#the lollipop guild can seriously fuck off to hell

[maybethistimemegz]

TJ MIKELOGAN'S HALLOWEEN 2023 EVENT ↳ Day 25: A movie that isn't horror, but still scared you

The Wizard of Oz (1939)

[mydysfunctionalvampirefamily]

Interesting to see that there are some people who remember the gala, why did the toreador forget? Or was it that she was a fake?

Not the Rufio chant! This is blasphemy!!! How dare you take his name in vain.

Oh god the stoners.

Fun fact of velociraptors were the size of turkeys and had feathers. Jurassic Park was way off about them.

Yes Britta plz try and establish some dominance or smth over here.

"my bad yo, praise Cain." what the hell? 😂

Yes Johnny come save us from the lollipop guild.

Lmaooo protecting Johnny from Rufio. Yes I'm sure Johnny is quaking in his boots.

Rufio fleeing from Johnny's dreadgaze.

Johnny and Britta dancing together. 🥰

Noooooo a need for fresh air??? This is bad! It's gotta be.

Ohh it's just Jane.

They all want Jane's attention, but she gives it to Neil. 🥰

Oh god the centre of attention from a bunch of Bruja because he knows about khalif.

Neil wanting to look cool!!! Also going to smoke drugs, and get high. Bless.

Look at Neil leading some kind of spiritual khalif Bruja session.

Yes Neil!! Worthy not only because of the things that yiu can do but who you are. Thank fuck.

All these Bruja are really kind of sweet to Neil in their own way.

Jane, Neil and a small army of Bruja go stargazing. Absolutely amazing.

Noooooo, please let them stargaze!!! No interruptions.

Miles trying to be the cool dad instead of the neurotic one we all know he is.

I love Amaya, calling it merit badges. Having a pin made especially for him. 😂

I'm sorry Amaya and Miles. 👀👀👀 They're v flirty.

Look at them talking like this so seriously. I'm proud of them.

Miles willing to give up so much to the anarhchs.

I am also concerned about the settites. Miles being honest about the diablerie. 🥺

Eden!!!! Oh my God!!! Do you want to fucking die!?! If Wynn sees you you're in trouble.

Also classic teenage sense of invisibility. I'm with adults I trust so nothing can happen to me.

Oh god not her jumping around to show how healthy she is. She is so cute!!!

Good god, I would also gulp it Johnny talked to me like that. I don't blame you, Eden.

Johnny and Britta talking about Neil. Goddamn Johnny is getting to be so wise.

[carol-effing-danvers]

knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe), part one

TEACHER STEVE AND SOFT BILLY 

Ten years, eight months, three weeks, and nine days ago, Billy had escaped this Lovecraftian nightmare town and never looked back. He’d come into Hawkins believing that it was his own personal hell and left it certain that it was actual, literal Hell.

(this got long so i decided to divide it into three parts) If you prefer the Ao3 format, click here

Billy’s first thought as he rolls back into Hawkins for the first time in ten years is: I cannot believe Max stayed in this deathtrap. 

He didn’t. Ten years, eight months, three weeks, and nine days ago, Billy had escaped this Lovecraftian nightmare town and never looked back. As soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital, he spent most of his savings on a shitty Ford Bronco (he did NOT miss that car), packed up his records, and hit the fuckin’ road. He’d come into Hawkins believing that it was his own personal hell and left it certain that it was actual, literal Hell.

Billy wonders, a bit guiltily, if Max’s life woulda turned out like this if he hadn’t left her in this Midwestern madhouse all by herself. Only twenty-four and she was already getting a divorce. 

He’s never like Justin van Haut but at first, Billy attributed that to the fact that the dude was dating Max - he had a right to hate any dude trying to fuck his sister, he figured. Facts was just facts. But then they got married and it didn’t get better. If anything, Billy might’ve hated him more. 

