#whatever. i heard later that that store was run by some christian family where the father cheated on a woman from our old church and left

[confetti-critter]

A thing I always do is go to some place where I gotta choose something with no clear idea of what I want (going to the library or a candy store etc) and thinking I'm gunna walk in there and see something and know immediately that ~that's the thing I want~ but that never happens so I spend a very long time meandering around that particular place

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.3: Jesus Is A Pisces

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder has forgotten Scully’s birthday every year but one. Actually, make that two now, since this year he’s determined to make the day special for her somehow. He’d asked her casually what her plans were, and she admitted that outside of a lunch with her mother and some church friends on Sunday the 22nd, she didn’t really have any intention to celebrate.

“It’s been a rough couple months,” she’d explained softly, and that’s all he needed to hear.  She’d gained and then buried a daughter within a few days’ time over Christmas, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know how she managed to stay sane after that, and if he thought about it for too long the waves of powerlessness and guilt that rolled over him were debilitating.

So instead he focused on what he could do.

“You wanna do something after work on Monday? I promise to be as un-festive as possible,” he offered.

She looked uncertain, licked her lip. “Just us?” she asked.

“Just you and me,” Mulder assured her, the words giving him a tiny, shameful thrill.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sure,” she said finally.

Come Monday, February 23rd, it’s business as usual in the basement office. They finalize their reports from the previous week’s case, wrangle their receipts, argue over who broke the stapler (It was him, she insists; while he claims she jammed the staples in and made it impossible to use properly).

At three minutes to five o’clock, she clears her throat softly as she gathers her things, and he can feel her preparing to speak.

“Yeah, Scully?” he murmurs.

“We still on for tonight?” she asks, sounding almost cautious, and his heart fractures.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he confirms, leafing through a file. “Be sure to bundle up.” He looks up at her and gives her a reassuring grin.

She looks happy and… relieved? Huh.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” she says, shrugging on her coat as she leaves.

Mulder smiles at the door as it clicks shut behind her. He’s unusually giddy about what he has planned for the evening.

Over the weekend he had gone to the grocery store since his refrigerator was barren, then camped out in his building’s laundry room all day Sunday washing every blanket he owned. He even stopped at the little bakery around the corner from his apartment, purchasing a single chocolate cupcake and a loaf of rye bread.

After work he packs his car with a cooler, a duffel bag, a large thermos of coffee, and a pile of blankets.

He’s surprised to see that she’s waiting for him on the steps of her apartment, wearing a heavy jacket and thick turtleneck sweater.

“I got too hot wearing all this inside,” she explains, climbing into the passenger seat. She seems almost excited, and he strangely wants to cry. God, he’s so fucking glad he had the balls to invite her out again.

“Where are we going, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

Seven minutes and three wrong turns later, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the map, handing it to her. “Rock Creek Park, please, Navigator,” he says.

“Aha! I thought the route we were taking seemed… circuitous,” Scully says with a smirk, unfolding the map.

“Just tell me where to go; I don’t need a running commentary,” he gripes, secretly relishing her needling.

In about twenty minutes, they arrive at the park’s nature center. Mulder pulls into the lot next to the field across the road and cuts the engine.

“We’re here?” Scully asks, looking around. “It’s deserted. Mulder, please don’t tell me we’re ghost hunting,”

“Ghosts? No,” he says, climbing out of the car and going around to the trunk. “Help me with some stuff?”

Scully comes around to the back of the car, where Mulder hands her the cooler and thermos. He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and gathers up the pile of blankets. “Close the trunk, will you, Scully?” he says, walking towards the field. “My arms are full.”

They trudge out to the middle of the field, cold winter air biting their cheeks. Mulder stops abruptly and drops the blankets onto the ground in a heap.

“We’re here,” he announces, setting down the duffel bag. He picks up a heavy wool blanket and spreads it out on the grass.

Scully sits down on the blanket, cooler and thermos beside her. “What exactly are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks.

“Well first, we eat,” he replies, reaching for the cooler. He opens it and pulls out two waxed-paper parcels, handing one to her. “Pastrami on rye,” he announces. “I went a little crazy with the mustard on one of them, we can trade if you want.”

“You made these?” she asks, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Mulder, you’ve been holding out on me. This is delicious.”

The satisfaction in her voice makes him flush. “It’s pretty hard to mess up pastrami.”

“True,” she agrees, “but I was starting to doubt you could even make food. Your refrigerator is usually pretty sparse.”

Mulder shrugs, opening the thermos of coffee and pouring her a cup. “Cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal,” he explains.

“Mm,” she agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, taking the proffered cup. “So Mulder, tell me; is there a reason we’re having a picnic in the dark?” She eyes the duffel bag beside him suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, unzipping the bag and pulling out a tripod. “You know anything about constellations, Scully?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He already knows.

“A thing or two,” she replies casually, clearly attempting to hide the smile sneaking across her mouth as she eats.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I lugged this telescope and a star map all the way out here,” he says, pulling the telescope case out of the bag.

Scully is enraptured, and Mulder thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever done for anyone.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she says, peering through the eyepiece as she adjusts the telescope’s position. “Not since…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. He remembers her telling him once, on a long car ride to some anonymous, unremarkable town, about stargazing with her father when she was a child. Captain Ahab and his Starbuck, navigating the night skies by way of celestial markers.

The temperature’s dropping, and Mulder drapes the ratty tribal weave blanket from his couch around her shoulders as she searches the heavens.

“You want a turn?” she asks, drawing back from the telescope for a moment.

He shakes his head, plops down on the blanket and gazes at her instead.

They could be astronauts together, sailors of the stars. Dropping anchor in pools of the Milky Way, swimming through constellations and running their fingers through glittering strands of nebulae.

“I’m good,” he replies softly.

“Mulder?” Scully says from under a pile of blankets.

They’re lying on their backs now, side by side, eyes on the sky. Waiting for a meteor, or a passing satellite, or for God to wave hello.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Do you give any credence to astrology, or is that too close to religion for you?”

“I appreciate its historical and cultural significance,” he replies. “Beyond that, I can’t say I have much of an opinion on it. Aren’t you a Pisces?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know that she is, and that he’s a Libra, and that the shitty magazine he picked up in the dentist’s office says they’d be a tumultuous but passionate match. Not that he gives horoscopes any weight.

Passionate, though…

“I am. And I’m inclined to agree with you, though astrology’s link with early Christianity is fascinating. For example, did you know that Jesus is linked to Pisces? His birth coincides with the dawning of the astrological Age of Pisces, which spans from 1 AD to the year 2150. There are many scriptural references to fishermen, and early Christians used the fish symbol as a sign of their faith.”

“Huh,” he says, tucking a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“I don’t believe that the stars dictate my temperament, by the way,” Scully continues. “But there’s something beautiful about having a constellation in the sky that corresponds with your own birth. Missy knew more about this stuff,” she say wistfully. “She’d read me my horoscope every morning before school while we brushed our hair or whatever, in the bathroom where Mom couldn’t hear. It was fun,” she says with a sigh.

“Do you think she’s out there, in the stars?” Mulder asks and immediately regrets it. He didn’t mean the question to sound flippant.

Scully takes it in stride. “Is it crazy if I say maybe? There’s… there’s things I’ve seen and heard, Mulder, that I can’t explain. Who am I to say how God operates? Maybe He’s laid the stars out like a map for us to read. That’s probably wishful thinking, but life would be a hell of a lot simpler if everything was dictated by heavenly bodies.”

“Better that than by governing bodies,” Mulder agrees.

Their eyes drift along the razor-sharp curves of the crescent moon.

“My mom wants to set me up with one of her church friends’ sons,” Scully says without preamble.

“Huh,” Mulder replies, tracing Orion with his eyes. “Let me guess; he’s a dentist.”

“Emergency physician, actually,” she replies. “He’s nice.”

Mulder suddenly feels the weight of gravity pressing him down to earth. He can feel the rotation of the planet under his back, spinning him at a thousand miles an hour. “You’ve met him?” he asks.

“Yesterday, at lunch,” Scully replies. “He’s a widower, with a six-year-old daughter. I think… I think my mom thinks we could help each other.”

Mulder’s stomach churns, a facsimile of seasickness rolling through his body. “What do you think?” he asks, voice oddly hoarse. “Do you… agree with her?”

Scully pulls the blanket higher under her chin and sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m thirty-four today, and my career runs my life. I’m not sure how many chances at a family will come my way in the future. It’s not ideal, but maybe I’m past the point of getting to choose.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m being fatalistic.”

Despite the near-freezing temperature, he’s got a cold sweat forming on his back. “You can always choose, Scully. As far as I see it. It’s-it’s important to me that you know that.”

She rolls onto her side, snaking a hand out of the blanket to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “Mulder, I know you blame yourself for the things that have happened to me. But they’re not your fault.” He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t argue with me. It’s my birthday.”

He’s grateful for a change of subject. “That reminds me,” he says, sitting up and reaching over to open the cooler.

He pulls out a small pink bakery box and opens it to remove a single chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle. He digs a lighter out of his coat pocket and gives it a flick, igniting the candle.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says sheepishly, holding out the cupcake.

The single flame shimmers in her eyes as she takes the dessert. “Mulder,” she says softly, in a tone that makes his heart turn to liquid. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make a wish and blow the candle out before the wind does it for you,” he replies. There’s only a bit of a breeze but he’s not taking any chances. She deserves a wish.

Her eyes fall closed, and she sighs contentedly, no doubt formulating her request. Suddenly she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his over the flickering candle, and Mulder feels a thousand words rumbling in him like an approaching avalanche.

Before he can say anything she purses her lips and extinguishes the lone flame with a breath.

She pulls the candle out of the cupcake and pops the end into her mouth, licking off chocolate frosting, and Mulder thinks he might die right there on a blanket in Rock Creek Park. He’s been so good, keeping his feelings to himself, but in this moment his only thoughts are that he loves her and wants her; no, needs her. He needs to touch her, taste the icing on her lips, map the constellations of freckles hiding beneath her sweater. Shake the winter chill out of his bones, letting the flames of her red hair lick across his skin and light his whole body on fire.

She’s saying something to him, biting into the cupcake, chocolate crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Hm?” he asks, returning to terra firma.

“I asked if you wanted a bite,” she reiterates.

Yes, his body responds. Please please please-

“It’s yours,” he says as a declination.

“Therefore it’s mine to share,” she declares. She holds it out to him, and his stomach flutters as he leans in and takes a bite. He thinks of his parents’ faded wedding photos, of them feeding each other cake in black and white.

Don’t date the doctor guy, he pleads silently as he chews. Stay with me. Show me galaxies.

She falls asleep on the car ride home with one of his blankets tucked around her, the car’s heater cranked all the way up. When he parks in front of her building she stirs, likely awoken by the sudden cessation of warm air on her feet.

“Scully,” Mulder says softly, “We’re home.”

“Mmm,” she responds. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” he answers, glancing at his watch. “Can you walk or should I carry you up?” The question feels faintly suggestive, and he’s only being so bold because she’s drowsy and likely not registering the subtext.

“I can walk,” she says, sitting up and removing the blanket. Her hair is a fuzzy red halo in the glow of the streetlights.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Make sure you don’t pass out on your way up.”

“Thanks,” she yawns. “I don’t know why car rides make me so drowsy,” she says. “It’s like I’m five years old again.”

“Or it’s hypothermia,” Mulder suggests jokingly. “It got pretty damn cold out there.”

“Winter night picnics aren’t the most practical, it’s true,” she says. “But the blankets and coffee were a good idea.”

When they reach Scully’s apartment door she turns to face him. “Thank you for this,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

He smiles softly at her. “Happy birthday,” he replies.

He’s mentally debating giving her a hug when she reaches out and pulls him in gently, arms looped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to the crown of her head.

It’s over way too soon.

“Goodnight,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

If he says anything else to her before she slips into the apartment and closes the door, he doesn’t remember it. His feet are firmly on the ground, carrying him out of her apartment building and back to his car, but his head is far above the atmosphere, adrift in space.

He’s so in love he feels as though he’s running out of air.

[erazonpo3]

WOWM

so What Once Was Mine came out and I read it.

My General Thoughts are that this book was something of a rollercoaster but in like a pop up carnival with dubious safety regulations and diseases in the DIY log flume water kind of way. I had some fun reading it but I also feel like I picked up a rash.

If you're like me and you enjoy picking a book apart for morsels of interesting concepts then you might enjoy it, if you think holy shit why the fuck is a literal real historical serial killer in this book I need to see this then you might enjoy it, if you care about engaging plots and character beats then you probably won't.

If you want to ask me anything specific go ahead, but otherwise for more in depth thoughts: spoilers ahead

Basic Summary of the Plot

Okay so here's the deal. The story has the framing device of two siblings in a cancer ward, where one tells the other a story. I'll get into that later, but that's how it starts. Our actual story starts with a pretty long prologue: We learn that the King & Queen got the Moonflower thinking it was the Sunflower, Rapunzel was born with silver hair, and then baby Rapunzel kills a maid who accidentally hurt her when brushing her hair.

Oh, by the way, Max is a human man named Justin Tregsburg. Yeah.

Anyway, the royal family puts out feelers for legit witches who can safely take care of Rapunzel because the baby is too dangerous, and Gothel shows up to take her away. Queen Arianna visits Rapunzel once (but is only allowed to watch through a peephole) and decides watching another woman raise her child is too painful and throws herself into restoring the kingdom's orphanages instead.

Now we're in the present. Rapunzel is nineteen and she wants to go and see the lanterns (a mourning tradition of the Dead princess in this story). She tries to argue with Gothel but gets shut down, and Gothel makes her kill a chicken to prove the point that she can't go outside because she's too dangerous. However we as the audience already know Gothel plans to sell Rapunzel off as a bride or a servant or a weapon to some other nobles, because she's evil.

Also by the way Gothel still has access to our Sundrop Flower and is using it to live forever that's just a thing that happens in the background.

