1:19pm PDT

June 20, 2018: Matching tattoos round #2

Grande and Davidson get more matching tattoos, this time of H2GKMO (honest to God knock me out), posting a video to Instagram showing them off.

Tonight Pete Davidson confirms his engagement to Ariana Grande. Here's a sneak peek. Tune in to #FallonTonight for the full interview. pic.twitter.com/NjxmZ2njgR

— Fallon Tonight (@FallonTonight) June 20, 2018

June 21, 2018: Pete talks about engagement on Jimmy Fallon 

Davidson appears on Jimmy Fallon, describing his engagement as “winning a contest.”

June 26, 2018: Happy Birthday Ariana

Just when you thought they couldn’t get any cuter, Davidson posts the sweetest birthday message for Grande, calling her “the most precious angel.”

Photograph courtesy of Robert Kamau/ GC Images

July 2, 2018: Tattoo tribute to Pete’s late father

Grande debuts a new foot tattoo “8418”, which was the badge number of Davidson’s late father who was a firefighter and passed away during the September 11 terrorist attacks in NYC.

July 5,2018: Ariana addresses Pete’s Manchester joke

At a stand-up show last fall—well before the couple linked up—Pete Davidson made a joke about the Manchester Arena bombing that killed 22 patrons at an Ariana Grande concert. Essentially, the joke was that the horrific incident lead Grande to realize how famous she was, because “Britney Spears didn’t have a terrorist attack at her concert.” (Poor taste, we know.)

With the joke resurfacing on the web, Ariana finally felt she needed to comment. In a since deleted tweet, she wrote: “this has been v tough & conflicting on my heart. he uses comedy to help ppl feel better ab how f-ed up things in this world are. we all deal w trauma differently. I of course didn’t find it funny. it was months ago & his intention wasn’t/ is never malicious but it was unfortunate.”

July 23, 2018: Pete deletes all his Instagrams

When Pete Davidson wiped his Instagram account Monday — deleting ALL traces of his beloved fiancé — the Internet started freaking out. Which, after a few short hours in the dark, prompted the comedian to return to the platform to clear up a few things.

“No there’s nothing wrong. No nothing happened. No there’s nothing cryptic about anything,” he explained on Instagram Stories. “I just don’t wanna be on Instagram anymore. Or on any social media platform. The internet is an evil place and it doesn’t make me feel good. Why should I spend any time on negative energy when my real life is fucking lit. The fact that I even have to say this proves my point. I love you all and I’m sure I’ll be back at some point.”

Davidson’s departure from social media seems to have rubbed off on Grande, who responded to a fan saying that she’s also taking a step back from Twitter and Instagram. “Just sometimes can’t help but bump into some negative shit that really can bum u out,” she wrote on Monday, “and it’s not worth it honestly.”

yeh ! i’m prolly gonna post on der for a little while & take a breather from twitter & ig for a little. just sometimes can’t help but bump into some negative shit that really can bum u out and it’s not worth it honestly. promised i’d always tell you. i love u sm ! be well & happy

— Ariana Grande (@ArianaGrande) July 23, 2018

TBH, we’re really going to miss those gross PDA comments you guys leave on each other’s photos.

August 15, 2018: Pete tosses a wrench in our timeline

Okay, so this timeline might be even shorter than we initially thought. When Pete Davidson was interviewed for GQ‘s September issue, he revealed: “The day I met her, I was like, ‘Hey, I’ll marry you tomorrow. She was calling my bluff. I sent her a picture [of engagement rings]. I was like, ‘Do you like any of these?’ She was like, ‘Those are my favourite ones,’ and I was like, ‘Sick.'” The ring he settled on? A 3-carat pear diamond ring — worth $93,000.

October 14, 2018: Pete and Ariana call off the engagement

Well, it seems another one of our young Hollywood relationship timelines has come to its end. A source has confirmed to TMZ that Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson have split after five months of dating, calling of their short engagement. “We’re told the two still have love for each other,” TMZ shared, “but things are over romantically.”

November 1, 2018: Pete jokes about his engagement on SNL

In a new Saturday Night Live promo, Davidson jokingly proposes to musical guest, singer Maggie Rogers. “Hey Maggie, I’m Pete. You wanna get married?” Pete asks.

“No,” Rogers says shaking her head.

“0-for-three,” Davidson says to the camera.

November 1, 2018: Ariana tweets (& deletes) shade at Pete

Then, in what is perceived to be a subtweet at Davidson, Grande tweeted and deleted: “For somebody who claims to hate relevancy u sure love clinging to it huh.”