Justin reminded Billy way too fucking much of himself, of the strutting arrogant little dirtbag that he used to be - only, van Haut had the money and the influence to get away with his bad deeds. He was the kind of guy who wanted something only until he got it, and then he didn’t want it anymore. 

Billy wasn’t that person anymore. He couldn’t be. It took too much energy that he didn’t have - like the Shadow Monster had sucked all the rage out of him. And without it, there was so little left of Billy Hargrove.

Old Billy would’ve gotten drunk and drove to South Bend. Old Billy would’ve beat the shit outta the bitch-ass pussy who’d spent six and half years cheating on his sister. Old Billy would’ve spent the night in the county lock-up. 

New Billy didn’t do that, because New Billy promised Max he’d be there by dinner time. New Billy knew that Max would just have to bail his sorry ass out of prison with money she didn’t really have. 

But either way, Billy knew even if he had the chance to, he’d never change the way it worked out, because in the end-

“UNCLE BILLY!”

-in the end, he got his girl.

As soon as he opens the door, she launches herself at him. “Who is this?” he demands seriously, stabilizing her on his lap, letting her grip the stirring wheel in two tiny hands. “Who are you? Where’s my Lulu?”

She giggles at his theatrics, tugging at his leather jacket, wisps of red hair escaping her little braid. “I’m Lulu, Uncle Billy!”

He gasps, feigning shock. “You can’t be my Lulu! You’re such a big girl!”

“I’m going to Kindie-gar-den now!” she says proudly, with a cocky little toss of her head that reminded Billy of her mother so much that he couldn’t hold in a grin.

“Yeah? Do you like school, Lulu?” They get out so that Billy can grab some of his things from the trunk.

“Uh-huh. My teacher is really nice!”

“Yeah? What’s your teacher’s name?” he asks absently, resting Lulu on his hip as he pulls his bag from the trunk.

“He’s Mister H!” she says, and his brows bounce up. Male kindergarten teacher? That was pretty unusual. Maybe Hawkins was finally getting outta the Stone Age. He doubts it, but hope springs eternal.

From inside the house, Max yells “Lauren!”

“Mommy, Uncle Billy is here!” she shouts, and squirms back down to the ground, running for the front porch. “Mommy says you can have my room!”

Billy thinks with no small horror of the pink room with Mickey and Minnie Mouse’s faces staring out from the wallpaper. Jesus Christ. Lulu beams at him, utterly delighted at the prospect of her uncle moving in, and he barely has to lie when he says “Fantastic, princess.”

Max gives him a wry smile as she appears in the doorway, practically reading his mind as she wipes her wet hands on a dishtowel. “Welcome home, big brother.”

Old Billy would’ve told her that this town might be home, but it wasn’t his. Home was a place he lost when his mother left him with Neil. New Billy knows Max isn’t talking about Hawkins. “You’re gonna get so sick of me,” he promises, dropping the paper bag he’d taken from the trunk. “Here.”

“What the hell is this?” she asks, laughing. “You better not’ve brought me a bag of p- oh my god, Billy.”

He chuckles at her open-mouth as Max stares down into the stacks of cash inside the crumbled paper bag. Rubbing the short hair at the back of his neck, he awkwardly answers, “Rent.”

“This is way too much!” she protests, trying to hand it back, like she didn’t miss a mortgage payment last month.

Billy dances out of the way, picking Lulu up and twirling her around. Grinning like a madman at her delighted shrieks, he throws her across one shoulder. “Wanna help me set up the stereo, Lulu?”

“Yeah!”

“Billy, get back here!”

“Can’t hear you, Max! All that loud metal music, y’know!”

---

“I’m home!” he calls, pushing the door shut with his hip. The apartment is completely silent and then Steve hears a familiar ‘thump’ and grins.

With her bushy tail held high, a black cat races down the hall, wailing “Waah!”

“Hello, Angie,” he coos, crouching to scratch her under the chin. “How are the birds today, huh?”