When Gothel is gone Rapunzel watches as a man (Flynn) stores a satchel in a tree outside of her tower, and that motivates her to leave the tower for the first time. Then she goes back inside the tower with her prize of a crown, and a skink she found and named Pascal. Rapunezl and Gothel have another spat, and Rapunzel decides she will run off to see the lanterns and she will find Flynn and make him her guide.

She ends up at the Snuggly Duckling and she doesn't find Flynn but she does find Gina, a young career criminal girl looking to break the glass ceiling. Gina agrees to help her find Flynn. They find Flynn, and he agrees to help guide Rapunzel to see the floating lanterns for a split reward of the crown with Gina.

The Snuggly Duckling gets burned down by Countess Bathory (yes that Elizabeth Bathory) and the Pub Thugs are pissed about it and also they're helping Rapunzel even though she didn't sing the I've Got A Dream song don't worry about it. We learn that the nobles that wanted to buy Rapunzel are now hunting her down so she can go to auction.

Gina takes them to her adopted mother's cottage. Gina's mother is a white witch, who goes by the name of Goodwife. She doesn't get an actual name she's just The Goodwife. Anyhow, the cottage is a magic safe space (for now) and Goodwife teaches Rapunzel that her hair isn't inherently evil and may not even be all that deadly! Rapunzel learns that her hair has other powers too, like the ability to turn skink Pascal into a sentient Chameleon. Yeah.

Also Goodwife tells Rapunzel she's the dead princess but this isn't like, an immediate call to action. Not a lot happens until we get this story's version of the Mother Knows Best Reprise where Gothel finds Rapunzel again but has to flee, but this Rapunzel has a bigger support network and isn't buying it. Flynn and Gina decide the safest course of action is to bring Rapunzel to the castle, but along the way she gets kidnapped by the Countess.

Gothel is pissed because she still wants the money for Rapunzel, so she rallies the armies of all the opposing bidders. Flynn and Gina convince Max the Man to send for his troops, and he joins them in going to the enemy castle. Flynn tries to sneak in, gets caught, and meanwhile there's a bloody battle out the front between the noble armies. Max jumps into the fray, Gina turns around and rallies the Pub Thugs.

Rapunzel uses her shrinking magic (!) to disappear half the castle and escape with Eugene, and the Pub Thugs arrive and basically end the battle. The Captain is dying but it's okay! Rapunzel turns him into a horse :) Also Rapunzel sees Gothel and tells her to fuck off.

The story ends with a tearful reunion between Rapunzel and her parents, Eugene and Gina are implied to be biological siblings, and things are good but of course in direct parallel to Cass Gina leaves at the end to become an adventurer. The end.

(There are a few other smaller plot beats, but you get the idea.)

MY THOTS

So here are my thoughts™.

Framing Device

I'll just state that I didn't like that the story was told via the vehicle of an older brother telling his 16 year old sister a different version of the Tangled Movie in a cancer ward. From what I've heard it also isn't normal for the Twisted Tales series to use a framing device for the AUs either.

I sympathise with the author's personal story, of course I do. That doesn't mean I'm stirred with compassion every time the flow of the story is interrupted to remind you to be sad because this is a story being told to a girl sick with cancer. It feels more than a little tragedy-porny rather than emotionally touching, and maybe that's because I'm too burnt out on real life tragedy to waste emotional energy on fictional cancer patients but we don't need to do Fault In Our Stars discourse again.

Real World References

This story goes heavy with Real World references. And another issue with the framing device as above is that you do feel like this is a story being told by someone namedropping every historical figure they know which makes it harder to get into the story.

There's like... a lot of references to Christianity, particularly in the prologue. There's a priest that thinks Rapunzel's hair is the work of the Devil or whatever. It's a lot. The Patriarchy is a thing. And that's not even getting into the Countess. I put it very succinctly in my notes so I'll paste it here:

I wish she’d just been an OC who could exist to chew scenery because the fact that she was a literal historical serial killer is super. Off putting. Like, she could have been an obvious reference to Bathory, but it feels like Miku Binder Hamilton levels of uncomfortable to me.

I miss Lady D.

Which basically sums up my problem with trying to take the setting of Tangled and put it somewhere in the Real World and somewhere on the Timeline. Who thought this was a good idea.

Misc. Thoughts

So, I used the five highlighter colours my ipad allows to organise my thoughts and organised them accordingly: Yellow for out of place IRL references, Blue for worldbuilding/character points that aren't plot relevant but still interesting, Pink for when something I find personally amusing happens, Purple for when the story feels like it's trying to 1-up the movie in some kind of way and Green for Heterosexual Nonsense. I'll touch on those last two in the Character sections but be prepared.

Also: for a book about giving Rapunzel killer hair, her hair isn't very dangerous. I wanted to see Rapunzel kill someone, and I'm disappointed that I didn't.

Characters

I'll do a deep dive into my thoughts about the characters before wrapping it up. I'm starting with Gina because she's honestly the easiest to get through.

Gina

Gina is a new character introduced for the story. She's a young woman trying to make it as a career criminal but keeps hitting that glass ceiling. So here's the down low, for all those who want to know: Gina is basically Cass, only not really. She's implied to be Eugene's biological sister, as previously mentioned, but you can imagine she's Cass the entire way through without breaking your immersion because if you imagined Cass if she were adopted by a Goodwitch rather than the Captain and had a looser, more wilderness survivor than trainee guard upbringing then you get Gina.

I liked Gina! I think she's fun as her own character too, and her best moments are when she's interacting with her mother Goody Goodwife, and she of course picks up a natural sibling rivalry with Eugene, but I was disappointed with how little she really bonded with Rapunzel because she needed to make room for Eugene and Rapunzel's romance.

Rapunzel

Okay, here's our protagonist. There's a notable effort to make Rapunzel more active in her destiny and whatever, and sometimes it works but sometimes it doesn't. I was worried they'd try to go full butt-kicking girlboss with her but I was pleasantly surprised that Rapunzel was pretty useless in most scenes, genuinely love to see it.

With a more intimate look into Rapunzel's psyche through the medium of prose, we see Rapunzel really questioning Gothel's behaviour even before she leaves the tower, and while I appreciate that she can develop her own cynicism I feel it starts unnecessarily early. This is my purple colour; the movie needs to be "fixed" by showing the readers that this Rapunzel is quicker to distrust Gothel. She's also quicker to hatch a plan to go outside of the tower on her own, and she makes a plan to make Flynn her guide for the lanterns even though he never stumbles upon her in the tower- and even though she has a perfectly rational reason not to trust him which is that he is a stranger and a Wanted Thief.

In the moments where it does work is when Rapunzel is surrounded by her new support network: Flynn, Goodwife and Gina, who encourage her to question Gothel's sincerity, and Rapunzel comes up with her own defences for Gothel so that she can poke through them herself.

I have some other thoughts about Rapunzel's hair and her powers, like how the story provides the interesting concept that her hair gets different powers with the different phases of the moon, but a lot of the powers are uhhh stupid and also I feel like it really robs the story of the whole gripping conflict of "Yes I'm Rapunzel Yes my hair kills people what of it".

In as far as just Rapunzel herself though, she still felt pretty in character nonetheless, and maybe that's all I can ask.

Flynn Rider / Eugene Fitzherbert

My boy I am so sorry. They neutered my boy.

Long story short: Eugene in this story is the sexy lamp. He contributes nothing to the plot except to be there for Rapunzel to drool over. And of course because he won't get any character development, he starts from the very beginning as a sweet soft boi with none of the Flynn Rider characterisation from the movie because we don't have time for that, he needs to be husband material stat.

His whole character is the colour green for Heterosexual Nonsense.

So, here's the problem. In the movie, there's not a lot of time for ~friendship~ between Rapunzel and Eugene because they kind of immediately see each other as a romantic prospect. And whatever, it's a movie and there's only so much time. But this book had the opportunity to take things a bit slower and instead chooses to make Rapunzel get jealous whenever Eugene and Gina interact and for her to be constantly wishing he was holding her hand.

Say what you will about Lost Lagoon, but it tells a good romance story just by virtue of not intending to be a romance story, because the author is trying to convey a strong bond between Rapunzel and Cassandra without using "and they kiss" as a cheatcode. What Once Was Mine says "he was a boy, she was a girl, could it be any more obvious?" and leaves it at that.

Now as for how this all pertains to Eugene's character? Well, it just robs him of any flavour. In the movie there's a clear distinction between Flynn and Eugene, when we learn Eugene's real name about halfway through. We see a clear difference between the Flynn we knew- kind of an asshole, wanated to drop Rapunzel off at the Snuggly Duckling and get rid of her- and Eugene, who is sincere and chooses Rapunzel as his New Dream in opposition to his Old Dream of living alone on an island with a bunch of money.

This version of Eugene is basically Eugene all the way through, because the plot doesn't really need Eugene there but he has to be there because it's a Tangled AU so there's no Rapunzel rescuing Flynn from the guards and healing his hand scene, he just loves her immediately and that's that. They have a little spat at one point but it's cleared up later and not because they actually communicate but because they kiss.

Rapunzel only learns Eugene's real name at the very end of the story, and gives a speech about how Eugene is the real him, but it's just so flat because 'Flynn' has been sincere this whole time? Anyway he does nothing of value for the entire story except be there for Rapunzel to lust after. Eugene I'm so sorry.

Gothel

Gothel's sort of the Big Bad and is characterised as an abusive asshole, the usual. I wish there were a bit more nuance to her character but then again in this story she's not just being passively evil- taking care of Rapunzel for selfish reasons but nevertheless maintaining the status quo- she's being actively evil in trying to sell Rapunzel off.

It's notably funny that Gothel sees the Countess Bathory and is like "what the fuck".

Anyway Gothel in this story also feels very weak in part because this Rapunzel is more critical and in part because this Rapunzel has a new support network. It's for that reason the Mother Knows Best Reprise scene doesn't really work, because the original has Gothel pit Rapunzel against Eugene, whereas she can't do that here so it remains a Gothel vs Rapunzel thing.

She gets a boring death as an epilogue addendum that someone rips out the Sundrop flower, which tbh? lame. It would be a lot more fun if it were open ended but I am also preferential to Rapunzel actually using her killer hair to kill someone. Please

Captain Justin Tregsburg

It's Max. He was a human but then he got turned into a horse. what the fuck you guys

[poorreputation]

That Being Said, So Get This

A Supernatural-Buzzfeed: Unsolved Crossover! All part of the @cocklesdestielfiction Cockles-Destiel Crazy Crossover Challenge! (and @verobatto-angelxhunter)

To read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960567

Wordcount: 6390

Ship: Destiel

Rating: Teen and up

Any kind of warnings: canon-typical violence. If you watch either show, you should be fine. Also, lots of in-jokes. Maybe too many in-jokes.

Also: contains SPN S14 Spoilers

Summary: 

What happens when Buzzfeed: Unsolved and Supernatural are set in the same universe! Ryan Bergara, the believer. Shane Madej, the skeptic. The Winchester Brothers- serial killers? And whatever happened to James Novak?

Story below the cut!

  Ryan Bergara waits for the sound engineer's cue, then begins reading aloud from his script, "In June of 2008, James 'Jimmy' Novak disappeared, leaving behind wife Amelia and daughter Claire. Just a few years later, in 2010, Amelia vanishes, as well. Jimmy is reported to have been spotted a handful of times since then, but what could have lead a loving father and husband to vanishing from the face of the earth? And what prompted his wife to join him?"

  A pause, a second reading of the same paragraph, and then Ryan continues, "The Novaks were known for their devout faith and regular church attendances. According to close friends and family, Jimmy became a zealot in the months leading up to his disappearance, saying that he'd gained the ability to 'talk to Angels'. It's said this put a great strain on his and Amelia's marriage. But, is this what caused him to leave? Did he even leave under his own will?"

  More details are fleshed out, more takes are made, until Ryan reaches his favorite part of every Unsolved episode, "That being said, let's get to the theories. Our first theory builds off of Jimmy's known fanaticism. That he had become convinced he could talk to, and become a vessel for, Angels, and so left his family to fulfill his mission to god. This, however, does not explain what happened to Amelia, or why she disappeared so long after her husband.

  "Our second theory is more far-fetched, and comes mostly from the internet rumor-mill. Over the years, there's been alleged sightings of Jimmy Novak, not only nationally, but internationally, as well. He's most controversially been claimed to have been spotted with infamous serial killers, Sam and Dean Winchester. Coupled with this is the idea that Jimmy and Dean are romantically connected, which people cite as to why Jimmy left his family in the first place, and that Amelia didn't disappear while looking for Jimmy, but was, in fact, killed by Dean. And, for the record, I think this is horseshit."

  Ryan looks up to see the sound engineer silently howling with laughter, which puts a dumb grin on his own face, "But wait, it gets worse!"

  Clearing his throat, and fighting to keep a straight face, Ryan continues, "Our third and final theory is that Jimmy and Amelia weren't running towards anything, but away from someone. That someone? Their 10 year old daughter Claire, who some, as in the internet, claim is a Demon-" Ryan breaks off his sentence, laughing so hard he gives himself the hiccups, "This is gonna be our worst episode, ever."

3 WEEKS LATER

  Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej step out of one of two rental vans, as the rest of the crew starts to unpack. Shane, the taller of the two hosts, stretches his arms, "God, it's good to get out."

Ryan doesn't respond, looking on at the location for that week's episode. His stomach aches just from the sight of it.

 "You all right there?" Shane asks, "Breakfast making a reappearance?"

 "Nah, just." Ryan shakes his head, "The cases with murder always get me. So fucking creepy."

 "Yup." Shane claps his shoulder, leading the way to the front door.

 The house is a single story home, very modern, less than ten years old. Only one family had lived in it, and now it's vacant. The lawn is trimmed, as it's the least the city can do, but the walls, windows and porch are filthy. Items deliberately thrown at the windows are dry and caked on, and Ryan can just picture kids in costumes throwing eggs at the house on Halloween, probably on a dare.

 Shane fishes out the keys from his pocket, waits for their cameraman to give them the thumbs-up, and unlocks the door. Motioning for Ryan to go first, Shane gives a cheeky bow.

 "Alright, whatever." Ryan mutters.