Ariana Grande just subtweeted Pete Davidson and then said “thank u, next.” pic.twitter.com/WLkNahvwnR

— Ryan Schocket (@RyanSchocket) November 2, 2018

[chcreativechristiancollective]

//Continued//

There’s something to be said for the therapeutic attributes of a rain storm.  The soothing drum of the steady drops as they fell on the gray metal roof covering her front porch was enough to all but wipe away the stress that had been weighing on Abby’s mind since last week.  Thankfully, the holiday weekend passed without major incident aside from an annoying sunburn. She realized there were some internal wounds still gaping wide open that needed mending, but there were distinct indicators of progress. She felt something she hadn’t felt in more than a decade, as she had previously conceded to the comfort of a hardened heart as the norm.  

For the past year there has been a force diligently at work beneath the surface of her reinforced protective armor. A force she couldn’t explain or understand.  All she knew was that there was something blossoming inside of the place that, not long ago, she considered a barren wasteland.  There was life in the desert, and new streams were bursting forth every day. Dare she say it? Could she possibly admit it to herself without being consumed by the fear that it would flee from her? Abby gripped her warm coffee cup between her trembling hands, letting her gaze drift into the shaded sky. She lifted her chin and let her eyelids fall shut in a nod of acknowledgement to her source.  Yes, she was indeed experiencing hope in her life again.  Hope.  The concept had become foreign to her, but she was eager to become reacquainted with it, as she walked this path she knew with clear certainty God laid out for her.  

Just as Abby sank back into the red overstuffed cushion of her favorite front porch chair to ponder how God was going to help her sort through the impending storm she saw brewing on the horizon of her life, the literal storm that was hovering above her house unleashed it’s fury into the atmosphere.  A bright flash of light followed by the deafening roar of thunder brought Abby nervously to her feet, almost tripping as she feverishly scurried toward the front door.  As much as she loved a good southern summer storm, she knew better than to hang around outside when these bad-boys intensified. No sooner than she turned the knob to open the old wooden door to her house was she being bombarded by nervously panting fur balls eager to be sure she was ok, and to find a little security of their own at her side. If animals suffered from anxiety disorders, her 4 dogs certainly fit the bill.  Particularly during a thunderstorm.

“It’s ok guys. It’s fine.  Just a little thunderstorm”, Abby recited calmly to her pups while she made her way into the kitchen.  Reaching across the counter, she grabbed one of the fresh brownies she made for the volunteers working at the shelter that day.  Her goal was to get them delivered by 9, but those double chocolate chunk, ewy-gewy-in-the-middle treats were hard to resist. Devouring half of the brownie in one bite, Abby thought to herself, “I made need to go ahead and make another batch.” She savored the sweet warmth of the first bite, and then stuffed the remainder into her mouth as poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. Leaning back on the counter and staring down at her dogs that were all sitting in a row staring up at her, she smiled.  The adoption contract says that she rescued them. But she knew God sent her to them to be rescued herself. Indeed, when a person needs to have their heart softened, there is no better place to start than with the trusting companionship of a loving dog. Another loud crack of thunder and the flickering of the lights interrupted her thoughts. Her cell phone began buzzing with message notifications.  

- Is it raining bad at your house? Did the lightening make your power go out? Just let me know you are alright. It’s pouring here and the radar looks bad.  

--  I’m fine mom. It’s raining pretty hard, but we still have power.  Don’t worry, ok? I love you.

The first time she ever received a text from her mom it was difficult to even decipher. Electronics and her mom were never a very pleasant combination, and typically required lots of work on Abby���s behalf to undo whatever her mom had somehow managed to do. Lydia Thompson may be technologically challenged, but she had mastered the use of emojis.  It wasn’t uncommon for Abby to get text from her mom throughout the day with nothing more than kissy faces and heart eyes, since those were her mom’s favorite forms of text expression. The woman was silly and worried entirely too much, but she had the kindest heart a person could have. Abby was also quite sure her mom was the strongest person she had ever known.

Another brilliant flash of lightening and thunderous boom from the storm rattled the windows behind her.  When she felt the vibration of the buzzing phone in her hand, she expected to see her mom’s name on the caller ID.  So when the screen lit up with BH, Abby’s heart skipped a beat.  BH - Belle House. It was the women’s shelter she opened just months before, and calls from this number only came with bad news.  

“Hey Karen, what’s going on?”

“Abby, I hate to bother you.  I know you are supposed to be relaxing today, but the storm has knocked the power out and the emergency generator isn’t coming on.  Our whole grid is down out here.”

“I’m on my way.” Abby slipped her phone into her back pocket and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. “I’ll be back soon”, she reassured her dogs as she slipped out into the downpour.  Her jeep roared down the driveway and onto the black asphalt of the narrow two lane highway that lead to town.  “Call Kevin”, she commanded into her hands-free stereo.  