“Waah,” she repeats loudly, pleading at him with her huge yellow eyes.

“Missed me?” he asks, stroking the fluffy black fur along her back. “Let’s have some dinner.”

He must’ve told Dustin a thousand, maybe two thousand, times that he did not want a cat, but the very morning that Dustin left for MIT, he dropped the fluffy soot-black kitten on Steve’s doorstep and raced away anyway. “His name is ‘the Witch-King of Angmar’, good luck, Steve!”

Ha. The joke was on him, though. His ‘Witch-King’ was actually a queen and Steve called her Angie and she was a fucking delight – he suspected that Dustin was just overly dramatic. Steve supposed that the cat was a nice compromise, considering that Dustin had tried not to leave for college at all.

That had probably been the worst six months of Steve’s life.

He’d never fought with one of the kids before, let alone Dustin, but they spent nearly all of his senior year fighting – because Dustin managed to get a scholarship, a two-year free ride to Princeton, and he didn’t want to leave Hawkins. Or more specifically, he didn’t want to leave Steve.

Lucas was bound for Howard in DC, Will and Mike were reuniting at MIT, and Dustin got into fucking Princeton, but he didn’t want to go.

(“What the fuck are you talking about, you don’t wanna go? I don’t give two dicks what you want, shithead. I’m an adult, Dustin, and I can take care of myself! You’re not going to throw your whole life into the toilet because you think I’m LONELY!”)

So, yeah. Steve and Dustin spent Dustin’s senior year of high school fighting, and now Steve has a cat and Dustin is in graduate school, because college was where he fucking belonged, just like Steve had told him.

Filling Angie’s bowl, Steve idly dances around the kitchen to no music, pulling open the fridge and peering inside. “What should we have for dinner, Angie? What do ya think Aunt Robin wants to eat?”

Angie doesn’t bother turning her head away from her cat kibble, but her tail swishes at the sound of his voice. Humming ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’, Steve throws together a stir-fry.

Cooking has become one of those parts of being an adult that Steve finds unexpectedly pleasurable. Cutting up the ingredients, mixing spices and seasonings, tending to the food – Steve enjoys that.

He hears jingling in the hallway as Robin comes through the door, purse swinging from her arm. He can also hear her swearing under her breath and she kicks her shoes off onto the mat beside the door. “Angie, Angie baby,” she coos as the cat runs to greet her. “Please feed me, Steve-o. I’m gonna fucking kill Bobby Monroe.”

“Parent-teacher conference didn’t go well?” he asks lightly, fluffing the rice with a fork before he pulled his stir-fry off the fire.

“NO,” she says shortly, before calling “How was the dentist? Is this a bad time to say that I picked up a banana cream pie at Baker’s Square?”

In a rather bloodthirsty tone, Steve replies “Cavity or no cavity, we are eating dessert, Rob.”

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to get out a torch and a pitchfork.”

“What happened with Bobby Monroe?”

Oof, speaking of bloodthirsty. Robin’s teeth grind together and Steve pokes her pointedly in the side as he takes their plates down from the cabinet. “His kid is on the verge of going to juvie and this guy just…Does Not get it, Steve.”

Steve’s glasses were on the verge of slipping down the bridge of his nose as he cracked open the tops on two beers. “That’s ‘cause Monroe is golfing buddies with Mayor Walsh and my old pal Tommy Hall, Rob.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Ugh,” she mutters, then brightens a bit. “I got to read another one of Holly’s essays.”

Smiling at his plate, Steve says “Yeah?”

He was a little sad he got into teaching too late to have Holly or any of the other kids as a student, but Robin got the joy of having both Erica Sinclair and Holly Wheeler pass through her classroom. “Her analysis of the creation of the Constitution was…I wanna send it to Harvard, Steve. She’s only fifteen, but she can already understand how to translate nuance in the document. Half of my graduating class couldn’t write something that impressive on early US history.”

