#otherwise i'm really not sure why the edge needed to be completely sanded off. it's just like

[avatarthelastairgender]

so the very first scene we see in both movies of Regina being 'mean' is when she publicly tells off the guy who blew off Gretchen and was sexually harassing Cady, right? and the idea is at that point that, while she's obviously not being nice, she's also being protective of her friends and you can see why Cady would be interested in being friends with her.

and then the first 'rug pull' moment where we see that no, she is also just a very cruel person, is when she's at the mall with her friends, and the same guy is there with his girlfriend. and this happens:

and so this unrelated innocent girl gets in huge trouble with her parents and you're like oh— that was really shitty. and then next up, i forget the order but we get regina complimenting the girl's skirt and then turning to cady and saying 'that is the ugliest effing skirt i've ever seen' and also the burn book scene next iirc, where they're using slurs and saying horrible things about other girls like it's the funniest thing in the world.

so, in the stage musical, the mall scene is translated to music with the song Apex Predator, which covers the same general period of time— and in the movie, this song is now set at school. and we see the same setup— the guy who was being a creep to cady and blowing gretchen off has a new girlfriend. and then regina goes up to her and........................ doesn't do anything! she just makes a face at her and the other girl gets up and leaves and cady is like woaggg..

you could play with this, like showing that a character is intimidating not by having them do something, but just by showing everyone's reactions to them. like with that early scene in the devil wears prada where we see miranda being set up by seeing how afraid everyone is of her as they set the office up for being there. but you need to actually pay this off and... in mean girls' case it just never does. regina never does anything.

they still do the burn book but it's incredibly toned down. we're told about a mean thing regina did as a tween but we don't see it. the 'ugliest effing skirt' moment and anything like it are entirely removed. regina mostly just kind of grunts at gretchen; she never really seems in control. even cady's latter meanness is sanded off as well, even 'it's not my fault you're like in love with me or something' gets toned down to 'obsessed with me', removing the entire context of why that was a hurtful thing to say in the first place. there's virtually no actual mean girl transformation, least of all because of how horrible the costuming is. it's just so weird. this movie is trying to stand on its own in some ways but it can't because all it can do is gesture at its predecessor, hope you remember some of the meanness from that, and slot it in here. so weird.

i think the most insane thing about the mean girls movie musical is that literally no one does anything mean for the entire duration of the movie.

[to-thelakes]

my fuckin' limit

content warning(s); underage drinking, overdrinking, throwing up, reverse comfort, reader has hair long enough to be tied up, shitty friends, brief mention of parents arguing

summary; you get very drunk and lip has to come and take care of you, getting some answers on why you've been so off recently.

series masterlist

i should be doing promptober but i'm in a rough spot and this has been sat in my drafts for a good few weeks so enjoy this reverse comfort. i am still not 100% on this part but i think it's fine...? i just need to progress the story along because i literally have 4 more parts already written after this so, here you go!!

Chicks that hang around with you and don’t sleep with you, run the other way dude. Because she’s ready to stop playing and settle down.

Kev’s words had been playing around Lip’s head from the moment he said them earlier that morning to now as he drove the ice cream truck back home. The constant thoughts and questions only stopped when you called. He hadn’t expected to hear from you today.

“Hey, what’s up?” Lip asked as he answered and put the phone up to his ear. You let out a quiet sniffle over the phone and his eyebrows instantly furrowed.

“Think something’s wrong. Don’t feel good, need you,” You mumbled out. Your words were slightly slurred, you sounded so off. It was the middle of the goddamn day and he was sure that you had been drinking. Or maybe you were high. He couldn’t be sure over the phone and he felt the worry crawl into his chest. 

“Okay, where are you? What’s going on?” He asked. You sniffled more and blurted out the address. It was only a few blocks over so Lip was heading towards you - on foot - without a second thought. He kept you on the phone but you kept avoiding the question, not daring to tell him what was really wrong.

He wasn’t entirely sure why but he assumed you just felt stupid, so he let it go. Even if your words were slurred and you sounded out of it, he was hoping that you were otherwise okay. He needed you to be okay.

When he got to the front door of the address you’d given him, he saw you. You were leaning against the front of the house, legs pulled up to your chest and curled up, arms wrapped around yourself. The phone came down from your ear just as Lip climbed the stairs up. He knelt down next to you.

“Hey, hey,” He whispered softly, placing his hand on your bare leg. You were only in denim shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. The Chicago summer was not for the weak and you seemed to be doing a pretty shitty job handling it.

“Lip,” Your voice cracked as you moved to sit up. You reached out for his face and he watched you.