“Hey Abby.  How’s it going?”, he answered after the first ring.  

“Not so good.  The storm knocked out the power at Belle House and the backup generator isn’t coming on.  I’m heading out there now, but I’ll need you to locate someone to help just in case I can’t get it going, and call the power company to see if they have a time frame on getting things going again, please.”

“I got it covered.  Let me know what it looks like when you get there.  And Abby, be careful, ok?”

“You’ve been hanging around my mother too long, Kevin.  Stop worrying. I will be fine.” Abby hit the button on her steering wheel to end the call.  

Kevin loved her mom in a way that wasn’t yet reciprocated, but he was ok with that.  It had been almost 2 years since Abby’s father passed away, but her mom wouldn’t agree to date anyone. Not yet. To her, Kevin was her best friend.  To him, it was so much more. But he adored and respected her, and would be willing to wait as long as he had to, even if it meant they would never be more than just friends.

Abby came back to help her mom with the store until they could sell it.  After the funeral, Lydia announced to Abby and the family that she would be putting the store on the market and retiring once it sold.  She just didn’t see how she could continue working there without him, building a dream that was theirs to share. So Abby returned to Virginia a few days later, packed some things, and took a leave of absence from her job as a marketing analyst.  She left her comfortable townhouse in the historic district of Richmond, and returned to the place she had grown up to help mom sell the hardware store she spent so much time in as a child. She had plenty of money in savings, and her boss reassured her that she would have a position waiting for her when she was ready to return. The original plan of staying thirty days soon extended itself to ninety, and by the time six months had come and gone, Abby knew this move was a little more permanent. She fixed up the tiny farmhouse that her grandmother used to live in on her parent’s property, and made herself at home.  

Small towns are both inviting and excluding, depending on who you interact with. Abby had her share of both experiences, and learned very quickly that the past had not faded from view. Many of her childhood friends were happy she was back, but she was also very cautious to keep a safe distance from those that were not quite thrilled at seeing her here again. The eighteen-year-old outspoken champion-of-all-that-is-right Abbigail Baker had managed to leave the little town in an uproar with her very public campaign against the county sheriff during election season all those years ago.

Everyone knew it was the Sheriff’s nephew and his group of misfit friends that robbed and vandalized her father’s store. They had been heard arrogantly bragging about getting away with it around town, so when Tommy Barns drove up to the graduation party at Dawson’s field on a brand new shiny red 4-wheeler that was surely bought with money stolen from her parents, Abby came unglued.  She giggled at the memory of how frightened he was when she came running after him with a baseball bat clenched tightly in her fists. He sped off before she was able to get within 20 feet of him, and she was slapped with a protective order preventing her from being within 200 yards of him the next day. Nothing ever happened to Tommy or his friends.  No charges were ever brought against them, and her parents had to deal with the damages on their own.  The young idealistic Abby couldn’t cope with that.  She decided then and there that she hated this place, and would leave it all behind when the first opportunity presented itself.  That opportunity came the next fall when she was contacted by a charismatic man in uniform from the local Air Force recruiting office, but not before she waged an all-out war to have Sheriff Barns defeated in the local elections.  He was re-elected, and her parents paid the price for her honorable yet childish antics as she became known as “crazy Abby” in all of the town gossip circles.  With a heart fill of frustration and regret, she stuffed her little suitcase with everything she could fit in it, and drove away from Baker Ranch and the only life she had ever known.

Withdrawing from her trip down memory lane, Abby redirected her attention to the small gravel path ahead of her.  She took a quick glance around her to be sure no one was watching, and she turned carefully into the long drive leading back to Belle House.  Pressing the call button on her steering wheel she commanded her Jeep to ,”Call Karen”.  

“Abby?”

“I’m on the path now.  Since the cameras and gate sensors are down, I’ll have to unlock the gate with the key.  Stay on the phone until I have the gate locked behind me, and then watch from the window until you know I’m alone.  If anything happens, call Kevin.”

“Watch yourself, kiddo.  Get in here quick.”

Security was something taken very seriously at Belle House, and the transition into and out of the property was the most critical.  Abby whispered, “God, keep them safe for me please.” God and Abby both knew that she would do whatever it took to keep the women and children there safe from harm, and she knew He always had her back. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second and thought about Isabelle and Emily, then rushed out into the torrential downpour.  She finally got through the towering steel gate and locked it securely behind her.  The oversized all-terrain tires on her Jeep roared through the deepening puddles and mud holes that riddled the remainder of the path.  When she pulled into view of the old wooden house, she could see Karen watching intently through the bottom floor window.  Abby shot a thumbs-up through the windshield, and let herself relax a little when Karen returned the favor.