 Everyone filed in, lighting tested and cleared, Ryan begins. He walks into the living room, Shane just a pace behind, and soaks in the scene. The furniture is gone, a light fixture and a bookshelf are all that remain. trying to recall the grisly crime scene photos, Ryan waves hand where the couch should have been. "In August of 2011, Marianne Wyatt and her three boys sat in this area, as someone came up behind them, and shot them, one after the other. They'd been bound, unable to escape, and-" Ryan blinks, nausea overwhelming him, "And a few days later, the father, Marianne's husband, Phil, was found dead. His death ruled a suicide, no note was ever found. Police couldn't prove it, but the theory was that Phil killed his family, and then himself. No one knows why."

 "Neighbors on either side said they heard nothing?" Shane says, prompting Ryan out of his daze.

 "Heard no screams, no shots. Police couldn't even pinpoint the wife and kids' time of death." Ryan nods, "I think I need some water."

 The cameraman shoots some B-roll as Ryan sits, one of the producers handing him a water bottle. "thanks." Ryan nods, as he takes a swallow.

 There's rumbling outside, followed by one of the crew commenting, "whoa, look at that ride!"

 "Sweet car." the boom operator quips.

 Shane looks out the window, "Eh, too obnoxious for my tastes."

 "That's a '67 Chevy Impala." the first crew member replies, "You have no taste."

 Several people, including Shane, laugh at this, and leaves Ryan with an odd sense of deja-vu. Maybe if the room would stop spinning, he could figure out what it is.

 With Ryan looking so sick, the rest of the crew agree to break for the day. Shane drives Ryan to a gas station to get the sickly man some medicine and a Sprite to calm his stomach. Feeling much better, Ryan stays back for a bit to check out the souvenirs the store has to offer, "We could get a hat, or maybe something small like a shot glass."

 "Or, we can get gas station nachos!" Shane grins, his smile only getting broader as Ryan pales at the thought, "And here I thought you were a hardened pro, Ryan Bergara."

 "It might just be food poisoning." Ryan replies, thumbing through some key chains. A car pulls into the lot, loudly announcing its presence, and Ryan has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, "What's it with people around here and their shitty mufflers?"

 "Oh, that's not very fair." Shane replies, the sarcasm lightly sprinkling his words, "I mean- look! -it's the same car from earlier. You shouldn't make such generalizations."

 Ryan peers up as they start walking towards the cashier, as the black, classic car comes to a stop, the engine cutting off a second later. Ryan's eyes widen, as he remembers where he's seen this car before. He shakes his head, willing his heart to slow down. As Shane pays for their stuff, Ryan can't resist the urge to try and catch a glimpse of the car's owner. Just to reassure himself, nothing more. However, by the time Shane's ready to leave, the driver of the Impala has already gotten back in the car.

 The ride back to the hotel is quiet, save for the radio tuned into some local station. It's a sports station, and Ryan feels it's a nice gesture Shane put it on for him, but Ryan just can't concentrate. He can feel Shane glance his way every now and then, and as he pulls into the hotel parking lot, "Hey, if you're really feeling that bad, I'm sure we can find an Urgent Care, around here."

 Ryan shakes his head, "It's not that."

 "What's on your mind?"

 Ryan stares out the window as Shane parks the rental, "Reading up on all of these cases, it makes ya kinda paranoid after a while."

 Shane laughs, "You don't have to be so serious about it."

 "No, really. The car we saw earlier? It reminds me of the episode we filmed a few weeks back. The Novaks, remember?"

 "I don't recall the devout Christian couple driving a muscle car."

 "Right." Ryan nods, "I'm an idiot, I didn't include it in the script, but it's the car Dean Winchester's known to drive."

 "So? It's a 'classic car', I'm sure a ton of people drive it."

 "But it was in front of the Wyatt house, earlier."

 Shane gives a single shrug, "Maybe it's a fan. There was a data breach, last week. Someone could've leaked the location of this week's episode."

  Ryan has to admit to himself, Shane's reasoning does make him feel better, "You're probably right."

  Dean steers the Impala into the motel parking lot, as Sam sits next to him, reading from his phone, "Marianne Wyatt and her kids are buried together at Eternal Rest Cemetery. Phil, however, was cremated."

  "But, a man is reported to be seen in the house?" Dean asks.

  "That's right." Sam confirms.

  "Some personal items of Phil's still there?"

  Castiel speaks up from the backseat, "House was empty when we searched it earlier, save for some signs of 'squatters'." he answers, using air-quotes, "Have we considered the possibility of the spirit not being Phil Wyatt?"

  "No one else has lived in the house, let alone died here." Sam says.

  "What if Phil's suicide was staged?" Castiel poses, "The wife and children are killed, the husband's taken hostage for insurance. Something goes wrong, Phil is murdered, and it's staged as a suicide."

  "There wasn't any physical evidence tying Phil to the murders." Dean agrees, "Could've been a set-up. It'd also make sense why he'd be a vengeful spirit."

  "Again, we don't know it's Phil, or what's tying him, there." Sam sighs, "It feels like we're going in circles."

  "If not Phil Wyatt, then what? The killer?" Dean asks, "Unless the guy died in the house, why would he be stuck?"

  Castiel thinks, "Maybe the real killer has something from this crime. Kept it one his person, even in death."

  "So, the 'real' killer's stuck in someone else's house?" Dean shakes his head, "This shit's giving me a migraine, god."

  Entering the motel, Sam gets to work researching any possible leads on the Wyatt murders, as Dean hops in the shower, and Castiel is left standing in the middle of the room. After a minute of tense silence, Sam takes the bait, "What's wrong, Cas?"

  "The beds look disgusting." Castiel practically spits, not in harsh judgement, but genuine concern. Sam looks over at what he's talking about, and sees the usual grimy, cheap motel pillows and comforters. Both beds have old, faded stains, and minute tears. Sam figures Castiel being without powers makes him more sensitive to cleanliness, or lack thereof, more than as an Angel.

  "Don't know what you want me to do about it." Sam sighs, "I'm sure they're just old."

  "I think I want to sleep out in the Impala." Castiel mutters.

  Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes, "Ask Dean for the keys when he gets out, then."

  Castiel resorts to standing awkwardly in the corner, as Sam does his best to just research the Wyatt murders. By the time Dean returns to the main room, back in his old, sweaty clothes, making the shower seem entirely pointless, Sam stumbles upon some interesting information.

  "Hey. So, get this," Sam calls the other two men over, "There was this leak at the Buzzfeed headquarters, some of it revealing the Unsolved guys' sites for the new season."

  Castiel stares blankly at him. Dean sees this and goes, "It's a couple of assholes on the web who mess with ghosts and Demons. Sam, being the serial killer fanboy he is, is obsessed with their true crime series."

  "I'm not a fanboy."

  Dean mutters to Castiel, "Yes he is."

  "The reason I bring it up," Sam presses, "is because this week, they're covering the Wyatt murders."

  Dean pauses, "Wait, that camera crew we saw earlier-?"

  "Looks like it's Buzzfeed."

  Castiel leans over, peering at the computer screen, "The- the disappearance of the Novaks?"

  Sam and Dean turn, and confirm Castiel’s observation, "Oh, my God."

  "I mean," Dean starts, "There's more than one Novak out there, you know?"

  "From Pontiac, Illinois?" Sam asks.

  Dean frowns, "Well, I guess that means you can't meet your idols, Sammy."

  Sam scoffs at this, "They're probably gone by now, anyway. They never stay in a location for longer than a day."

  "Let's use caution when going back, regardless." Castiel says, turning to Dean, "May I stay in the Impala, tonight?"

  Dean, flustered and blushing, replies, "What's wrong with in here? Afraid to share the bed? I was gonna make Sam sleep on the floor, anyway."

  Sam feels a part of his soul wither away from the second-hand embarrassment.

  "This room is filthy, and I don't want to stay here." Castiel answers.

  "That's just character." Dean mumbles, taking out his keys, "Fine. Whatever."

  After Castiel shuts the front door, Sam braces himself for Dean's inevitable angsty tantrum, "He didn't have to be so rude. We stay in places like this all the time! Sure, none of these rooms come with a third bed, so maybe he was afraid to bunk with one of us, especially you." Dean points at Sam, "You kick in your sleep. In fact, I was just gonna make you sleep on the floor, with you being the youngest and everything."

  Sam wonders how close the nearest liquor store is.

  At midnight, Dean can't help himself but to check on Castiel. He needs a good excuse though, so he grabs the remainder of the six pack, all that Sam didn't drink, and heads out into the dimly lit parking lot.

  Dean can tell from some distance away that Cas is still awake. The Impala's interior is alight, and as Dean nears he can see Cas in the backseat holding up a book. Reaching the car, Dean knocks on the window, then lifts the cans of beer when Castiel glances up. Castiel moves to unlock the door, and without invitation Dean scoots in, ignoring how close-quarters the situation is, and offers Castiel a drink. Dean's so preoccupied with not brushing up against Castiel in any way, that he forgets to actually say anything.

  "Did you need something?" Castiel asks, opening the can with a pop.

  Dean, suffering from a brain-fart, "Just, uhm, checking in."

  The awkward silence is so palpable, Dean feels like he's about to choke, "So, this place can get pretty uncomfortable. Did you, er, want a pillow? Or something? Blanket?" he says, sweating profusely.

  Castiel points to the front seat, "I already have a pillow, thank you."

  Dean gives a high-pitched hum, and, with little to add, exits the car.

  Back in the motel, "I think Cas is upset." Dean says as he closes the door, "He doesn't want to be in the same room as m- us," he looks up at Sam, who's doing his best to ignore his older brother at the moment, "You think he's still mad about the whole 'you're dead to me' thing?"

  Sam rolls his eyes, "Gee, what could ever give you that impression."

  "I was just being angry!" Dean starts to pace, right as Sam's head starts to pound, "I yell at you sometimes, and you know I don't mean it!"

  "I've known you for 36 years, I think I've picked up on that." Sam deadpans, "Maybe, and here's a novel concept, you tell Cas that yourself?"

  "I don't know, I think you-"

  "No." Sam presses, "I'm not gonna be the messenger between you guys. You want to patch things up with Cas, do it yourself."

  In the morning, after a full night of not resolving their issues, Castiel returns to the motel from a coffee run. Wordlessly passing around three cups, the group huddles around Sam as he gets ready to show them his recent findings.

  Ryan and Shane return to the Wyatt house first thing in the morning, the crew waiting for them out front. Working off of nothing but coffee and toast, Ryan's ready for take two. They enter the house, set up their equipment just like the day before, and get situated.

  "There's one suspect, outside of Phil Wyatt himself, police posit committed these crimes" Ryan says, "And since the guy's dead, it'll remain as speculation."

  "Victor Myers was the personal assistant to a business mogul." Sam begins, "He traveled frequently, mainly within the United States. Occasionally, he would go into the next town over, pick a target, and kill them. The longer he did this, the bolder he got."

  Ryan says, "Victor started off killing one, then two people at a time. After a couple of years, he found his rhythm in killing families and making it look like a break-in." he looks around the vacant living room, a chill going down his spine.

  "He wrote about some of his kills," Sam continues, "but it's suspected he took many more lives, around 30, at least. He died of a stroke, four years ago. Police only knew of the murders after searching his home and DNA evidence. The deaths of the Wyatts are thought to be connected to Myers, judging by Victor's whereabouts at the time and the nature of the kills, but obviously the police can't pursue it."

  "So, we're dealing with the ghost of a serial killer?" Dean asks.

  "Serial killers are known to keep 'trophies' of their victims." Castiel adds, "It could be what's tying him to the house."

  Sam's eyes widen, as he lifts up the laptop for everyone else to see, "Maybe not."

  Castiel tilts his head to the side, "The events began before Victor's death?"

  "So," Dean asks, "Who's haunting?"

  "The thought of Victor Myers being behind these killings seems like a no-brainer," Ryan says, "but it doesn't have everyone convinced. Personally, I think the cops here know it's the truth, but don't want to go through the trouble of proving Myers did it."

  "Wouldn't be the first time." Shane nods in agreement, "Too much paperwork."

  After filming, the cast and crew pack their things, and get ready to leave the Wyatt house, and the small suburban town, for the last time. Ryan can't help but breathe a sigh of relief; the suffocating feelings he'd had the day before weren't as strong, now, but they were still incredibly unpleasant. At the threshold of the once occupied home, he turns back to the empty rooms that echoed their steps and voices, "If there's a Victor around here, you can kindly fuck off."

  Shane shrugs his bag higher up on his shoulder, "The camera's are off, buddy. No idea what you're trying to prove."

  "That there's a thick and toxic presence in the house?" Ryan asks, shutting the door behind him, "One that we'll never have to deal with again?"

  Shane groans, "It's True Crime season, Ryan. The one season where you and I are on the same page. And you have to make it about your spooky stories."

  "Most murders have some whisper of the supernatural to them." Ryan replies, "I just don't always bring it up. This time I did. So, there."

  Shane shakes his head, "What an active imagination you have."

  Dean methodically checks all of their weapons, handing each item one-by-one to Sam for packing. Their gear, stored in two duffels, is almost ready to go, Sam zipping up the first bag and readying the second. Castiel does a once-over of their motel room, as after they're done with the Wyatt house, they're heading straight out of town; all three men agreed, with the extra attention on them from those 'paranormal investigators' from Buzzfeed, it wouldn't be smart to linger.

  An hour later, Dean gathers everyone around, "We'll park the Impala a block from the house, walk the rest of the way. Someone spots the car, they won't automatically know where we are. Ready?" a nod from Sam and Castiel, "Right, let's go."

  Flight not until mid-morning, the crew decide to treat themselves to some drinks at the local bar. A couple of rounds in, Shane returns from the bathroom and says to the group, "Hey, guys, I forgot to leave the key at the house. Can one of y'all drop me off?"

  Ryan, who's only had one beer, raises his hand, "Got ya covered."

  A minute later, both men are back in the rental, driving down that familiar street. Ryan pulls up to the curb, front passenger's door lined up with the sidewalk leading to the house. Shane steps out, then looks back at Ryan, "Aren't you coming?"

  Ryan blinks, "Why would I?"