“That’s fantastic,” he says, grinning.

“How was Munchkin Land?” she asks, through a mouthful of vegetables and rice.

Laughing slightly, Steve says “The Lollipop Guild always keeps me on my toes. Thank god for naptime!”

They eat banana cream pie on the couch in front of ‘Frasier’, Robin’s toes shoved under his thigh as Steve tries not to fall asleep on the damn sofa. She laughs at him, throwing one of the cushions at his face.

“It’s seven-thirty, you old man,” she teases, coaxing Angie onto her lap.

“Leave me alone,” he whines, melting into his secondhand couch. “I’m an educator of young minds!”

Rob stuck her tongue out at time. “It’s called ‘narcolepsy’, Steven.”

“Please leave me to die in peace.”

She does leave, an hour later, and Steve locks the door behind her like a Responsible Adult.

He is surrounded by almost total silence again. He’s a helluva lot more comfortable with it here in his apartment than he was in his parent’s house. Maybe it was because there wasn’t quite so much space to echo the silence back to him. Maybe it was because there was no steaming blue pool waiting in the backyard. Maybe it was the lack of judgmental silence, which persisted whether his parents were home or away. 

He turns off the television and the lights in the living room, babbling baby-talk at Angie as he brushes his teeth and gets into bed, putting his glasses on the nightstand and sliding between the cool sheets.

Angie curls up behind his knees and Steve closes his eyes and listens to the empty space all around him.

Briefly, he spares a thought of apology for the Dustin of years past, because he’d been right. Steve was lonely. But at least now that he was a real grown-up, he was comfortable with it.

Mostly.

---

“You don’t have to do that,” Max mutters, head resting against the back of the sofa. Lauren was put to bed an hour ago and the only sound down in the house in the constant quiet tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.

“Hm?” Billy asks sleepily, sipping his beer. It was a thirty hour drive between San Diego and Hawkins and Billy had only slept once, and not recently. Honestly, that was probably the best state to experience the Horror of the Mouse that awaited him in Lulu’s old room.

Max gestures restlessly to the stacks of hundred dollar bills hastily stuffed into the paper bag. “Don’t pretend that isn’t your entire savings, Billy.”

“Don’t have to anything but die, Max,” he murmurs, his free hand subconsciously drifting to the tight silvery mass of scarring beneath his shirt, even as his eyes remain closed. With a damp shaky sigh, she leans against his side and Billy shifts that hand to drape around her shoulders. “Don’t fuckin’ argue with me, you know I ain’t gonna let you win.”

His t-shirt gets a little wet. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she admits, sniffling. “I missed you.”

His throat clicks as he swallows. “Missed you, Mad Max.”

Though Billy’s exhausted and goes to bed early, he spends an hour in Lulu’s full-sized bed, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.

Despite his best-laid plans, here he is. Back in Hawkins, Indiana.

Funny that he still kinda feels like a mess, even though he’s a better mess than he used to be.

When his alarm goes off, Billy has the taste of antifreeze in his mouth and though it’s nearly March and Max keeps the heat low, he’s sweating.

Getting Lulu ready for school is a breeze. Firstly, because she’s smart and independent and she knows the routine she’s supposed to be following by now. Second, because once you fight an interdimensional alien monster and temporarily die, not much phases you anymore.

“This one, Uncle Billy!” Lulu says eagerly, pulling him along through the halls, towing her uncle with single-minded determination. "You can meet Sam and Freddy!"

Samantha Cross and Fred Ferris were Lulu's little friends. "Alright, slow down, you're gonna run someone over," he says, amused. She reminds him so much of Max, it's insane. "This one, Lulu?"

"Yeah!" A dark-haired man wearing a navy cardigan over a collared shirt is helping a pair of identical twins with their coats, crouching near a row of cubbies with sixteen name tags on them – from here, Billy can see Lulu’s near the end: Lauren V. "Hi, Mister H!"