“Thanks, Father.”

She talked to God like He was her business partner and her best friend, because that is what He was to her. Still drenched, she stepped back out into the pouring rain and ran toward the house that embodied her new life. This is what she had been created for. This house and all that it stood for was the passion that had been etched deep into the fabric of her heart.  

To be Continued....

[soulcrazy2017-blog]

Wellness blogger Belle Gibson admits she never had cancer

New Post has been published on https://soulcrazy.org/wellness-blogger-belle-gibson-admits-she-never-had-cancer/

Wellness blogger Belle Gibson admits she never had cancer

Disgraced wellness blogger Belle Gibson, who built an internet network and bought a recipe ebook off the again of claims she cured terminal mind cancer through eating regimen and lifestyle on my own, has admitted she by no means had cancer.

cancer

“None of it’s real,” Gibson informed the Australian Women’s Weekly in an interview to be published on Thursday.

“I don’t want forgiveness. I only think [speaking out] became the responsible factor to do. Above whatever, I would love people to say, ‘Good enough; she’s human.’”

Gibson’s well-being empire, which blanketed a cell cellphone app known as The Complete Pantry and a website and recipe e-book of the same call, began to collapse in March while it was found out she never made lots of bucks in charity donations she promised off the lower back of money raised through her success. Later that month, Gibson stated she had been “wrongly” recognized with cancers she claimed to have in her blood, spleen, uterus and liver via a German magnetic therapist but maintained her terminal mind cancer sign become actual.

She refused to reveal newshounds accurate records or any evidence to lower back her claims that by shunning traditional remedy, her brain most cancers have been stored in the test.

The Women’s Weekly interview is the first time Gibson has spoken to the media following questions being raised approximately her most cancers claims.

“Throughout the interviews, each time challenged, Belle cried without problems and muddled her words,” the Ladies’ Weekly reviews.

“She says she is passionate about avoiding gluten, dairy, and coffee, but doesn’t without a doubt understand how most cancers works.”

While questions started to be asked about Gibson’s tale remaining month, she experienced a swift backlash on social media, with many people who observed her pronouncing they felt betrayed. She started deleting her social media debts and blog posts about her numerous illnesses.

Many criticized Gibson for placing most cancers sufferers in threat by way of suggesting dietary strategies by myself should efficiently treat them.

Consumer Affairs Victoria is now investigating Gibson, even as Penguin has ceased publishing her recipe ebook and the Apple shop now not gives her app for download.

Inside the interview, Gibson says she has an upcoming meeting with Penguin. But, Penguin communications supervisor Camilla Sunbather advised Mother or father Australia on Thursday no such meeting have been arranged.

“We are disillusioned that, despite several requests for rationalization concerning recent allegations made in opposition to her, Belle is but to reply to us directly,” she said. “We’ve got examine with hobby her current interview and are considering our rights and options as set out in our settlement along with her. We haven’t any understanding of the forthcoming assembly she refers to.” News Ltd, which seems to have obtained a complete replica of the Girls’ Weekly interview beforehand of the ebook, reports Gibson fails to explain completely why she lied, saying only that she had a difficult childhood.

Her false illness claims date back to 2009 when she claimed on an internet forum to have gone through a couple of heart surgeries and to have died on the operating desk.

Inside the days following the allegations in opposition to her, Gibson published on social media that she changed into being bullied and had modified “thousands of lives for the better.”

Meanwhile, the media was criticized for going for walks sparkling articles about Gibson before the allegations coming to light without nicely checking the information of her tale. Most cancers charges will fuel growth almost six times quicker in Ladies than in men over the subsequent 20 years, with weight problems partially responsible, experts predict.

As numerous of the obesity-associated most cancers kinds simplest effect Girls, the growing variety of humans of both sexes who’ve severely obese is likely to have a more effect on the prevalence of the disorder among Ladies, in keeping with the evaluation by way of most cancers Studies Uk.

Cases of ovarian, cervical and oral cancers are anticipated to rise the maximum. Charges will upward push by around 0.5% for guys and 3% for Women, meaning an expected 4.five million Women and 4.eight million men may be recognized with most cancers by 2035.

wellness

That equates to projected Uk most cancers prices growing via approximately 0.five% for men and 3% for Girls. The figures had been released on a same day because the Countrywide Institute for Health and Care Excellence (High-quality) announced that it changed into recommending that the breast cancer drug palbociclib should not be routinely funded by the NHS in England.

Charities decried the choice via the medicine watchdog, stressing the importance of developing and assisting greater treatments to help Ladies in surviving, but additionally, they urged Ladies to trade their existence to minimize their risk.