  "Make sure I get to the door safely. For goodness' sake, Ryan, if I can't drive myself, what makes you think I can walk straight."

  "Bullshit, you just want me to go near that house."

  Shane's face splits into a wide grin, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Get it over with." Ryan says, climbing out of the car.

  With more than a little swagger to his step, Shane leads the way. Both men, however, stop in their tracks as a crashing sound is heard, coming from within the house.

  Ryan doesn't dare blink, "What-?"

  One of the lights turns on. Ryan recognizes it as being the bedroom window.

  "Well." Shane says, "Leave a door unlocked for a few hours, and this is what happens." Ryan doesn't miss the note of unease in the other man's voice. Unbelievably, Shane continues to walk towards the front door.

  "What are you doing?!" Ryan hisses.

  "Well, we should probably kick them out." Shane explains, as if it were obvious.

  "No, we call the cops."

  "You do that, then."

  Ryan pulls out his phone as Shane foolishly enters the house. Before Ryan can pull up the keypad, he hears Shane exclaim, "Holy shit!"

  Ryan can't help it, "What's wrong?" Not waiting for an answer, feet with a mind of their own, Ryan walks through the darkened doorway.

  More crashes are coming from one of the other rooms, people yelling, grunting, as Ryan turns on his phone's light. All along the walls of the living room are pentagrams, the smell of spray-paint permeating the air, making Ryan dizzy. He can feel his hands start to shake, and he thinks he's gonna puke.

  Shane turns to him, pale in the light, "We should leave."

  The bedroom door shakes, the voices on the other side increasing in volume until-

  -silence.

  Simultaneously, the front door slams shut as the one to the bedroom swings open, bouncing off the wall and sending small chunks of plaster flying. It takes a moment for Ryan's eyes and mind to come to the same conclusion, that within the room, standing around the body of a man, crumpled on the floor, are three men. It takes a second longer for Ryan to realize who these men are.

  The eyes of infamous killers Sam and Dean Winchester, and missing person James Novak, stare back at them.

  Shane runs to the front door, trying for the lock. The door wiggles and shakes against the frame, and Ryan can tell it's not budging. "Come on, COME ON!" Shane grunts.

  "That's not gonna work." Dean Winchester, the shorter of the brothers, says, "Bastard is keeping that, and all the other doors, shut. We're on lock-down."

  "How did you do that?" Ryan chokes out, impressed with himself that he can say anything at all.

  "Let us out." Shane rejoins Ryan, standing side-by-side.

  Dean grimly laughs, "Would if I could. Last thing I want is for a couple of vloggers getting in the way."

  "We were just returning a key." Ryan doesn't know what else to do, what to say.

  The tallest of the trio, Sam, comes walking towards Ryan and Shane, hands held out in submission, a container of table-salt in his right, "I'm not gonna hurt you, but we need to get you guys in a safe place."

  Shane isn't so convinced, "And what's 'safe', exactly?"

  "Within a ring of salt." Sam answers.

  "Oh, god." Shane groans, "Don't tell me- you're dealing with Demons?"

  Ryan turns to his friend, "Why would you suggest that? What is wrong with you?!"

  "Um, yeah." Sam grimaces, "I realize that's gonna be... a bit of a problem..."

  Ryan can already begin to feel his heart race, palms sweating and legs becoming like lead, "No, this can't be real."

  "We don't have time for this." James Novak says, and the sheer fact he's in the room, saying anything at all, brings Ryan that much closer to a panic attack. He doesn't even flinch when Novak uses a gun, Ryan has no clue what kind, to direct where he and Shane should go.

  At the appearance of the weapon, Shane's tune changes, "You know what? Fine. Demons are real, where do you want us to stand?"

  This snaps Ryan out of it, "Wait, so it takes spending five minutes with serial killers to convince you, but I can't?!"

  "They have guns, Ryan. They could sell me a piece of the moon and I'd write them a check."

  Ignoring the banter, Sam pours a circle of salt around the two men, "No matter what happens, stay in this circle."

  "Who are you people?" Ryan asks, feeling unusually brave.

  "Not what you think." Sam replies.

  "We're Hunters." Dean states, chin up in pride.

  "Hunters of what?" Shane asks.

  "Monsters, ghosts, Demons." James Novak replies.

  "And how'd you get involved?" Ryan asks Novak, "Where's your wife?"

  Novak tilts his head, "The Djinn Queen?"

  "They were doing a video on Jimmy, remember?" Dean says.

  Ryan pales, "You- you saw the leak?"

  "That you spoke of the Novaks, yes." not-Novak answers.

  Annoyed, Shane goes, "If you're not James Novak, who are you?"

  "Castiel. I'm- was, an Angel."

  "Was." Shane nods, "So, not anymore?"

  Castiel shakes his head.

  "Meaning," Shane continues, "There's no way to prove with, say, magic tricks, your claims?"

  "Stop needling the serial killers." Ryan hisses.

  "You mean monster hunters." Shane sarcastically corrects.

  "I'm sorry about my friend." Ryan announces, "He's kind of a dick."

  "You don't say." Dean deadpans.

  "Hey, is it true," Shane starts, "that you and Columbo over there are knockin' boots?"

  Castiel stares down at his shoes, while Dean goes red and Sam sucks in a breath, trying not to laugh.

  "You're insane." Ryan says to the air, unable to look at Shane.

  "Might as well find out." Shane shrugs.

  "Dean," says Castiel, "I apologize if, at any time during the evening, I've stepped on your toes."

  Dean looks to age five years in as many seconds, "No problem, Cas."

  "And that man, in there?" Shane asks, "He's just sleeping, right?"

  "He was dead before he hit the ground." Castiel responds, "We never know for sure, when there’s a Demon present."

  This information makes Shane falter, if only a little, "And why do only we need to be in the salt circle?"

  Dean and Sam pull down their shirt collars, revealing pentagrams tattooed in black ink, just above their hearts. Castiel lifts up the hem of his shirt, revealing several lines of text written in a foreign language. "We're good. And unless one of y'all's a tattoo artist… ?" Dean says.

  "No." Shane relents, "You still can't prove it, but whatever."

  "You are exhausting." Ryan says.

  "I'm thorough."

  "Shut up, Shane."

  "That's enough!" Dean barks, "We're dealing with a fucking Demon, now act like it." he glares at his two companions. As the trio resumes their work, Shane and Ryan are left in silence.

  "You gonna try your phone?" Shane mutters.

  "No, they've got guns." Ryan responds, "I think they can draw faster than I can dial."

  After a few minutes of tense silence, Shane pats Ryan's arm, getting his attention. Turning to him, Ryan mouths 'What?' while following Shane's gaze. Down the hall, leading all the way to the back of the house, is the only other door leading outside.

  It's open.

  Glancing at one another, the intent is understood; at least one of them can make it out. Knowing Shane's got the longer legs, Ryan figures he'll have a better chance, so he prods at Shane's back, encouraging him to make a break for it.

  Shane sprints for the door, and is at the other end of the hallway by the time the Winchesters or Castiel notice. Ryan doesn't see the trio's reactions, though, focusing on whether or not his friend escapes.

  Shane opens the door wider, gets one foot on the first concrete step-

  Cold air fills the room, enveloping every inch of Ryan's skin. The room grows darker, like someone's dimming down the lights. Every breath he inhales is freezing, and every exhale the same temperature. It's like Ryan's overcome with a sudden fever, left weak and in a cold sweat. Arms and legs locked in place, he can feel his heart slow...

  "RYAN!"

  Dean looks from one idiot to the other; the tall one that tried to leave the house, in what was obviously a trap set up by the Demon, and the second, shorter one that was in the broken salt circle, currently having a long stream of black smoke rush into his throat.

  The Demon's found a new body.

  "RYAN!" Shane shouts, and for all his smart-ass quips, the tall one wasn't that sharp. Perfect opportunity to get the fuck out and leave things to the pros, but he's gone and pissed that away. Dean feels his lip twitch into a smirk, realizing he'd do the same if it was his family. Hand closing around the Angel blade, his smile falters.

  Ryan collapses to the ground, still as stone. Sam intercepts Shane, who tries to rush to his friend's side. "What did you do?!" Shane yells.

  "Stay back!" Castiel shouts, charging forward with more salt. Dean's stomach jumps with worry at the sight of Castiel going in on his own. Old habits of being an Angel, thinking himself indestructible. Dean begins reciting the exorcism, his Latin clunky, as always. Smoke begins to spill from the corners of Ryan's mouth as Castiel approaches.

  A hand suddenly lashes out, striking Castiel with such ferocity it throws the man clean across the room. Dean continues the exorcism, mind on autopilot, as he looks to see if Castiel is still in the fight. The former Angel knocked out cold, Dean turns his head just in time to see Ryan's hand extend out towards him.

  "I'm tired of playing with you." the Demon smirks a toothy grim, causing Ryan's brown eyes to flash to black.

  Dean feels his feet lift from the floor, and in a blur of speed, his body be thrown up against the ceiling. Pinned here, and momentarily stunned, Dean tries in vain to continue the exorcism.

  "Shut up." the Demon hisses.

  Dean's voice dies away. He can only watch as Sam tries to take the Demon on.

  Angel blade in hand, Sam goes in, and Dean can tell Sam isn't looking for a kill shot. Swipes, stabs and arcs to distract, but none fatal. Maybe he's hoping for Castiel to wake, maybe he hopes the Demon can't concentrate on more than one Hunter at a time. It's not a bad strategy.

  One slice too close to Ryan's neck makes Shane rush forward, spin Sam around, and snatch the blade from Sam's stunned hand. "What are you doing-?"

  Both men are sent crashing to the floor, as the Demon steps out of the remains of the salt circle. Cracking knuckles and stretching arms, Ryan's lips curve into a smile, as Dean realizes what's coming next:

  Villain monologue.

  "Winchesters, your reputations proceed you." Ryan walks over to Castiel, who's starting to stir, "Here I am, with my humble, little set-up, and here you are, sticking your noses where they don't belong." He presses a boot against Castiel's neck, pinning him to the wall, "Don't you have bigger fish to fry? A God to fight?"

  Castiel gasps for breath, and Dean struggles to free his arms, legs, willing any muscle to move.

  "I'm a nobody." the Demon laughs, "I should be dead, right now. You all have lost your touch."

  Shane slowly starts to rise from the floor, trying not to get the Demon's attention.

  Ryan's head snaps in Shane's direction, "Shane! Buddy! How ya been?" with a hard kick to Castiel's head, Ryan begins to calmly walk over.

  Shane tries for the door, and it looks like Sam was right; it's unlocked, and the Demon can't focus on more than a few things at a time.

  With that, Dean frees his arm, can move his lips. He starts the exorcism from the top.

  "WHAT DID I SAY." the Demon bellows, waving his hand towards Dean, again. This time, Dean's throat closes up.

  Sam continues the exorcism from his place on the ground.

  Ryan waves his hand again, throwing Sam into the room with the man's corpse.

  Castiel, blood pouring out of his mouth, picks up the chant where Sam left off. The Demon is so distracted, Dean's able to get free. Bracing himself, Dean falls to the floor, and, after a few shaky seconds, joins Castiel.

  Teeth clenched, veins pulsing, Ryan yells, "ENOUGH!" sending both men staggering back, falling to the ground, and then pressed up against the wall.

  The front door bursts open. Dean cannot, for the life of him, believe that the tall idiot's back.

  "Hey! Dumbass!" Shane calls.

  The Demon turns to look at him.

  Dean, thinking he's seen it all, and can't be surprised anymore, tonight, feels his jaw drop.

  "Do you want to di-" Ryan starts, just before Shane douses him with a water gun.

  The screams coming from Ryan are simply inhuman. Smoke rises from his skin, as he covers his face. The air, already pungent with sulfur, becomes insufferable.

  Sam staggers from the back room, finishing the exorcism.

  A rush of smoke exits through Ryan's mouth, the pained scream still echoing off of the walls. And then-

  -silence.

  Shane considers the squirt gun in his hand, then looks back up at the trio of Hunters staring at him. "It's- it's filled with holy water." he gestures to an unconscious Ryan, "His idea."

  "So, you're really monster hunters?" Shane asks, wincing at the alcohol being applied to his scraped knees. They were the worst of the gashes on him, sustained when the Demon threw Sam on top of him.

  "Yes." Sam replies, taking a bandage from the Impala's first aid kit. Shane had gotten Ryan, who was still out, in the rental car, and parked that just behind the Chevy. Everyone is now taking a breather before parting ways.

  "So, not serial killers?"

  "No."

  Shane pauses, "Sorry, about taking your knife. I just didn't want you stabbing my friend."

  "You ended up saving all of us, so I think we're square." Sam looks over to the open trunk lid, behind which Dean and Castiel were securing the corpse the Demon had initially possessed.

  "Ryan's gonna be unbearable when he wakes, you know." Shane says, "'Ooh! Demons are real! We don't have it on camera, but it happened!'"

  "Will you keep doing the show?" Sam asks, trying not to sound too eager.

  "Probably. Ryan'll want to catch lightning in a bottle twice, but never do another Demon location, again."

  "You sound disappointed."

  Shane shrugs, "It's fun seeing him scared."

  Sam shakes his head.

  "So," Shane begins, "You watch the show."

  "... maybe."

  "How many of the places we visit are actually haunted?"

  Sam thinks, "Most were, but we, or other Hunters we know, cleared 'em."

  "Huh."

  After saying their goodbyes, and with the understanding that no one would believe Ryan and Shane if they tried to profit off of their Demon encounter, the two groups part ways. The Hunter trio climb back into the Impala, but not before Dean throws Sam the keys.

  "I'm spent." Dean explains, "You take over for a while." Dean also opens the back door for Castiel, but only when he thinks Sam isn't watching. Dean crawls in after him, and does everything he can to not meet Sam's eyes in the mirror.

  It's a half hour later, when on the highway, heading towards the Bunker, that Dean tries to make amends.

  "Cas-" Dean starts, voice just above a whisper.

  Castiel grabs his hand, both are dried and crusted with blood, "I'm sorry." he mouths, "For everything."