Mister H-who-wears-the-dorky-cardigan turns his head and the bottom of Billy’s stomach drops out.

Steve Harrington gives Lulu a dorky little smile, all cute and happy, squinting from behind the lens of his big nerd glasses, and warmly says “Hello, Lauren.”

As a teenage boy, rolling fresh into Hawkins, Billy had fallen into a wild spiral of lust for Steve Harrington the moment he saw him standing next to Nancy Wheeler at a Halloween party. Closeted and angry and unable to escape his father’s rage and his father’s expectations, all Billy wanted was some of Steve’s attention – he hadn’t dared to let himself seriously consider getting more than that. Steve, being a straight teenage boy with a girlfriend, with popularity and money, had froze him out at every turn, and it drove Old Billy fucking crazy. No matter what he did, he never got a reaction more interested than bland annoyance. 

As hot as his passions for him burned, Billy couldn’t make the Hawkins ice princess melt even a little.

But at a certain point, when you grow up, you can look on certain things you got attached to or certain things you enjoyed as a teenager and find your attachment sort of silly, maybe even comical. New Billy had sort of looked forward to reaching that conclusion here.

This isn’t like that at all.

Actually, Billy thinks it might even be worse than before. Billy feels a dull flush beginning to form over his face and swallows the urge to say something stupid to get Steve’s attention – that was the ghost of Old Billy talking.

God, he looks so good.

All grown up, the knitwear clinging to the tantalizing hint of strong biceps, Steve’s eyes are huge and dark behind the lenses of the geek glasses, bangs hanging down into his eyes. Beneath the cardigan, his collared shirt shows an enticing view of his clavicles and the moles high on his neck. Billy used to jerk off to a fantasy of sucking on them and seeing what kind of noise he would get.

He looks soft and sleepy, like Billy could just curl himself around him and press his mouth to that bare skin and Steve would just-

“This is my Uncle Billy!”

Billy is abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Lulu’s voice and realizes that he’s well on his way to pitching a tent in his pants in front of Steve Harrington and his five year old niece. What the fuck is his life, seriously?

“Harrington.”

---

“Harrington,” the man next to Lauren drawls, and suddenly, Steve’s attention is focused and sharp.

This is my Uncle Billy.

He’s…wow, he’s really…grown up.

The sneering boy with a headful of dirty blond curls and a baby-fine mustache has aged into a grown man with a full beard – the old mullet has almost reversed, with the hair at the back and sides nearly shaved off and the hair at the top slicked back away from his face.

Oh my god.

So. So so so so so.

The thing about Billy- “Hargrove,” he greets, hoping that he sounds friendly and surprised and not breathless. “Max didn’t tell me you were coming back to town.”

Billy Hargrove was the very first boy Steve was ever attracted to, and after he left town, the realization that 1) he had a big gay crush on him and 2) he wasn’t ever going to see him again, were sorta the things that began his big bisexual breakdown – what Robin affectionately calls Steve’s ‘all dicks tour of ‘86’, even though she still doesn’t know what started it.

And now Billy’s standing here, in Steve’s classroom, the muscles he used to flash now hidden beneath leather and denim and flannel but possessing every inch of them as much as he had ten years ago. He looks like he could toss Steve over his shoulder and carry him off somewhere, like a caveman.

But hotter, Steve thinks, helplessly staring at the long sweep of his lashes. His lips, the same deep, full red of ripened berries. The dusting of freckles over Billy’s cheeks from hours standing in the sun.

For a moment, Steve feels a stab of uncertain fear – has Max ever told Billy anything about what happened in ’86?

No. His relationship with Max may have gotten slightly distant, especially after she officially married Justin, but he was pretty confident that she wouldn’t have told him such embarrassing and personal information about Steve, not when she that knew Billy had hated him.

At least she seems to be right, though – Billy had calmed down a lot.