“What’s happened? What’s got you like this?” He asked. It definitely seemed like you were drunk. Maybe high too. But he knew you and you had never smoked weed. That was where you’d drawn the line in the sand, for now. Though he wasn’t sure how long that line was going to be intact for. Especially right now.

“You have really pretty eyes,” You stated as you unsteadily moved closer to him. You cupped his face with your hands, looking at him in a daze. He frowned. Your eyes were shining with unshed tears as you looked at him, admiring him.

“Princess, come on, what’s happened?” He asked. But before you got a chance to answer, the front door opened. One of your friends was standing there - Amy. She looked unimpressed, arms crossed over her chest. Well, to be completely honest, she looked pissed. Lip glared at her, “What the fuck did you do to her?” He asked, anger lacing his tone as he stood up. He gestured towards your figure, sat up against the edge of the house.

“She did this to herself,” Amy snapped back. The way her lip twitched made Lip want to throw a punch but he let out a ragged breath, huffing through his nose, and stepped back. He knew whatever your friend was saying was bullshit.

You were careful. You were careful with everything, cigarettes, alcohol, all that shit. You only drank when you wanted to and felt safe and you only smoked with Lip.

“What the fuck happened!?” He snapped.

“She drank too much and threw up all over the carpet. Need her to get the hell out of here,” Amy stated. Anger laced her every word. She looked almost disgusted. Lip scoffed.

“You’re a shitty friend,” He said before he returned back to your side. He slowly encouraged you to get to your feet, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you supported. You leaned into him without a question.

“She’s the shitty friend. Trying getting that shit out of the carpet. Didn’t even have the decency to make it to the toilet,” Amy bit back as Lip guided you off the porch. He didn’t even give your ‘friend’ the dignity of a response or even a look. He didn’t know what to even say to that so he just stuck his middle finger up. Then he just guided you back to the Gallagher House hoping Fiona had a better idea of what the hell to do.

You couldn’t remember how you’d gotten to Lip’s house but when your eyes blinked open, you were in his bed. You still felt drunk. You could feel the alcohol sloshing in your stomach and you felt sick. Very very sick.

The sick was blurring your vision, alcohol making it hard to comprehend any thoughts past I’m in Lip’s room and I’m gonna be sick. You knew you needed to get out.

As you jumped off Lip’s bed, you didn’t even realise that anyone else was in the room. Your entire body was focused on beelining for the bathroom. It was mercifully empty and you slammed the door behind you, hurling up into the toilet bowl. 

Food came up but you weren’t entirely sure how. You didn’t eat before you went over to your friend’s and there hadn’t been any food at her place. So, you didn’t understand where it had come from. Though you were also too preoccupied with throwing it up and gagging on it to think about it too hard.

You desperately tried to keep your hair out of your face, sleep having made your loosely tied back ponytail fall out. You were gagging, eyes filled with tears and the room wouldn’t stop spinning. You started crying.

“Fuck,” You whimpered, searching your wrist for an elastic but finding it empty. You’d left it in Lip’s bed… “Fuck,” You whimpered again, cheek resting against the edge of the toilet. Your stomach was still sloshing, not quite stable. You still felt sick. You felt awful. Your bad day was just getting worse as the tears continued to fall silently down your cheeks.

The sound of your name and a knock against the door made your eyes squeeze shut. You didn’t want to think about him right now. Especially of all people. 

You loved him. 

God, you still loved him but you knew you were going to cry if he started talking about Karen. You couldn’t comfort him today.

“Go away, Lip,” You got out, regret and guilt seeping into every crevice of your being. You didn’t understand why the fuck you had done this, why you thought it was a good idea, why you ever started drinking at all.

Lip - in fact - did not go away and instead opened the bathroom door and walked inside. You were too hot and just as Lip came to sit down, the urge to throw up came back ten-fold. You gagged on air before turning your face in and throwing up into the toilet again.

You were gagging, tears still falling down your cheeks and you were trying to keep your hair out of the way but then you felt Lip’s hands on it. He held it back in a ponytail before slipping an elastic back on.

That made you want to cry more, gagging once or twice before your body seemed to be done. You rested your cheek against the toilet seat again, closing your eyes. You felt sick and far too hot, tears dripping down your cheeks.

���Feelin’ better?” He asked. You opened your eyes just enough to glare at him. He chuckled softly at you.

“How did I even get here?” You muttered as you let your eyes fall closed again.

“Called me,” He responded. You sighed and coughed again, the burning sensation on the back of your throat making you feel worse. You hated being sick. You hated that you were still drunk.

“Don’t remember doing that,” You mumbled.

“What happened?” He asked. You shrugged.