Most cancers Research Uk’s chief government Sir Harpal Kumar said: “Those new figures screen the great venture we hold to face, both Inside the United Kingdom and international. Research is at the coronary heart of finding approaches to reduce cancer’s burden and make certain more human beings live on, especially for tough-to-treat diseases in which the outlook for sufferers continues to be bleak. We need to keep operating tough to lessen the devastating impact cancer may have on so many families.

“The ultra-modern figures show that extra than eight million human beings die from cancer every yr across the world. More people die from cancer than Aids, malaria, and tuberculosis put together. With greater investment into Studies, we hope to make large improvements over the subsequent two decades in diagnosing the ailment in advance and enhancing and developing remedies so that by using 2034, 3 in four humans will live to tell the tale their disorder.” Smoking is another aspect at the back of the projected boom of most cancers Cases amongst Women, so as to imply the distance between the quantity of men and females with the ailment narrows. High smoking amongst Women befell later than guys, and lighting fixtures upkeep to have a massive effect on the quantity of most cancers Cases recognized each 12 months, says Cancer Studies United Kingdom.

Sarah Soule, head of Health data at the world cancer Studies Fund, said lack of exercising and alcohol consumption were additionally using the anticipated increase In the United Kingdom most cancers price for Women.

“its miles concerning that quotes are expected to rise so sharply in Women, mainly as so many most cancers Instances will be prevented,” she stated. “As an example, approximately in 5 breasts, most cancers Cases Inside the Uk may be avoided if Ladies maintained a healthy weight, have been extra physically lively and didn’t drink alcohol – that’s around 20,000 fewer Cases a yr. Other types of cancer that might be decreased through Girls having a more fit lifestyle include womb and ovary.”

Professor Kevin Fenton, the director of Health and Wellness tips at Public Fitness England, said: “The pinnacle things we will all do to prevent and reduce the risk of most cancers are quitting smoking, maintaining a healthful weight, being bodily energetic and attending most cancers screening while invited.”

  In draft steering explaining its reasoning for its recommendation on palbociclib, which is made by way of Pfizer, the drug watchdog stated that a whole direction of treatment charges £seventy nine,560. Even though First-rate located that the drug stalled the boom of the most cancers for an additional ten months on common “it became nonetheless no longer enough to make palbociclib value efficient at its modern rate.”

The watchdog estimates that around five,500 humans in England – out of forty-five,000 new diagnoses of breast most cancers each yr – might be eligible for treatment with palbociclib.

Baroness Delyth Morgan, leader govt at Breast Cancer Now, stated: “That is the clearest example to this point that the drug appraisal device is unfit for purpose in assessing first-in-elegance breast cancer drugs. Saudi Arabia is last silent Inside the face of global outrage at the public flogging of the jailed blogger Raif Badawi, who acquired the primary 50 of one,000 lashes on Friday, a part of his punishment for jogging a liberal website dedicated to freedom of speech Inside the conservative nation.

blogger

Anger on the flogging – performed as the sector watched the bloody denouement of the Charlie Hebdo and Jewish grocery store jihadi killings in Paris – focused on a country that may be a strategically, oil supplier and the beneficial market for us, Britain and Different Western nations, however, does no longer tolerate grievance at domestic.

Badawi was shown on a YouTube video being beaten in a square out of doors a mosque in Jeddah, watched by using a crowd of several hundred who shouted “Allahu Akbar” (God is terrific) and clapped and whistled after the flogging ended. Badawi made no sound All through the punishment and became able to walk lower back unaided afterward.

“Raif was escorted from a bus and located In the center of the gang, guarded using 8 or 9 officials,” a witness instructed Amnesty Worldwide.

“He becomes handcuffed and shackled however his face became no longer covered. A protection officer approached him from behind with a large cane and started beating him.

“Raif raised his head closer to the sky, ultimate his eyes and arching his again. He became silent, but you can tell from his face and his frame that he become in real ache.”

Badawi’s spouse, Ensaf Haidar, said the Mum or Dad from Montreal on Sunday: “Many governments around the world have protested approximately my husband’s case. I used to be optimistic until the final minute earlier than the flogging. But the Saudi authorities is behaving like Daesh [a derogatory Arabic name for Islamic State or Isis].”

Saudi Arabia joined Different Arab and Muslim nations in condemning the murder of 12 human beings on the Paris satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo, however, irritated feedback highlighted its double general in allotting a cruel punishment to a person who turned into accused of insulting Islam.

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 9

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: FYI, Fletcher Foley is a real Archie comics character, but I haven’t read any of the issues he’s in.