  "No." Dean fails to keep the break out of his voice, "I'm sorry. You're family, Cas. Nothing's gonna change that."

  Castiel looks away, and Dean knows from personal experience what he's trying to hide.

  "I miss Jack." Comes Castiel's broken sob.

  Dean squeezes his hand, "I know. I do, too. I should've done more."

  "We should have." Castiel corrects.

  They sit together in a bittersweet silence. The car interior is dark, the rumbling of the road beneath their feet thunderous, and Sam's eyes on the road. Dean and Castiel are in their own little world.

  "I love you." the words spill from Dean's mouth before he can stop them, and funny enough, he doesn't regret it, or treat it like a mistake. It's been years in the making, really. And when Castiel looks back at him, eyes wide with wonder, and more than a little red from fatigue, Dean just brings their joined hands up to his lips, and gives the back of Castiel's palm a gentle kiss. Castiel leans in, meeting Dean forehead-to-forehead, "I love you, too."

  Shane's pulling up to the hotel parking lot when Ryan finally wakes.

  "Ugh, god." Ryan rubs at his eyes, "What a fuckin' nightmare."

  Shane puts the car in park, turning off the engine, "What do ya mean, buddy?"

  Ryan looks over at Shane, then around the rest of the car, "Wait, didn't we go by the Wyatt house, and drop off some keys?"

  "Yep."

  "And I was driving."

  "Uh-huh."

  Ryan blinks, "Did I hit my head or something?"

  "No, we met up with serial killers Sam and Dean Winchester, along with missing person James Novak, and took on a Demon. You got possessed."

  Ryan's face screws up in disbelief, "Very funny, asshat."

  "No!" Shane insists, "It really happened."

  "Bullshit."

  "Then, what was your nightmare about?"

   "Getting chased by a rabid Paddington." Ryan replies, his eyes glazed over in a haunted stare.

   Shane throws his hands up, "Fine, we’ll go with that."

________________________________________________________________

  Thank you!! For reading!! ♥♥♥

[chimcharstar]

1-50 ho

you got it ho

1. What’s your favorite candle scent?

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. ive been Purchasing various smelly candles for my gay divination activities, and i have a few nominees. i first thought of the candle i have now, a pink one with a very sweet vanilla smell, i love very sweet smells because it makes me think of candy which i tend to try to fill my inner void with. however im going to go with the first candle i bought, a dark orange one with a citrus smell. citrus scents are my next favourite and specifically this one reminded me of curiously smelling candles at my piano teachers apartment when i was very young. 

2. What female celebrity do you wish was your sister?

idk. ive been listening to her lion king stuff lately. dont judge me i needed to hear remixes of lion king music i was lost in that sauce in high school. and i just think shes neat. i dont think she would aggressively make me feel bad about everything, UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE

3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother?

Look……. i really don’t know???? what is the criteria?? do they need to be like my siblings? dare i criticize my arguably criticizable siblings by picking out my ideal siblings? if i pick an ideal sibling, what does that say about what im lacking in my life? do i pick celebrities i hate so theoretically my family shames them into becoming silent and self-defeating

4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married?

50. i think im going to have to figure myself out for a long time, and achieve some personal goals first. thats my excessively confident prediction and PERHAPS educated guess

5. Do you know a hoarder?

nnnnnoooooooo????? not a real, cant function because of hoarding hoarder. i can see in a few family members, including myself, liking to hang onto things that maybe become sentimental/unnecessary clutter but that sounds like something many non-hoarders experience?

6. Can you do a split?

lemme try one sec

NO

7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike?

Idk maybe 7? Or 11? i think my parents taught me at a children age and then i started biking for fun like, later, like pre middle school?

8. How many oceans have you swam in?

1. i dont really remember swimming in an ocean but i may have faded childhood memories of salty water and seaweed

9. How many countries have you been to?

2… i went to idaho for a band trip… my dad really doesnt like travelling

10. Is anyone in your family in the army?

HAHAHA

NO. ACTUALLY YES. but its funny because the specific brand of christianity we are supposed to be is super pacifist so ive heard. but then i remembered one dude apparently who joined the us military?????? it seemed like it was… an unusual choice. i dont really know anything else about this guy, not even his name

11. What would you name your daughter if you had one?

🙏 *inhale* buddy. oooooohhffffff i want to say something gender neutral honestly. i dont want to rock the boat being unconventional or something but im just thinking of all those years trying to live up to a feminine name

12. What would you name your son if you had one?

same i guess… why have i never thought about this????? was i preoccupied naming myself.

13. What’s the worst grade you got on a test?

hmmmmm hmmmmm trying to unlock the vault. i think i remember a 1 or a 0 on a math quiz. i think i got 30% or something very very bad (i dont even want to know) on my last english exam, but to be fair, i was having such a bad mental breakdown my professor did an intervention

14. What was your favorite TV show when you were a child?

like a very very small child? i was obsessed with the save-ums (?!?!?) for some reason. i would sing the anthem… no. theme song? i dont know. i guess it was catchy and there were lots of fun characters. OHHHH I SEE WHATS WRONG

ITS BECAUSE WE ONLY HAD A TV TILL I WAS LIKE 5 OR SOMETHING. what are you cultured people watching as children? what are the shows? 

15. What did you dress up as on Halloween when you were eight?

>:(

My Halloween experience:

i dont even remember i probably had some kind of fairy wings? i think i remember fairy wings. we went to one (1) house. later on, since we werent allowed to go trick-or-treating, we were each allotted a certain amount of candy, and if we ate more than a designated amount per day, we were in trouble and wouldnt be allowed anymore. i do remember getting in trouble for this. i think i stole someones candy. sibling against sibling. finally we were allowed to go trick or treating, i went with my younger brothers and by then, was a teenager and felt too tall and really uncomfortable

LMAO I JUST REMEMBERED THAT LAST TIME WE WENT TRICK-OR-TREATING NOT IN A RURAL AREA, my dad drove us around in a van and watched us like a hawk i believe. it was very tense and methodical.

16. Have you read any of the Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Twilight series?

i read the harry potter series (I WROTE SIBLIGS LOL) more times than i could count while growing up. i read the first hunger games book and didnt fancy it for whatever reason, and i had an obnoxious twilight-hating phase.

17. Would you rather have an American accent or a British accent?

no

sometimes, though, im really genuinely worried about what accent i do have. im worried i read so much harry potter growing up, it rubbed off on me. when i was a server, people would ask about an unusual accent i apparently had, and once, when i was talking to a super british guy who called me luv at walmart, he was like STOP. WAIT. YOU HAVE A BRITISH ACCENT. and i was like WHAT UHHH BYEBYE AND HE WAS LIKE NO. I HEARD YOU. STOP and i was like that michael jackson meme where he covers his face running away and everyone else in the line was staring

18. Did your mother go to college?

i believe she went to a bible college where people put a grand piano on top of the roof. 

19. Are your grandparents still married?

all of my grandparents are dead.

…. hmmMMMM yow. ok. my grandparents who werent estranged stayed married for as long as either of them were living… however, my OTHER grandparents, i mean the fucking kidnappers, my abuser grandpa… remarried? when he was… really really aging. im judging him for it because i know what kind of person he was.

20. Have you ever taken karate lessons?

I WISH. my parents didnt seem to like that sort of thing (surprise). im interested in it now but… as usual… i feel like its too late, im too old.

21. Do you know who Kermit the frog is?

….. i… i thought i did… hes blessed… thats all.

22. What’s the first amusement park you’ve been to?

ಠ_ಠ 

*crickets*

how could you ask me this?

no wait! i went to the waterslides. then, later on, i was never allowed to go to the waterslides.

23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in?

Spanish. ive been “intending” to learn for a long time, and a lot of people who have been really good influences on me and been genuinely kind to me speak it, id like to learn it

24. Do you spell the color as grey or gray?

grey

one sec

yup thats canadian!

25. Is your father bald?

on the top of his head, yes >:(

26. Do you know triplets?

no?

27. Do you prefer Titanic or The Notebook?

no? what is this straight stuff? i listened to the dramatic titanic song and felt nothing.

28. Have you ever had Indian food?

i guess so, at a friends house! i dont think otherwise ive gone to a restaurant and actually had indian food

29. What’s the name of your favorite restaurant?

*gazes tearily at my OWN FUCKING OLD WORKPLACE

the food was sO GOOD MAN. IT WAS SO GOOD. im just not saying because despite how stalkable i probably am already, i dont want to be specific

30. Have you ever been to Olive Garden?

no whats that

31. Do you belong to any warehouse stores (Costco, BJ’s, etc.)?

w

belong? whats bjs? whats a warehouse for?

32. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender?

i decided at one point they would never tell me this and it was no use asking. i do know they almost named my brother a very fusty old fashioned name fitting in with the thomas the tank engine theme 

33. If you have a nickname, what is it?

G is the ONLY one i will accept so far.

34. Who’s your favorite person in the world?

:)

i……… hmmmm…. i really dont like picking favourites. each person in my life has a unique relationship with me (even though a lot of them arent very warm, trusting or close). because of unhealthy middle school friendships ive grown an aversion to ranking relationships as if they have material value.

35. Would you rather live in a rural area or in the suburbs?

rural, i think. i need nature in my life!!! but i also need to be able to have connections to people.

36. Can you whistle?

yes, but not very loudly or accurately

37. Do you sleep with a nightlight?

no, but ive always wanted a nightlight

38. Do you eat breakfast every morning?

ive started to, yeah! this morning i made a whole thing with bread and mushrooms and eggs, and coffee, and i ate it outside watching the traffic. im really trying to treat myself nicely you see. its what id do for someone else.

39. Do you take any pills or medication daily?

THAT

BOY

JUICE!

WELCOME TO MY BUILD A BOY WORKSHOP!

SHOTS!SHOTS!SHOTS!

and im really fortunate to be in pretty good health, and have access to things i do need

40. What medical conditions do you have?

I dont think… i actually have any. id say gender dysphoria but i think it was informed consent. (im VERY lucky)

im pretty sure there are SOME mental conditions running around undiagnosed. MY BRAIN IS NOT WORKING PROPERLY

41. How many times have you been to the hospital?

for myself? once… when i got hives and started swelling up all over, but otherwise was fine. i really wonder what that was. other times was visiting sick/dying relatives which has made me feel sad and apprehensive whenever i enter a hospital or smell the food

42. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo?

yes! i had a gerbil named nemo! 

43. Where do you buy your jeans?

D:

i dont … remember … really nowhere special i actually have yet to find some jeans i LOVE. sometimes there is a pair of jeans that sparks joy. i do not have such a pair

44. What’s the last compliment you got?

my sister said my pants looked good on me. they are actually their pants, which they left on the floor in my room for an unknown reason, and they want them back. of course.

but because im excited about it and want to brag, the real compliment was when i made borscht and my sister not only ate it faster than me, but wanted a second helping. and my roommate stuck his face in the steam and said it smelled good. hell yes. i put fucking cilantro in it. fcking beast mode.

45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning?

yes. theyre usually really emotional and symbolic. if ive been talking to my parents, theyre usually nightmares. ive been reading about dream interpretation for a long time to deal with some of the ominous images that can come up

46. What flavor tea do you enjoy?

red rose reminds me of wheni was little my mom would make really sweet sweet red rose tea for me (thats the kind she drinks all the time) and it brings me those good feelings. otherwise licorice spice really appeald to me for some reason.

47. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own?

LMAO UHHH…brb

six. because of social pressure.

48. What religion will you raise your children to practice?

i never thought about this kind of thing…. i really don’t know….. id just want them to know how to be kind to others and themselves and thats literally it. 

49. How old were you when you found out that Santa wasn’t real?

i was one of those edgy kids trying to spoil it for everyone. guess what other common fun thing my parents didnt do

50. Why do you have a youtube? 

i dont! so i dont know what this question means! :)

HOLY SHIT I MADE IT THRU HIGH FIVE 

[nobodiesheartlessshitblog45]

Simple Moments Scars.

RDR2 Fanfic

Emma road into near town to pick some few for Susan.

It had a been over month since she went out on her own, so it felt good to be independent again, and riding into did sound like a great idea.

She walks into a the store, pick up some Black thread, Needles. For reason Mr. Pearson asked herto pick a skillet.

Emma walked into the store, as she was looking around a few people were eyeing as she was she was  browsing the shelfs

An elderly gentleman was standing next to her giving her  disapproval look, eye the scars and eyepatch.

Emma: ... ... (looks at her) Hello? Can help you?

The man gives her discussed look and walks away. Emma stood there for a few moments, and found the black  thread and a skillet, and brought a the items up the Clerk.

Emma: Hello. (Smiles sweetly)

Clerk: Hello, Ma’ma. How are y— Oh, my! I mean, did you did what you were lookin’ for?

Emma: (forces the smile) Yes, sir.

She payed and walked out the General store in a hurry, feeling eyes on her she walked out.

Emma: ... (thinking) What the hell is everyone deal?! It’s like I have two head!

She looks at herself in the shop window, seeing her the right side of her face large scared covering her and eyepatch over stitched eye.

She sighs and begins walking down the sheet.

There people all around, walking by going about her day. A few people would stop and give her odd looks.

Emma just ignored them and walks down the sheet, taking her time looking around. Looking into the shops and market place.

She was walking on a stone bridge.

She stops and removes her eyepatch, and itches her sares. She looks out at the water, and some few men, fishing in a boat

She leans over the edge, and smiles peaceful. A moment of calm washing over her.

She watches as she saw a few ducks swinging by, when she heard a whispers from a 2 young woman standing near by.

They were well dressed and were looking at Emma with some form of discussed, some jewelry on, and their hair was nicely done.

Woman 1: Look at those scars on her face Isabella. Hideous. And... is she missing an eyes?!

Woman 2: My lord, how can anyone walk looking like that. Girl has no shame, Jessica, no shame at all. Lord help that girl.

Emma stood there, looking at the water, and truns to look at them.

Emma: I can hear you.

Jessica: Ahhhggg! Look at her face, Isabella! It’s so disgusting!

Isabella: (walks up to her) Who do think you are walking around like that in public place like this?