Billy shrugs, in that effortless, careless way of his. Steve experiences a visceral urge to have that short beard rub his mouth raw and it makes his stomach twist with desire, uncomfortable in its intensity. “Got tired of San Diego – thought I’d see my best girl. Right, Lulu?”

Lulu. God, that’s cute.

Lauren grins up at Billy, proud as a peacock, and Billy smiles back at her for a moment, so nakedly adoring that Steve’s stomach gives another twist, his insides melting into goo. “Billy lives with me and Mommy now, ‘cause he missed me so much,” she declares, lifting her chin. “I’m his best girl.”

“That’s right,” he vows, cuffing her lightly over the head.

“That’s…really nice of you, Hargrove,” Steve says lightly. He knows that Max is getting a divorce – the entire town knows. Honestly if he didn’t think Max would kick him in the nuts, he’d have a nail bat with Justin’s name on it. 

Lucas, chewing on his jealousy like a wad of bubblegum, had told them that Justin had basically spent their entire relationship cheating on her. He’d gotten the most willful girl in school to be his girlfriend and got bored with her almost immediately afterward. 

He has a feeling that was the real reason for Billy’s sudden appearance in town after ten years of absence.

Billy shrugs again and peers at Steve through those long lashes. “Max didn’t tell me you were Lulu’s teacher.” He grins, tongue held between rows of sharp white teeth. Steve’s heart kicks up in his chest. “Kindergarteners, Harrington?”

He smiles awkwardly, dodging the question. “Lauren is one of my best readers,” he says instead. No matter which child it is, Steve can always find a reason to brag about one of his kids. “And her penmanship is terrific.”

Lauren gasps, bouncing with excitement, one of Billy’s rough hands clutched in both of hers. “I read a chapter book with Mommy and she only had to help me with two words, Mister H!”

“That’s awesome!” he says, unable to keep himself from beaming down at her. “Did Mrs. Diaz help you get a library card?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Maybe your uncle can help you, then,” he says brightly, neatly side-stepping anymore conversation with the boy – the man, god, Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more of a man – who can apparently still make his heart race, even ten years since he’d last saw him.

In the doorway, he spots Marcy Roberts holding her little brother’s hand. “Morning Marcy. And good morning, Martin.”

“Morning, Mr. Harrington!”

---

“Alright, Lulu, it’s almost time for your class to start,” Billy says, tucking her too-long bangs behind her ears. “Mom will be back to pick you up, okay?”

For the first time, some of Lulu’s uncertainty shows through. “You’re still gonna be here, right? You aren’t going home?”

Billy pauses. Fuck, this kid’s dad has done a number on her.

Justin was hardly ever around anyway, but he’d just packed up and left in the middle of the night – Billy doesn’t even know the last time he bothered to talk to her on the phone. Lulu’s gotten upset when she and Max had to say goodbye to Billy in the past, but she’s never acted this insecure with him. “I’m home now, Lulu,” he says, crouching down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be there to say goodnight, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees in a tiny voice that steals his whole fuckin’ heart away.

“Who’s my girl?” he asks in a whisper, tugging gently on the end of her ponytail.

Her face brightens. “I am.”

“The best, Lulu.” He winks and she giggles. “Be good, okay?”

“Kay!”

He stands to his full height and Harrington’s eyes accidentally meet his. There’s still a small smile lingering around the soft shape of his mouth and as soon as he looks into those big brown eyes, Steve looks away. Billy bites the inside of his cheek, resists his automatic urge to say something spiteful, something that will get those eyes back on him.

He would like to be able say that it’s because New Billy knows better. But it’s really because he already knows from experience that it won’t do anything but make Steve that much colder. He wants fire, and all that’s there for him is ice.

He leans against the wall right outside the classroom door and…just listens.

Listens to Steve speaking, his sweet patient drawl used for the children in his classroom. “Alright let’s take attendance and then I want to hear all about what you did this weekend, class. Evan Adams?” He stays there, listening with eyes closed, until he hears, “Lauren van Haut?”