“Had too much,”

“No fuckin’ shit but why the fuck were you drinkin’? It was barely 4pm.”

“Not my idea.”

“You still fuckin’ drank.”

“Like you don’t drink all the time.”

“Yeah but I know my fuckin’ limits.”

“Fuck off.”

You two sat in silence then. The tension was thick and it made you feel worse. The anxiety churning your gut.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” You responded, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. He shrugged, blue eyes roving over your form. You looked like shit. He didn’t want to say that though.

“Not gonna leave you with your asshole friends so,” He shrugged. You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever,” You muttered as you let out a rough cough. You then finally lifted your head off the toilet seat. Being sick had definitely sobered you up but you could still feel the familiar buzz.

The connection between your mouth and your filter still partly eroded. You were trying so hard not to just blurt every thought that crossed your mind.

“She done? I need to piss,” Fiona asked, startling the both of you. You lifted your head up to take in the familiar form of the older Gallagher. You quickly scrambled to your feet, flushing away the sick before you wiped the corners of your mouth.

“Sorry,” You muttered. Fiona shrugged and ushered the two of you out without another word. You stared at Lip, rubbing the side of your face, “I’m sorry,” You said. He shrugged and gently reached out for your arm, pulling you in. He then walked you back to his room.

“Want to tell me what happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. There was a long moment of silence as Lip guided you onto his bed. It was too hot to go under the sheets, your skins sticky with sweat despite the fan that was on. The white noise was a good break from the deafening silence.

You didn’t expect it when Lip pulled you on top of him, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. His arms wrapping around your torso as you nuzzled into him. Usually, Lip was the one that sought comfort with you but it seemed to be the other way. His fingers moved to the nape of your neck, gently running his fingers across the skin making you shiver but also soothing you.

“My parent’s had an argument,” You let out after a beat of silence, “They were shouting at each other, like shouting shouting. Never heard either of them so angry,” You muttered as you moved one of your hands to curl underneath his back. Despite the heat of the day, sharing Lip’s body heat was oddly soothing, “I walked in and they instantly stopped, wouldn’t admit what was wrong and then my dad went to work early this morning and my mom has just been acting like everything is fine. I needed to get out of the house.” You finally let out. You felt so dumb talking to him about it. You and Lip talked, you always had, but to him, your life was perfect, your family was perfect.

You were the good part of living on the South Side. An oasis in a sea of shitty family and shitty people.

Now, you weren’t.

“I really don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t like it. I love my mom and my dad and I don’t like them arguing and I’m terrified that they’re gonna break up or… or I don’t know. I can’t do that, Lip. Not right now,” You rambled, letting yourself rant a little. You hated it but when the words started they didn’t stop, “It’s been weird for weeks, I just- I dunno.”

Lip sighed and gently ran his fingers across your back and down your spine. His fingers slipped underneath the fabric of your t-shirt, delicately running his fingertips across the length of your spine.

“Want to stay here tonight?” He asked softly. You didn’t expect Lip to give you any advice but it would have been nice. He saw the way that your back deflated, his heart clenching but he tried to ignore that familiar sadness that settled into his stomach. You closed your eyes.

“Yeah, please,” You murmured.

If you were completely honest, you just wanted to forget everything. You wanted to hear Lip complain about Karen and Jody and help him if he wanted to scheme because that would mean you didn’t have to think about this, about how fucked up you felt. How you were sure your parents were going to get a divorce and you were in love with your best friend who wanted someone else. Who had got someone else pregnant, who had never even looked at you twice.

The tears started to fall despite yourself and you curled your head further into Lip’s chest as he softly ran his hands along your back. He didn’t say anything - not really sure what to say - but the way his hands moved and the way his free arm curled around you was his way of comforting you.

You hated it.

[onyxbird]

Mr. Sandman, Ring Me a Dream

Summary: Death decides that a phone will help her little brother stay more connected to human friends. (Or “friend,” singular, for the moment.) Not to worry, she's taken care of all of the setup, right down to the ringtone. Just give this number to Hob and put it in your pocket. Please, little brother. For me.

Dream should have known to ask more questions…

Read on AO3

Ch. 1: “Turn on Your Magic Beam”

“Just try it for a bit,” said his sister. “You don't have to do anything but put it in your pocket and answer it if it rings.”

“I have no need for a telephone, mobile or otherwise,” said Dream. “Hob and I have remained in contact for centuries without any such thing.”

Death raised an eyebrow. “You see one another once a century by appointment, and you missed the last one. I'm just saying the humans have invented all sorts of communication devices, and you should try being a little more reachable. You might like it.”

Dream refrained from actually rolling his eyes, but Death seemed to get the point.