Emma: Um... Because it’s public, dumpass.

Isabella: This place is only public for upper class. Not ... Well, people like you.

Emma: Excuse me. (gets angry) The hell do you mean people like me?!

Isabella: Just look at you. Look at your face! (points to Emma’s right side) How can any woman walk around looking like you and be proud. You’re a distance. You’re ugly, you’re repulsive. You are absolutely disgusting! You should ashamed about yourself looking they you do! 

Emma said nothing only places a hand her right eye.

Then Jessica pops up from behind her sister.

Jessica: Stop talking to her. She could be the devil himself...!

Emma: ... ... Boo!

The two girls let out a horrifying shrieks, alerting one of the nearby officers.

Officer: What’s going on?!

Emma: (calming looks at the officer) I was minding my own business when these two-

Jessica: (butts in) T-This ... thing was trying to attack us!

Emma: ... ... Seriously.

Isabella: It’s true! She’s out of her mind, and tried to attack us honestly Christian women!

Emma crossing her arms, rolling her left eye.

The officer was trying to comfort you two woman door, and looks at Emma, and gives a disgusted look he notices her scars.

Officer: Ma’am, I’m gonna ask ya too leave.

Emma: Huh?! What...?! I didn’t do anything...!

Officer: Leave, of I’ll have to arrest you for disturbing the peace...

Emma stood there looking at the The officer, and the two girl, who gave her smug look.

Emma: ... ... F-Fine... I’m... I’m going.

She picks her bag, and begin walking away, down the bridge. As she was walking away, and trying to hold back tears.

She walks down by the river, and stood, drops the bag, picks up a rock and throws in the river.

Breathing angrly before sitting down the ground shaking.

Just then a family of ducks were walking, Emma saw them, and thought for a moment and reached into her and pulled out a bread ripped off a chunk and began feeding the duckings.

The duckings ran right over where to Rose drop the small bits of bread. The began eating

Emma then held out her, and the little ducklings were eating out her of it.

She smiles and watches the family of ducks and hen noticed a pare od of boots, lying on ground near bushes.

Emma raises brow and walks over or the boots, and looks into the bushes.

Arthur was lying there, on his back, not moving.

Emma smiles and laughs to herself, shaking her head in amusement.

Emma: ... Well, this isn’t a  surprise. Hey! Arthur!

Arthur says nothing, he rolls over on to side and grumbles softly.

Emma: C’mon, you big idiot, raise and shine~. (kneels down and shake him)

Arthur: (groan) ... Shhhhh... I’m dyin’, come back later...

Emma: Heheheh. We’re in public park. You’re gonna get in trouble if a lawmen finds you passed here. Get your drunken ass up, Morgan.

Arthur grumbles, but slowly sits up, his head was pounding, the sun Burning his eyes. He looks around confused.

Arthur: ... This ain’t my tent...

Emma: No shit. Now c’mon.

She helps Arthur to his feet, Arthur takes a few steps and falls over.

Emma: (starts laughing) Haha. I guess you boys must had fun last night.

Arthur: Ugghh, I don’t even remember what we did... Hahah. Ow... hehe. (places hand on his head) Aw shit, I lost my hat. And The rest of fellers.

Emma: I’m sure they’re around or in jail, and we can get you a new hat. (pats him on the back) I can help you look for them.

Arthur: Y-Yeah, later... Give me a moment to regret my Life decisions.

He sits down, and sees the little ducklings walking up to him.

Arthur: (smiles) Hello there, little ones. Where did you come from?

Emma: They my new gang.

Arthur: Heh. Is that so?

Emma: Yep. I decided to start my own outlaw gang.

Arthur crakes a smile and she sits down next to him, and hands a some bread. Arthur takes it and they start feeding the ducklings together.

Arthur holds out his hand letting the little duckling eat the the bits of bread.

Arthur looks over, and sees that Emma seemed to be sad and lost in lost.

Arthur: You okay, Em?

Emma: Hm? (looks at him) Yeah. Just... thinking.

Arthur: Okay. Ya wanna talks about?

Emma: ... Not really.

Arthur nods and two said nothing for a bit and sat down watching momma duck and thelittle ones go into the river and swim off.

Arthur: There gose your gang.

Emma: Yep. They were good members.

Arthur: Heh. Who are you here with?

Emma: It’s just me. I needed a to get away from the camp a bit.

Arthur nods understanding where’s coming from, slowly stands up, and stretche.

Arthur: I should, whoa, (stumbles) find the other’s.

Emma: Mind if I come with?

Arthur: Sure. Always enjoy your company, Em.

They two walked together, Arthur’s head was still pounding.

Arthur: Ughhh... You wouldn’t happen have an coffee with ya?

Emma: No, sorry, cowboy.

Arthur: I feel like was run over by a train... Twice.

Emma: Who were you with? And what did you guys do?

Arthur: Um, Hosea, Charles, Sean, Uncle, Karen, Lenny went back I believe... Some fellers were givin’ Karen a hard time and ... Well, needless to say we took care of’em, and that’s all remember.

Emma juat smiles, when they heard someone calling their names, Hosea, Javier and Charles coming over.

Javier had few hickeys this on his neck, a shit eating grin on his face.

Emma: Mornin’, boys.

Javier: And a mornin’ to you, Emma. You look absolutely ravishing today~.

Emma stairs at him, and looks at then for a few moments, forces a grin.

Charles noticed, and picked something was bothering her, but stay quiet as she and Javier talked.

Emma: Soooo, got lucky?

Javier: Hoho! You have no idea. I am a ladies man. I can understand the feelings of women.

Emma: Pfff, yeah! Sure! (walks pass him)

Javier: I do!

Emma: Whatever. Morning, Charles. (walks up to him, kissing him) Morning, Hosea.

Hosea: Mornin’, Emma.

Javier gives Emma a sour look, then two beautiful called out to him for a balcony.

Woman 1: Raul, do you really have to go?

Woman 2: Stay with us! We can work things out!

Javier stood there, gives a devilish smirk, walks up pulling his hat over face.

Arthur just rolls his eyes and walks away lighting a cigarette, Hosea and Emma give each side ways glances and Charles just stood there, kind of amused.

Javier: I’m sorry, rosas delicadas. But I must go. It was a magical night, and I will not forget you.

He takes his hat, bows his head, turns on his heels, walking away in a dramatic way, while the girl calling to him.

Arthur: Do you even remember their names?

Javier: I cannot remember. But (smirks) Ya see, my good friends, I’m lady’s man... I’m a gentleman of Grace the dignity.

Just then his starts rumble, his face gose green.

Javier: OH FUCK!!! (rans to the edge of the water, and starts dry heaving)

Hosea: ... A man of Grace and dignity indeed. (starts couching)

Emma looks at him worried, places her hand on his shoulder.

Hosea: I-I’m fine, dear. (gives her smile)

Emma: Are you sure? Y-You’ve been coughing a lately.

Hosea places a on her over the side of her face, smiling at her gently.

Hosea: My darlin’ Emma, I’m more than fine. Try not to worry about me.

Emma nods and his gives her kiss on the fourhead, then looks at Charles.

Hosea: Keep eye this one, Mr. Smith.

Charles: I will.

Emma: Well, I’m the only with one eye, so I can keep an eye myself easily.

Hosea: ... That’s not funny.

Arthur: It kinda is. (standing by smoking a cigarette)

Hosea give Arthur a look, who shrugs.

Emma: I’m gonna look around town a little more.

Charles: I’ll come with you.

Emma smiles and say their goodbye to Arthur and Hosea who going to looks for the other.

Arthur: Hey, Charles.

Charles looks at him, Arthur looks at Emma who was walking ahead of Charles.

Arthur: ... Make sure she’s okay for me.

Charles: I will.

And the two walked as poor Javier was standing by the river.

Javier: I-I’ll, ugh, be here... ... ... I hate my life... (starts to vomiting again)

Charles was walking with Emma, looking around. They didn’t say, Charles looks at Emma.

She facing the ground, a somewhat sad look in her, her shoulder were tense.

Charles: Somethin wrong.

Emma: ... No, I’m fine.

Charles: Emma.

Emma: I-I don’t wanna talk about it, Charles! Just leave it be.

Charles takes her hand gently. takes her hand.

She stop, and starts shaking, sniffing, she slowly turns to him, crying.

Charles reaches out and whipping away the tears, and takes to her to the near by wooden ear so they could get some privacy.

Making sure the far away enough. Charles looks at her.

Charles: Emma, you don’t have to hid anything for me. You can tell me.

Emma: It’s (whips her life eye) ... stupid.

Charles: ... (lifts up her chin) It ain’t stupid if botherin’ you.

Emma looks at him, then looks to side, feeling embarrassed, she takes a few moments.

Emma: O-Okay, if I tell you what’s bothering me, promise me you will not laugh.

Charles: I would never. You can trust me.

Emma: ... (takes a few deep breaths) Do... Do you think I’m ugly?

Charles was takes aback by this.

Charles: No. Never. W-What made you think that?

Emma: Ya know just... a random question. No big deal. (smiles)

Charles gives her sympathetic look, them Emma finally talked him about those dump rich girl said about her and scars.

Emma: ... I-I know. It’s really dump, and I don’t care what other’s think normaly but... Lately my ... I’ve noticed that people would give me weird looks when I walk down the sheet, and... and what those girls said... I (sniff) I can’t help feeling very uncomfortable about the way I look now. (starts to cry)

Charles looks at her, reaches out and removes her eyepatch, and kisses her scars.

Emma blinks, and Charles just smiles at her.

Charles: Beautiful. You, Emma Rogers, are just so damn beautiful. Scars and all.

Emma stood there, a tears falling down her face, the left side of her eye.

Charles pulls her into a kiss, and stood on her tippy toes, the a loud female moan could hread.

Charles: Oh~. Darlin’, I definitely made you feel better.

Emma: T-That ... wasn’t me

Karen: Huh?! Who’s there’s?!

She pokes her out from behind bushes and tree. Charles and Emma started at her.

Karen: Oh, it’s only two... Um, mind if ya ... ya know... git.

Sean: ... Karen, love~... Why-Why did ya stooooopp~.

Emma: ... ... We’re leaving.

Charles: Yeah.

The two walked out the woods and back into town. The both of them stood there, looked at each other, began laughing.

Charles smiles warmly has Emma had the beautiful smile on her as she was laughing so hard.

The hread their names being called and saw Javier walks over.

Javier: What’s so funny?

Emma: Haha. Nothing. Just... stay away from that area. Karen and Sean are having sex over there.

Javier: ... ... But the hotel is down that way. (jerks his thumb behind him)

Charles and Emma shrug and the they walks away, as they were walking Emma spots the Isabella and Jessica walking near by.

Emma: ... ...(smiles Evily) Javier, Charles, can I borrow come of clothes?

The men look at and each other.

The two rich women were making they’re down to the park, laughing and talked when they heard something for the bushes.

Jessica: What in the world was that?

Isabella: It could be a squirrel.

They kept walking, but when now and then they would hear loud footsteps from behind them.

Isabell: W-Who’s there! (turns around) You... You best back away. Our daddy is a rich lawyer!

Just then they was a loud evil which Like catliing sound, the and figures steps out of the woods behind them.

The woman scream, when has Emma had Charles hat and long jacket , Jacket’a and Poncho and hat, Arthur’s Black bandanna covering her.

Isabella: W-WHAT... WHO ARE YOU!!

Emma: Heheheh~! (in creepy old woman voice) I’m the Witch of The river... The trees of Speke about two of the most beautiful girls in the land... AaaaHehehehhehhe!!!

The two girl held each other, both of them white as ghost, while Arthur, Charles and Javier stood hidden behind trees, trying not laugh.

Isabella: A-A which?!

Jessica: Oh, lord, a-are the devil’s mistress?!

Emma: ... ... Um, Yes. I am! And I have for your—-

Jessica: AAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHH! SHE’S GONNA TAKE OUR SOULS!!

Isabella: PLEASE DON’T OWN SOULS!!!

Emma trying not laugh, keeps her Javier hand his hands over mouth, Arthur leaning against and the tree, grining at the show, Charles was still watching smiling watch Emma almost braking character.

Emma: NO, FOOLISH MORTAL, Pff... I’m come for your fresh! I wish become as beautiful as thee, unless...

Jessica: Unless...?! Unless what?!

Emma: Let me think...

Isabella: Tell us!

Emma: DON’T PISS OFF THE RIVER WITCH, YOU RICH BRATS!!

The girl screaming again, and began ripping off their jewelry and throw the purses at her.

Isabella: TAKE EVERYTHING!! WE’RE SORRY!!

Jessica: THIS IS GOOD!? PLEASE DON’T OUR BEAUTY!!!

Emma: (brakes character) Holy shit... Yeah, this is good. I’ll take it.

The the men began rawring with laughing. Isabella and Jessica were shaking.

Isabella: What’s... What’s the hell?!

Emma: Oh?! (Gose back to creepy old lady voice) THOSE AER MY HELL DEMONS!!! GO BEFORE THEY DRAG YOU YOU HELL!!! OR EAT YOU EEEEHAHAHAHHAHAH!!

The two girls yelled screaming and ran out the woods.

After making sure the were Emma bursts into laughter, Javier falls onto the ground, howling, Arthur whips his eyes, and Charles was holding onto the tree, trying to breath.

Javier: Oh Dios... oh, haha. An excellent performance, Emma. Well done. (claps)

Emma: Thank you, thanks very much. (bows) Haha. Yeah, now can you help me take all of this. I’m sweating like hell.

The men were laughing, and help Emma remove all the clothing.

Arthur: Oh, wow. Look this. (picks up one of necklaces) Dutch is gonna be a happy man when we bring this back home.

Emma: Ah, it feels good to working again, scaring the shit outta people and get pity revenge.

Charles chuckles and kisses her, and keeps watches, they gathered all the money and jewelry, and ran off before the lawmen showed up.

Needless to say today was very good day.