“Here!”

Billy shakes himself, pushing away from the wall. No sense mooning over a straight boy who thinks he’s lower than dirt.

TBC

[thewatertowernews]

healthy heart habits (or zombie survival training)

by Olivia Gamsu

   If you had told my high-school-aged self that I would one day willingly run a 5K, I would have laughed derisively before flouncing off, decked head-to-toe in Pac Sun, towards my Latin Club meeting (of which I was the president) to conduct wizarding duels. Besides being really fucking cool and hip, I was highly adverse to forced cardiovascular activity. I was sufficiently active– I’d ridden horses competitively since age five after short stints of karate, dance, gymnastics, and soccer. Thus, I was just abnormally muscled enough for my fragile pubescent mind to wallow in self-consciousness. But despite having thighs mighty enough to crush the echoing skull of any shitty high school boy that crossed me (I’m looking at you, Ben From Anatomy who suggested that he trade sexual acts for my cat dissection notes), I was painfully lacking in any other life-extending physical activity.    Only when I began college and discovered that I needed an additional stress-relieving outlet (besides inhaling Grundle waffles and then regretting it) I finally took the Art of Jogging seriously. My first two years were confined to the Patrick Gym, where I spent equal parts sweating from sprints and sweating from the crippling social anxiety that stems from working out in front of our school’s surprisingly bountiful population of meatheads. Then my junior year brought an entirely new set of obstacles: running downtown. I suddenly had to juggle limb-to-clodhopper coordination whilst dodging ripped up sidewalks and vague, blurry, flesh-colored forms that are maybe strangers, maybe my closest friends (I run sans contacts so am mildly blind and thoroughly Living on the Edge).   After a while I finally felt myself undergoing a sort of evolution. Somehow, running had become… pleasant? I know, I know, bear with me. I’m sure you’ve all heard the mythical rumor that running can “release endorphins” and “increase your lifespan” and “improve your chances of surviving an I Am Legend fast zombie apocalypse.” Well, I’m here to tell you that IT’S ALL (mostly) TRUE.    I had finally reached a point where I’d wake up and feel an overwhelming urge to sweatily tear down Pearl street under the watchful gaze of Burlington’s homeless, student, and tourist population. Despite my newfound addiction, though, I was determined to keep this pastime STRICTLY a pastime. Competition makes my hands clammy. Competition turns me into a wild, vibrating, erratic animal.    But then peer pressure happened. My co-workers urged me to join the Chase Away 5K with them, which raises money for canine cancer research (to clarify, I work at a doggie daycare). My boss was paying for it and there would be an ocean of dogs for emotional and moral support, so I thought, “Why the heck not?” and succumbed. The week leading up to the big race was fairly average– besides the consistent nagging of my own Asshole Mind reminding me that I only run one and a half miles a day (peppered with more walking breaks than actual running stints). How in the damn hell was I going to successfully run over three miles without making a fool of myself in front of countless impressionable pups?    Turns out my all-consuming fears were baseless. Not surprisingly, runners are exceedingly chipper people. Runners who are also dog people are the least intimidating community you could possibly procure (besides maybe the try-hard Lollipop Guild gang of Oz). I sprinted through masses of trotting paws and feet alike, my coworker’s recently-pregnant pup at my side. I crossed the finish line (two orange traffic cones) dripping in sweat, my running partner raring for more despite recently popping out seven tiny floofers (mothers are damn miracle workers, I swear). I was filled with the specific giddiness one can only achieve through impressive feats of physical stamina, followed by baskets of free bagels that you walk by twice very inconspicuously so as to double dip.    In the end, it was a highly rewarding experience. If you’ve ever felt a slight desire to become A Runner, but have been traumatized by state-mandated miles in high school, I urge you to power through the bad memories– it’s actually kinda worth it.