“Look, I've completely set it up for you. It's got Hob's number in it.” She punched the green phone handset button, “Contacts,” and the solitary entry labeled “Hob Gadling” with exaggerated slowness, the phone flourished in front of his withering gaze so that he couldn't avoid seeing the process. “I even set a ringtone for you! All you have to do is give him this string of numbers. He'll know what to do.”

Dream did not dignify that with a response.

“Come on, little brother. Give it a fair chance. For me.” She paused until his disdainful expression cracked, and she smirked in victory. “If you hate it, you can always go back to your once-a-century meeting and no harm done, right?”

Dream begrudgingly slid the glossy black rectangle into his pocket. Human innovations were often far from “no harm done” in his opinion, but fine, if his sister believed this one was harmless, he supposed he could humor her.

He dropped by to find Hob, crossly shoved the piece of paper with numbers at him, muttering that his sister had insisted on getting him a phone, and promptly forgot about it.

…

James' back hit the wall behind him, starting to question whether buying the tiny ziploc baggie of allegedly “magical” powder had been a mistake.

He'd mostly bought it as a joke, anyway. The seller had put on a surprisingly convincing song and dance to “prove” that the sand was magical rather than just gray sand, but really. Magic sand? Besides, if it were as special as he claimed, the price would surely have been higher.

Still, if the sand was fake, the salesman was an excellent illusionist, and the entertainment value alone had been worth the small price being charged.

…At least it had been until this goth beanstalk showed up, trailed by a raven, of all things. James had initially brushed that off, too. When you hung around in circles where someone was likely to sell you “magic dream sand,” you encountered a lot of odd people.

This one was persistent—James couldn't seem shake him—and his initial blunt pushiness had edged over into scary.

James tried to tune back into what he was saying. Maybe he should just—

An incongruously cheerful tune derailed his train of thought.

“Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom. “Bom bom bom bom bom.”

The apparition did not react or change expression as the a capella harmony continued.

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream! Make him the cutest that I've ever seen.”

The apparition's eyebrows knitted together. He glanced around, as if looking for the source of the sound. He pivoted slowly in a complete circle, peering in all directions, as the song continued to play.

The raven cocked its head quizzically. “That coming from you, boss?”

(Great. A talking bird, as if this wasn't weird enough.)

“What do you mean 'is it coming from me?' Why would it?”

Words spilled out of James' mouth before he could think better of it. “…Is it your phone?”

He regretted speaking as soon as the apparition's attention snapped back onto him.

“I do not have a phone.”

“Uhh… actually…” said the raven.

The pale brow furrowed. “Oh. That's right.” He started patting his sides as if trying to locate something in his pockets. He fished out a black rectangle just as the music abruptly cut off, midway through the “Mr. Sandman” leading into the second verse.

He stared blankly at the it.

“I think you missed the call?” offered James.

There was silence for a moment. “It says 'Missed Call,'” the apparition confirmed. “'Hob.' There's a little picture of his face.”

“Yeah, you missed it, then. Maybe they'll leave a voicemail?”

The apparition scrutinized him. “A… 'voicemail'?”

James floundered. “Yeah. You know, record a message for you?”

Based on the apparition's expression, he did not know.

“Or you could just call 'em back?”

The apparition frowned at the phone again. “I… do not know how to do that.”

“There's—There should be a button.” He reached towards the phone automatically, starting to feel like he was talking to his Gran rather than a seemingly supernatural entity trying to mug him for dubiously magical sand. “Can I see? Yeah, right there—if you click on that, it should call them back.”

A long pale finger carefully poked at the spot James had indicated, before raising the phone to his ear.

There was a pause.

“Ah, this one rings like a bell, not music. That's what I thought they were supposed to do.”

“Uh… Well, that's what it does on your end while it's waiting for the other person to pick up. Might be music on their end, though.”

“Oh.”

“Hob,” declared the apparition. He paused. “Yes. I retrieved my phone, but you were no longer there.” He frowned. “Yes, I was busy. I still am. …This human said that otherwise you might send me mail, and I do not receive letters in the Dreaming. …I am not certain I know how to do that. …Very well. Thirty minutes hence.”

He frowned at the phone for another long moment, before looking back at James. “Do I have to turn it off?”

“Uh… I think the other guy probably hung up on his end, so…” He craned for a glimpse at the screen. “No, you don't have to do anything. The call already disconnected.”

The apparition carefully slid the phone back into a pocket, and clasped his hands behind his back. “I thank you for your assistance,” he said solemnly. “Now, there is still the issue of the dream sand, which you may not keep.”

Ch. 2 on AO3