[star-nova]

The Lives of the RiffRaff:  James Weaver-The Preacher

Previous: 

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister Kali Muburu-Hair Tracy Kwan-Vergil Franz Fawke-Hecklers

I used to be a churchgoer way back when I was a kid. My family was Presbyterian, and they were the kind of churchgoers that took the roaming reverends into the guest rooms of their houses. In a town with a largely-Christian populace, it was a very big deal to be the house that was hosting the preacher. The neighborhood treated you like saints and commented on your goodwill and generosity for the entire duration of the preacher's stay.

I'm not a churchgoer anymore. I haven't been since I was sixteen years old, and I haven't hosted a preacher since long before that. In Tanager, the role of hosting the preachers was reserved for those dedicated Good Christians that show up every Sunday and spend the rest of the week attending all of the functions and running the charity drives; people like my parents. These were the same Good Christians who considered anyone who chose not to set foot in a church to be a lost cause. These same Good Christians shook their heads at me and my friends and called us RiffRaff, and every so often some particularly condescending soul would come up to one of us and say, “I'll be praying for you.” For what, existing? For being us?

In Tanager, church is considered a duty rather than an option, and to deny a roving reverend a place to stay while he was oh-so-generously spreading the good word is to open up a place in hell with your name on it. That's all right; I already know I'm going to hell, and I'll meet my buddy Arthur there.

Arthur is the only person in the world who regularly hears my voice, because he's the only person in the world worth talking to. The guy's wild even by RiffRaff standards, and wears the judgemental eyes of Others and fellow RiffRaff alike on his sleeve. He's the most interesting guy I know because you never know what the hell he's going to do next; one day he decided it was much better on the roof than it was on the ground, and spent the entire day up there without a shirt on. He got bored and started flinging chunks of slushie at the feet of everybody who passed by, until somebody threatened to call the cops. Another day, he shot off an entire canister of fireworks at ten PM in the middle of September. When I asked him what the occasion was, he said he just felt like blowing things up. He used to walk around with a black Zorro mask on, until a cop pulled him over and told him he had to take it off. “It isn't Halloween, man,” the cop had told him. Now he wears a hood pulled just over his eyes, even in the summer heat.

Arthur was an enigma because he was Arthur, and I was an enigma because I wouldn't talk. In Tanager, refusal to speak meant that you thought yourself too good to speak. In reality, I've never really talked except when I couldn't get along without it. The world, I figured, was already full of more than enough mindless noise. It didn't need me adding any more to it. Arthur talked enough for both of us and four additional people. He wouldn't shut up, and when it became apparent that I could let him do the talking for both of us while I absorbed the rest of the world's sound, I knew I had a friend for life.

Reverend Taylor Applegate is this season's preacher man. He'll stay till the second week in August, then go off into the horizon, his purpose in educating the lost souls of Tanager well fulfilled. He's a tall, lofty dude (Arthur bet me a steak at McEvoy's that they chose a tall one because he was “closer to heaven”), with corn-yellow hair cropped close around his head, because longer hair is “sinful” and “tempting” or something like that. He's got blue eyes like ninety-five percent of the people in this area, and he wears the ugliest grey and brown suits because color is “worldly” and black is “morose.” Outside of church, he wears t-shirts and button-downs like a normal person, but pairs them with neatly-pressed khaki pants even in ninety-degree heat. This town treats him like he's the Angel Gabriel himself. Arthur and I hate the guy.

My first encounter with the preacher was at the cultural festival where he made his grand debut. I'd only even gone to the fest because Arthur would be there with his fire batons (Arthur just loves fire; last year he did ground pyrotechnics and nearly set the stage ablaze). I was walking around in search of a decent food truck. Ramona Reinhart and Paige Wright were hosting foot races in the grass. To their right, Reverend Taylor Applegate of the Tanager Community Chapel was handing out pamphlets and preaching the good word. He was a young and good-looking guy, and must have been quite flustered by the sight of women in shorts tumbling in the grass beside him. I passed by on my way, and he shouted, “You! Yes, you! God bless you, my good man!”

Good man? Nobody who regularly hung out with Arthur Ratliff was considered a “good man.” I glanced at him, and his smile was so stupid-bright I had to look away before I was blinded. “May the rest of your day be filled with the blessings of the Lord!” he called out as I made a beeline for a barbecue stand. My silence was a shield against people like this.

A few weeks later, I was horrified to learn that he was one of those door-to-door preachers. They were the worst; the ones who thought they had every right to walk up to your door and interrupt you at your own house because their spiel is so much more important than whatever it is you're doing right now. Usually, these guys never took no for an answer, likely because in Tanager there's very few who would ever say no to a preacher, lest they lose their well-earned Good Christian points. They not only expected you to listen, but came to your door under the hard assumption that you would.

It was nearly five PM on a Saturday. Arthur and I were killing people on Black Ops 4, using the queue times to take bites out of the loaded nachos I had made. Every so often, our hapless opponents were treated to a nacho-crumb-laden stream of obscenities courtesy of my good friend. When he loudly declared that his most recent sniper victim had “Just got F'd in the A by his big, hard D, mothafucka',” I had to bite down on my lip to keep from losing it. Once the game was over and we were out of voice chat, I let it all go. Once I start laughing, it goes out of control, so only Arthur heard the doorbell rang. He continued chanting “F'd in the A by my big, hard D” as he got up to answer it.

I didn't see who it was that Arthur slammed the door on, but whoever it was rang the bell a second time. This time, I got up to answer.

“Don't open it,” Arthur said, but it was too late. There was the preacher man, the exalted Reverend Taylor Applegate, standing at my door in one of his ugly grey suits.

“Hey there, my man!” the preacher said, as if we were just the best of friends. “I think I remember you...didn't I see you at the cultural fest not too long ago?”

There was silence except for the game's BGM and Arthur crunching on more nachos.

“I think I did,” Reverend Taylor said. “I remember your face.” This is why Arthur would rather hide his. “Do you mind if I come in for just a moment?”

Arthur started up again: “Y'all got F'd in the A by my big, hard D! My big, hard D in her big, wet V!”

Oh dear god. I think I actually seized up in my attempt to suppress that laugh. The preacher took a step back, like I had morphed into a mad dog poised and ready to strike. His eyes darted back and forth like he didn't know what to do with himself. “Yes, well...” He looked up at the awning as if a suitable response was written up there. “I see you're...preoccupied.” He took another step back, off of my porch step. “God bless you, good men.” He turned to leave, and then it happened.

The guy ripped the loudest, wettest fart I had ever heard in my entire life.

The sound sent Arthur running to the door, to verify if it had really happened and the preacher had really, truly let out a legendary fart like that. In that moment, I would've given anything to see what his eyes looked like under that hood. The preacher visibly quickened his pace as he made his way towards the Bagarozzas' place. I closed the door slowly and returned to my spot on the sofa.

And then the two of us laughed until we choked on our own breath.

Sundays in Tanager were socially-enforced “quiet days.”

Only the stores and the restaurants remained open, and the two with liquor licenses would never sell booze on Sunday. Nobody went out anywhere or left town on Sunday, and to do so opened you up to an entire can of scrutiny and speculation. Of course, people still went to visit friends and neighbors, stopped at the deli for a ham and cheese sub, and occassionally went out of town to visit a sister or a mother or something. Only RiffRaff like us could be found running all over town on a Sunday afternoon, chasing eachother and running around the hills and getting up to some mischief as only RiffRaff do.

Early Sunday mornings were the best because nobody was around—everybody was out at eight AM service at the Tanager Community Church, including many of our fellow RiffRaff. In the summer months, some members of the clergy decided that the good word was better received in God's outdoors, and moved services out to the park underneath the circle of dogwood trees.

At seven in the morning, Arthur showed up at the door with his old hoverboard and said, “Let's go.” He and I were the only ones I knew over the age of thirteen who had hoverboards, and I only had mine because of him. I fished it out of the back of the closet and we hovered on down to the park, the world completely silent except for the birds that didn't care it was Sunday. It was a dreamland.

We made our way around the central fountain, where Arthur and his buddy Talia often filched tossed “wish” pennies. We passed by the drinking fountains and the curbside where the hot dog and ice cream trucks set up on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We hovered down one length of the walking trail and back the other way. Arthur chattered the whole way, first telling me about Franz Fawke's new barbecue grill “which he planned to take advantage of at every opportunity,” then switching over to the subject of Talia's upcoming birthday, and how she told him if he gets her yet another knife she will surely cut his throat with it. She had enough knives to build a Game of Thrones style throne out of them all. When he wasn't talking, he sang: “Little Sally Walker, walkin' down the street. She didn't know what to do so she jumped in front of me...”

After a while we detoured to the corner deli and bought breakfast sandwiches. We sat down on the edge of the fountain to eat them, and then took off our shoes and waded right in. No one was around to tell us not to; after all, it was just about time for eight AM service.

I expected Arthur wanted to clear out before the park got populated at eight AM, but oddly enough, he hopped back on his board and made his way to the dogwood trees. I followed after him, figuring he was planning to meet with Craig or Aaron, who would be at the service.

At eight AM service in the park, you brought your own chair or you sat on the grass. Arthur did the latter, taking a seat right up in the front and propping his hoverboard up beside him. I couldn't believe my eyes! I sat down next to him and asked, “What are you doing, man?”

“You'll see,” Arthur said. Of course he was up to something! Now I was dying to see what it was.

To say that it was shocking to see Arthur at a church service was an understatement. The Good Christians and RiffRaff alike who filed in with their lawn chairs seemed in equal parts alarmed and fascinated by his presence. Mara Tushud said, “Hey, Arthur, you're the last person I'd expect to see here,” while her father, Kane, gave him a look that indicated he'd better be on his best behavior or he'd know the reason why. His pal Aaron said, “I never knew you had it in you, Arthur!” His other buddy, Craig, walked right up to him and asked, “What are you doing here?”

His only response was, “I dunno, what are you doing here?”

The sight of me at a church service was just as rare, but nobody really paid attention to me, and that was how I liked it. My silence allowed me to fade into the background, and going around with someone like Arthur meant that he bore the scrutiny of others so I didn't have to. People said, “Hi, James,” and “'Sup, James,” and “Never thought I'd see you here, James,” but that was all. Until the reverend stepped up to the pulpit, Arthur had the floor.

Reverend Taylor greeted everyone with one of his characteristic angelic smiles, and then led the opening prayer. Even though I wasn't a Christian man anymore, I hoped Arthur would save his antics for after that; getting up to mischief during a self-indulgent church service was one thing, but I drew the line at interrupting a prayer with antics. Thankfully, Arthur remained silent for once in his life. He didn't bow his head to pray, but he was perfectly still and quiet as the Good Christian prayers commenced all around him.

Reverend Taylor opened up his Bible and began his spiel with a reading from the Book of Leviticus. I had been hoping for Revelations; it had always been my favorite due to the apocalyptic imagery and the sense of urgency in the reading. There was nothing special about Leviticus and my mind went elsewhere. I could have sworn I saw Ramona Reinhart flash a little smile at the reverend. I felt like gagging. She was a real pretty girl, but much too good to be making doll eyes at this clown. Besides, wasn't it a colossal sin to flirt with a preacher during a sermon?

I thought I was going to fall asleep, and I was about to nudge Arthur and ask him if we could go back to my place for Black Ops 4. I poked him, and he turned to me and held up one finger. While the preacher was going on about the many things that made a person unclean, Arthur pursed his lips, cupped both hands over his mouth...

“Pffffffffffffffffffffffffh!”

The entire world stopped what it was doing. It was as if time and space had compressed into a singularity at this very moment, right here in the park under the dogwoods, where Arthur Ratliff was making pooting sounds in the middle of a preacher's passionate speech on the unclean. “Pfffffhpffffhpfffffhpfffffffffffh!” Eagle-eyed Kane gave us both the coldest, sternest old-man look I had ever seen in my life. Sophia Bolshevik covered her mouth with both hands and looked as if she longed to sink right through the ground. The Others looked at us with some of the most prominent disgust I had ever before seen on human faces. Up on the pulpit, the preacher's awkward attempt to smile it all off was betrayed by his visible discomfort; he shuffled his feet and fiddled with his cuffs, and his eyes were darting around like they had that Saturday at my doorstep. I caught Craig, Paige, and Aaron trying their damnedest not to laugh, and when I felt the laughter brimming up inside of me I bit down so hard on my lip that I tasted blood. But it was no use.

I erupted.

“James!” Ramona cried when the first bellow escaped me. It was followed by another, and another and another, until I was screaming, shaking, and gasping for breath. I slumped all the way down to the ground and wrapped my arms around myself in a desperate attempt to keep the rest of it from coming out, but there was just no stopping me once I started. Tears stung my eyes and my sides were in agony. Beside me, Arthur suffered largely the same afflictions. We screamed, choked on air, and snorted like pigs. I'm pretty sure I farted a few times myself, but between my hysteria and Arthur's, there was no way anybody heard anything.

We kept on laughing as the Others around us slung the words “disgraceful,” “shameful,” and “absolute scene” around. We kept on laughing as an angry old lady confronted us, standing over us with both hands on her hips and looking at us like two unruly boys in her fifth grade class. “Both of you need to get your nasty selves up,” she barked, “and get out of here right now!” We kept on laughing as we picked up our hoverboards and stumbled to our feet, rushing down the trail as the Others apologized for our disgusting behavior and assured the preacher that “Those two are nothing good.” I knew our fellow RiffRaff would get them back for it later; they may have been ashamed of us now, but RiffRaff look out for one-another.

It wasn't until we reached the safety of the fountain that we could finally breathe again. When we got there, Talia was wading around in the water and picking up handfuls of coins.

“Where the hell were you two just at?” she asked, flicking pennies at our heads just to show us that she could.

“Church,” Arthur said, but  it was only partly true. He neglected to mention that we had just come back from the darkest depths of Hysteria, where twenty-six years of unused sound had escaped all at once, likely never to return again.

On the way back to my place, Arthur snuck up behind me, pursed his lips, and cupped both hands over his mouth. “Pffffffffffffffh!”

I punched him in the face.

[vestedbeauty]

Midlife Woman Discovers the Trees Are Still Green on Life's Detours

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/midlife-woman-discovers-the-trees-are-still-green-on-lifes-detours/

Midlife Woman Discovers the Trees Are Still Green on Life's Detours

Puzzled by your own life’s detours? This lady has a gift for you.