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/26328312

Second City one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine (ao3)

Nobodies Nobody Knows one / two / three / four / five / six (ao3)

9. In which a change of scenery takes place

She steps out of Jughead’s apartment and into an uber. Well, not immediately. She can’t telepathically summon ride-hailing services. Though she’s sure someone in Silicon Valley is working on that very problem in this exact moment. A hysterical laugh gets caught in her throat at the thought.

She’s worried Jughead will come after her, so she zigzags a couple of blocks until she’s on the far side of the square. In between a coffee shop and a wine bar, she finds a large hedge to stand beside, and then she summons the car. Thankfully, his neighbourhood is still busy on a Sunday afternoon, and there are many small black icons zooming around when she opens the app. The wait is less than two minutes.

Kevin, she knows, is at work, some special project keeping him up at all hours and in the office, even on weekends. Polly doesn’t pick up. It’s her day off, so Betty assumes her sister and her sister’s boyfriend are enjoying their last few days of kid-free time. And, while she’s so glad she and Veronica are reconnecting again, she doesn’t think they’re quite at the point for this. Even if they were, she also doesn’t think she’s quite ready for Ronnie’s particular blend of supportively brutal honesty. Archie is an option she doesn’t even consider.

So, she goes to the only person who knew her then.

She manages to recapture and hold onto her anger all through the car ride. It feels righteous, powerful, and, unfortunately, all too short. Because once she steps into Mary’s house, she bursts into tears. Something deep inside her, long forced closed and held together with glue, staples, tape, cracks open and grief stampedes through her. She’s vaguely aware of Mary pulling her to the couch, wrapping her arms around her, and rocking her. Mary rubs circles on Betty’s back and makes calm shushing noises. She speaks only enough to ascertain that no one’s been injured or died, then she just lets Betty unload until she’s empty.

She cries for an embarrassingly long time, in violent sobs that wrack her body and cause a headache to bloom behind her eyes.

At some point, she comes to and slides from the couch to the floor. It’s still light out, though it is the middle of summer, so all that really tells her is it’s before 9 pm. Her throat is dry and lips parched. There’s a water bottle on the coffee table in front of her. She grabs it and drinks half in a series of gulps. Mike must have brought it out for her. She hasn’t noticed him in the haze of her heartache, but he must be around somewhere.

Betty settles back against Mary’s legs and lets her stroke her hair, allowing herself to be comforted by the maternal gesture.

“He lied to me.” She doesn’t know if she’s talking about Jughead or her father, but, in the end, she supposes, it doesn’t really matter.

Once she gets to her gate, Betty tries to take up as much space as she possibly can without feeling guilty about it. She picks a seat at the end of a row and sets her purse next to her, her sweater in the seat next to that. Her suitcase she slides so it’s partially in front of a fourth seat. She creates a forcefield of belongings so no one can approach her.

Yesterday had scooped her out and left her numb, depleted. But the one good thing about a multi-hour crying jag is its cleansing power. Sitting at the gate, she feels a renewed sense of purpose.

As soon as it’s crossed nine o’clock, she calls Cynthia.

“Betty, why are you calling me? Why don’t you just come down the hall? We can start our Monday meeting a little early.”

“I’m not in the office, Cynth. I had a bit of a personal emergency. I’m actually at O’Hare waiting for a flight back to Riverdale.” In all her years of grown-up-hood, Betty’s never done something like this. When her father died, they’d known it was coming, so she’d made arrangements to work from home and had trained the person who’d filled in for her on the things she couldn’t do remotely. Anxiety bubbles in her stomach at the thought of disappointing Cynthia.

“Oh no, is everything okay? Your family?”

“No, they’re fine. It’s more a me thing. But I’m so sorry to just leave like this. I know I don’t have vacation time or anything yet, but I was thinking I could use some sick days? Though I don’t know how long I’ll be gone—no more than a week surely. But I can also just take it as unpaid time, I know I’m leaving you in the lurch. And I have a piece half-finished—”

“Betty, stop. We’ll survive. We were gonna run your FP Jones interview this week anyway before his pre-publication publicity circuit starts next month.”

“Oh right.”

The flare of anger she has at the memory of her and Jughead in the bar in May, the moment she first started letting him back in, gives her the courage to get to the thing she’s been thinking about since she cried herself to sleep, then woke up at midnight on Mary’s couch and bought the plane ticket.

“Look, about that. The personal thing. I have a piece to pitch you. I think we should extend the Jones series to three articles. I’ll still review the new book. But I wanna write about—about Betsy Coleman. About being her. About what really happened, all the stuff Jughead omitted from the story. I want to write about it.”

But Cynthia knows her. Knows how deeply uncomfortable she’d been at the prospect of being publicly connected to the character.

“Oh honey, no. Why don’t we just talk about that when you get back?”

She lets Cynthia talk to her down, but she makes notes on the story anyway, while drinking the largest Starbucks green tea frappucino she thinks she can get away with without totally wrecking her blood sugar. She doesn’t mind that Jughead had written about her, about their life. She’d always known he would, had believed it in all the years between their break-up and The Final Fissure’s publication. She couldn’t begrudge him the one thing that she knows has always kept him sane, the thing that he does so beautifully it would be a crime to keep it from the rest of the world. She can’t begrudge the world for wanting to share in that. But, now, she’s pissed that he made her the heroine. She’s pissed that he put her on a pedestal, even while her own family was just as dirty as the Blossoms, the Kellers, the McCoys. In the Civil War between the North and the South of Riverdale, it was the Montagues that were blameless. Her own Capulets commanded every gun, every sword, every gavel.

She does wind up talking to Veronica, huddled against a charging station, and Ronnie makes her laugh through the tears that occasionally threaten.

Betty is jealous of Veronica (what else is new?). She is jealous of how sure and easy things are between her and Archie. And god she’s jealous of the sex she knows they must be having.

“It’s like the universe was saying here’s what you get, Elizabeth. You finally get to have a really great lay and then it all comes crashing down around your ears,” she whisper-yells, all too aware of the businessman in the row behind her. She hates being on FaceTime in public. Headphones make it marginally better, but not enough dispel her anxieties over being heard.

“Betty, that’s not how it works and you know it. You and Jughead, it sounds like you were a ticking time bomb anyway. Both physically and emotionally.”

“Bomb is exactly the right word. Only there’s a hell of a lot more shrapnel than I predicted.”

“Are you sure you should be leaving right now? I’m sure Jughead’s worried about you if you just ran out on him. And your mother—look, I may have only known her a short while but Alice Cooper makes an impression. Don’t you want to be calm when you see her?”

“I need to know, Ron. And she’s out of town right now, so I’ll have some time to figure out what I want to say. To look for, I don’t know, something.”

“Do you want to talk to Archie? I can wake him up.”

“No, I’m not ready yet.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t know.” She feels her nostrils flare.

“How could he not know?” She doesn’t know what would be worse — if Archie had lied to her or if Jughead had lied to Archie. Even through her own pain, she’d noticed how deeply Archie had felt Jughead’s loss. She’d been so pleased when she’d heard they’d reconnected. She didn’t want to come between them. Even at the time, she’d felt guilty for being with Archie. And sometimes, she’s pretty sure he felt the same. But they’d needed each other then, to hold each other up when the foundation had crumbled beneath them.

No, she knows what would be worse. As much as she hates having Robin Scherbatsky-ed them, the thought of her lifelong best friend, the only person who’d always been there for her, who’d always been honest with her, even when it would have hurt her less to lie, the thought of him keeping something like this from her—Well, it’s almost as bad as Jughead keeping it from her.

As she readies to board the plane, she finally pulls up their text message thread. He called her eight times yesterday, before finally giving up around 11 pm. He also sent her twenty-two texts, none of which she’d read. When she’d awoken at midnight on Mary’s couch, she’d opened the apps to get rid of the notifications, then pulled up the internet to book her flight. She hands her boarding pass to the gate attendant to scan, then shuffles along the jet bridge and scrolls through them.

“betty come back”

“you can’t just wander around a neighborhood you don’t know”

“i have more to tell you”

“i really want to talk to you”

“please answer me”

“you forgot your food. and your bra”

“hello”

“i will keep texting and calling you until you answer me”

“i just want to make sure you’re safe”

“please betts”

“i didn’t want to make it worse”

“i should have told you a long time ago”

“but in my defense it was pretty clear you’d moved on”

“shit ignore that last one”

“betty”

“betty”

“betty come on”

“answer your phone damn it”

“i’m sorry”

“just tell me you’re okay. please.”

“nvm, heard from mary”

“i’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

There’s one more text, from 5 o’clock that morning: “just please be ready to talk sometime”. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Now, she responds: “can you send me copies of the security photos you have?”

He calls her when she’s still getting settled in her seat, and his voice is a familiar cocktail of anger, panic, and pain. “Betty, where are you?” Before she can answer, the flight attendant’s voice comes over the intercom. “Are you on a plane?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t mean to be short, but it’s hard to know what to say, what she can say in this moment.

“Where are you going?”

She debates not telling him, but knows he’d figure it out anyway. “Home. I need to talk to my mother and I need to do it in person. She’s not as good at lying to me face to face.”

He lets out a ragged sigh she can hear, even over the sounds of the engine warming up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to screw up—”

But she cuts him off, “I’m not. Jughead, whatever else I’m feeling, and who even knows what that is right now, I’m glad I know.”

“Why did you walk out?”

“Not right now, okay? Can we just focus on the Jason Blossom murder mystery plot?” There’s so much still for them to say, but she almost understands why he’d asked her that yesterday.

He’s silent a moment, then he says, “Are you okay?”

“No.” She lets out of shaky laugh. “Fuck no, definitely not. But I will be, once I get some answers.” But then the flight attendant comes by and signals that it’s time to switch to airplane mode. “I have to go, Jug. I’ll—I’ll call you, I guess. Later.”

“Okay.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

She can’t get comfortable during the flight. The ache between her thighs and across her shoulder blades reminds her how long it’s been since she’s been with a man. It also reminds her of the cost. She wonders if there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but the thought is too tiring. So, she stares out the window as the lake gives way to the fields and forests of Michigan, Ontario, and, eventually, to New York.

Betty walks out of the airport, and, for the second time in two days, dissolves into a puddle of tears, this time in her sister’s arms.

“Hey, hey, little sis—what’s wrong?” Polly’s perfected her mom voice over the years, and for a moment Betty lets it lull her into a false sense of security. Then she freezes as realizes she cannot tell Polly any of what she suspects. Not until she’s sure. “No-nothing. It’s just been a hard week and I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”

Polly pulls back from her, hands still on her shoulders. “Do we maybe need to stop for some ice cream and Midol on the way home?”

Betty manages to pull a laugh out of somewhere deep inside, her spleen maybe, and says, “I hadn’t even thought of that, but sure.”

“One pint of Tonight Dough coming up! Mom only has that no sugar added frozen yogurt at her house, and, believe me, you don’t want to eat it unless you have to.”

She lets her sister console her with the promise of frozen dairy products and pain relievers she doesn’t need as they bundle her suitcase into the car and pull away from the airport.

“I’m sorry I won’t be here for your visit, Betty. And mom won’t be back from her conference for a couple of days, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

“That’s okay. I’m the one who didn’t give you any warning I was coming. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Are you kidding? A whole hour of you to myself and I don’t have to answer Cheryl’s incessant texts about SPF and not wearing mom shoes and yes I’m sure we don’t need fast passes and Disney World and Universal are plenty, we definitely don’t need to go to SeaWorld too.” Betty rolls her eyes. Cheryl is some Frankenstein’s monster of sort-of-cousin and sort-of-sister-in-law and completely overbearing, but Betty couldn’t imagine her life without her. She just wishes Cheryl would stop trying to buy the twins’ love. One, it’s unnecessary, they adore her. And two, sometimes it makes Betty feel a little bad that she can’t do the same, no matter how much Polly hates when Cheryl goes over the top.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, just for tonight? I can have Fletcher push back our reservation.”

“No you should go. Don’t let me derail your plans. Besides, I had to be at the airport so early, I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Polly rolls her eyes but keeps them on the road. “Of course not. You could have gotten a later flight, you know. Like two weeks later.”

“I know, it was sort of an impulsive decision.”

“Betty Cooper doesn’t do impulsive.”

“Maybe now she does.”

Polly glances over at her. “You look happier.” It’s surprising thing to say, considering the tears that had met their reunion.

“Pol, I just busted out the waterworks when all you did was hug me.”

“Stop it. I mean, you seem brighter. Like you’re taking better care of yourself. You’re smiley-er.”

“You spend too much time talking to twelve year olds. But yeah, I think…I think overall I am. I mean, it’s been hard, being so much farther away from all of you and basically starting over. But I like my life so far.”

“I’m so happy for you even though I miss you so much. Maybe once we all get to Orlando, I can have the twins FaceTime with you.”

“That’d be great. We all? Who else is going on this adventure again? Besides Cheryl.”

“Me, the kids, Fletcher, Cheryl’s girlfriend. Cheryl’s picking them up and we’re all meeting up at the airport Wednesday, so Fletcher and I are going to spend tonight and tomorrow in Saratoga Springs, a little mini-vacation before the crazy.”

Betty turns her sister’s statement around. “You’re happy?”

Polly’s smile is so big that Betty thinks it must hurt. She grabs Betty’s hand where it rests on the console and squeezes it.

“Yeah, I’m happy.”

Betty’s heart clenches.

For the rest of the ride, Polly chatters happily about their vacation plans. As much as Betty had enjoyed Harry Potter world, the prospect of that many consecutive days in the full buffet of Orlando’s theme parks, packed into crowds like sardines, and in August no less—she thinks it sounds like her own personalized version of hell.

But most of all, she thinks, she’s glad her sister won’t be here to see what’s coming. That she’ll have time to think of how to tell her.