Young women make plans. Older women do, too. But we know that even if the plans we made as young women mostly played out, the path from here to there took some twists. Even more, we know that sometimes life’s detours gave us a better view than we ever imagined. Teresa unwrapped a surprising gift in midlife – and she’ll share it with you.

Peace and Quiet in a Small Minnesota Town

Follow her gaze, and you’ll feel your stress melt away. Leaves on the trees fluttering in a gentle breeze. Frogs croak in the tall grass rimming the nearby pond. Her napping dog sighs and snores, the model of contentment.

It wasn’t always like this. There were days, even years when Teresa’s path looked like it was descending into hell instead of anything resembling this idyllic scene. When we first met, this destination wasn’t even a dream yet. 

A lifetime ago, I’d written a book and created a course for moms who wanted to stay home and get paid to write. To test out whether my strategy would work as well for others as it had for me, I posted on WAHM.com, an old-school bulletin board. I offered the course free. Despite that price tag, the responses to my offer ranged from silence to downright ugliness. However, Teresa jumped in with both feet. She says I taught her everything she needed to get going and build a business that fed her family for years.

But running a successful business doesn’t mean life suddenly turns sunny every day. It doesn’t undo the damage we sustained beforehand. And it certainly doesn’t mean we suddenly know how to love ourselves – or others.

“This is who I am, with all my flaws, faults, weirdness, and crazy path. And it’s okay.”

Here’s the story of how this 58-year-old gave herself – and everyone around her – the best gift ever.

Tell Me What You Want, What You Really, Really Want

Teresa says one part of my book really shook her. It was the part where I talked about being bold enough to ask for what you want from your business… and your life.

Honestly, answering, “What do you want?” is pretty tough for many people. I’ve seen people paralyzed by pondering that question. Ask a kid, and you’ll get an answer immediately. Ask an adult, and they’re likely to go into a tailspin. We want a list of available options to choose from so we can answer. 

Of course, it’s a lot easier to rattle off all the things we don’t want.

That’s not a bad thing. It just takes a little thoughtful reverse engineering to turn a “don’t want” list into a more resourceful line of thought.

But that’s not what many people do. They recite the list of what they don’t want, noting where life’s detours have left them hurt, dissatisfied, and feeling like a burned pile of ashes. 

Teresa used that question to create a beautiful life. Not an uncomplicated one, but one that echoes her favorite advice: “It all works out.”

No Stranger to Tragedy and Pain

Teresa’s early childhood looked like any random family in the 1960’s and ’70’s. Remember those days? You’d go outside to play. Mom might even lock the door behind you, and you wouldn’t come home until the street lights came on. She and her five siblings fought, played, and loved each other. Nobody had any hint that everything was about to change.

When she turned nine, her family was in a car accident that killed her mom, a brother, and a sister. Teresa, her dad, and one sister spent a long time recovering in the hospital. After leaving the hospital, it seemed like everyone expected her to just go on with her life.

This was 1972. Counseling wasn’t really a thing. 

Her family was Catholic. The response she most often got in her grief was, “Well, it’s God’s will.” Can you imagine anything more horrible you could tell a child in this situation? “Half your family got killed because God wanted it that way.” 

Deep in his grief and desperate to take care of his surviving children, Teresa’s dad remarried quickly. His new wife instantly became the stepmom to four grieving children. They moved frequently. They did their best to right a life that had turned upside down. Where Teresa’s mom had been all cookies and ice cream, her stepmom was strict – a caretaker who did her best but who found herself in a story gone off the rails.

They also adopted an unspoken rule: “Don’t talk to Dad about it.”

With today’s broader understanding of how humans work, you might be thinking that’s a great way to raise a whole family of alcoholics. And you’d be right.

No writer is complete without a good dog.

The Troubled Years You’d Expect

Teresa says her teenage years were a nightmare, at least from the perspective of a parent. She partied and ran around with boys, grasping at what looked like happiness like her life depended on it.

She got pregnant with her first child. Her landlord sexually abused Teresa, disintegrating any fragile feelings of trust she’d managed to salvage. Teresa began to drink heavily after her daughter was born.

Eleven years later, she had her second daughter and got sober. She’d hired a babysitter to care for her girls while she worked. It turned out that her babysitter’s husband was a pastor. Old-fashioned, wearing homemade dresses, and baking bread from scratch, this woman brought a sense of comfort and safety, a throwback to the distant past. Teresa went through a born-again Christian experience, which set the foundation for her life from then on. She went to Alcoholics Anonymous. She went to church. Life was good.

Eventually, a man came along who swept her off her feet. They married, and Teresa thought maybe life’s detours had come to an end. Perhaps she’d finally found what she always wanted. 

“This is my first wife’s grave.”

Standing in the cemetery on her wedding night, Teresa realized she’d made a horrible mistake. Her groom had just revealed a secret – that in a fit of PTSD-induced rage, he’d shot and killed his first wife. She was wife #5, and she soon discovered that her husband was an abuser on a mission to isolate her from everyone she loved.

“I married a crazy person,” Teresa says. The marriage lasted a total of six months, from the wedding day to divorce. During those six months, Teresa and her girls survived constant abuse and gaslighting. Her husband even managed to have Teresa’s youngest committed to a mental hospital while she was a second-grader… over Christmas vacation.

Breaking free from him was both terrifying and absolutely critical. Teresa began putting the pieces of her life together again.

And then her daughter got pregnant at 16. Teresa was a 35-year-old grandmother. An unexpected blessing, but Teresa loved her grandbaby beyond imagination. “There’s something about a grandchild that’s so different from your own child. This child was my whole world,” she says.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Fast-forward to 2009. Teresa had moved to Minnesota and become active in her church. She even acted in a play her church produced, cast as the wife of a man she’d come to have feelings for. Al was nothing like anyone Teresa had ever dated. He’s a wonderfully kind man, short of stature but tall in character. Not classically handsome, and certainly not the bad boy she’d typically found attractive, Al was just a sweet and devout guy. Knowing he was traditional and a bit old-fashioned, Teresa waited for him to make the first move, which wasn’t easy. But eventually, they married.

If you’re waiting for Al to turn into Mr. Hyde, you’ve been paying attention. Relax. It doesn’t happen!

However, more of life’s detours were in store. Soon after their wedding, Al needed surgery. Then Teresa had a bad pap smear that led to a hysterectomy and a mountain of medical bills – all within four months of their wedding. She also has fibromyalgia, and her body went crazy after the surgery. Where she’d once been energetic and engaged, she became listless and drained. Her social life evaporated.

Not long afterward, one of her grandchildren came out as transgender. While this revelation could shake a family anywhere, living where they do, “this was not okay.” Teresa felt confused, distressed, lost.

Her daughter had been reluctant to talk about it. She’d worried that Teresa and Al would beat them over the head with the Bible. However, her grandchild was more than ready. 

Just Love Her. Just Love Them. Just Love Him.

Teresa prayed and prayed. “God, how do I do this?” God’s answer was clear. “Just love her.” 

As time went on and Teresa started to adjust to this twist, the message changed. “Just love them,” she heard. And then finally, it changed again to, “Just love him.”

One day as Teresa scrolled through Facebook, she saw that her grandchild had a new profile picture and a new name. That’s when it became really real.

“Ask me whatever you want. Say whatever you want to say,” her grandchild told her. Teresa marveled at how well her grandchild was handling it all. “Watching this kid deal with the time it took for his loved ones to get onboard was astonishing,” she says.

A year later, though, as many transgender people do, her grandson was really struggling. He’d dropped out of school and was suicidal. He started going to Teresa’s house during the day to do his schoolwork online. They spent a lot of time together. Teresa’s one goal was to let him know she was on his side no matter what.

Unconditional Love Wins, Even Along Life’s Detours

Some might struggle to reconcile living as an evangelical Christian with fully embracing a trans person. But for Teresa, there was no way she’d have anything but love and compassion for her grandchild. 

She stopped going to church, which caused some challenges in her marriage. After all, their shared faith was the foundation of their marriage, which was changing for Teresa. She battled a lingering sense of fear that this plot twist would wreck her whole life. 

Al had a hard time with it all at first. Teresa describes him as a rule follower, not a rebellious person in any way. “But every single day, he prays in the morning for our family, marriage, and all the grandkids,” she says.

When Kameron turned 18, he went to court to change his name and gender on his driver’s license. He didn’t go alone. Instead, he sat surrounded by his family as witnesses. Al and Teresa united to support him. Teresa says, “From the day Kam’s name change became official, Al’s never used the birth name again. This guy can be a rule follower – it works for him. But he can also accept the fact that I’m not, and we can be okay. That’s when I started having more peace again.”

Teresa puts it beautifully:

“It’s not about tolerance. I’m not about to just tolerate this kid. I love him with my whole heart.”

Life’s Detours Make for Unimaginable Beauty

It was a rough go for a long time for Teresa. Looking back, life was certainly not the smooth ride any child might expect. Even the past decade had some of the toughest times she’d seen. In battling health and financial challenges and emotional upheaval, Teresa went through a debilitating depression that isolated her. She’d found it too hard to focus on her writing, and she felt like she’d destroyed her career.

But her story of life’s detours is one of resilience. She says:

“Even when your dreams don’t pan out the way you plan, misery is a choice. Even when circumstances are tough – and that can make clinical depression worse – it’s up to you to take care of yourself and say, “You know what? Look around. I have a beautiful home, a beautiful yard and trees and a pond I can see, and my family and grandkids.

It all works out. You hit that place where it’s all okay. Even along life’s detours, the trees are just as green. Don’t stop looking for what you really want until you find it. No matter what it is.”

Teresa has become an advocate for LGBTQ people, and you can read more about her story on Medium, and find support on her new Facebook page, Call Your Mama T.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

I painted this back in November, in the midst of my transition from the Nelson Star. I’d been attending Power By You, a CrossFit gym downtown, for nearly two years. 

The trainers there had come to my rescue when my relationship ended, and Katya in particular was incredible at holding me accountable to my eating and training goals.

When I moved the last of my stuff out of Nelson a few weeks ago, I stopped by PBY around 4 a.m. and I left this painting outside for my friends Ali Popoff and Leo Grypma (cutest couple in Nelson, tee hee).

Preamble over. Next up, I’m publishing the text of my story “Enough of seeing” below. It’s one of the stories in Whatever you’re on, I want some (taking inspiration from Denis Johnson’s short fiction collection Jesus’ Son) and it’s told from the POV of Paisley Troutman, my gypsy folk powerhouse of a main character. She’s just fled from her island refuge on Quatsino, leaving her girlfriend Amber Bennett behind.

I would love feedback to kootenaygoon@gmail.com. Thanks for reading.

The Kootenay Goon

Enough of seeing

Will Johnson

AFTER I LEFT, a busload of singing Christians fed me potato chips. There was the talkative insurance agent wheel-tapping along to Shania Twain. Then a spacious SUV piloted by a handsome African man wearing a Bluetooth headset. And finally the family from Saanich, who picked me up along the Malahat Highway and dropped me off in Goldstream Park.

I crouched shitting, semi-conscious in the evening’s shadows, amidst dangling sword ferns and moss-blanketed tree trunks that ascended dripping into the canopy. At the public washroom I’d rushed pathetically, ass clenched, only to find the door bolted. What was the point, even, of bringing rolls of toilet paper when I couldn’t even keep them dry? Mushed maggot clumps stuck to my digits, and I pitched the whole mess into the foliage. My thoughts scampered directionless through the corridors of my mind. One of the Christian kids had spent hours attempting to convert me, proselytizing with parroted anecdotes and memorized Bible verses, body slung playfully over the bus bench, making a spectacle of his suburban innocence. I knew he was probably safely indoors now, supervised, while I shivered under the universe’s nakedly disapproving glare.

“Don’t you want your life to have meaning?” he asked.

The kid’s bill-tipped hat seemed custom designed to rest in the crease of his hair. He read to me from Ecclesiastes: “The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was hitting on me or not. His confidence had a creepy edge to it, like he’d spent his whole life being told how right and special he is.

“Basically, we believe life doesn’t have true meaning unless you have Christ in your life. These kids get one week a summer to get a taste of what’s in store for them if they commit their hearts to Him.”

You’re always going to exist, I thought. Even after you develop critical thinking skills and ditch this medieval religion, there will just be another sixteen-year-old hankering to take your place. 

And another one after that.

While cross-legged in the insurance agent’s Mazda Miata, I shared a dainty joint she’d retrieved from her bra. Her hazard lights flashing on the shoulder, she asked me to stand sentinel while she squatted to piss in the scrub grass, hiking her skirt over milky fat hips. Her car was paper-stacked, with crumpled fast food wrappers and discarded drink receptacles piled in my footspace like the lining of a gerbil’s cage. She promised to take me as far as Nanaimo, where she was meeting a man she’d met on an online dating website.

Beneath billowing orange-pink sky explosions we left the highway with a gentle lean and coasted to a stop at Nanaimo’s first intersection. Immediately upon stopping the insurance agent’s manner changed and she began to divulge intense, personal details about her relationship with this man. “I’ve given myself over before, right away, because it feels right. That’s the type of person I am. I’m really accepting, and if I’m going to be in a relationship then I’m going to give it my all, you know? And I know sometimes that means I get taken advantage of. I understand the dangers, but I do it anyways. Does that mean I’m self-destructive, do you think? Is there something wrong with me? I’m trying to recognize my negative thought patterns.” Eventually she dropped me off at a bus stop by the high school, and drove away.

The sky was overtaken with purple, the pinks darkening to blood red, and then ocean-like the blackness rose. The driver of the SUV, a girl’s soccer coach on the way to a conference, was listening to people argue about gender equality on the radio. I was still semi-stoned and couldn’t follow the debate, so I leaned my forehead against the glass and fell asleep with condensation dripping down my face. When I woke up we were idling in the parking lot of a Duncan motel, and the man waited wordlessly for me to climb out.

“Take care of yourself now,” he said.

The next morning, around 7 a.m., the family from Saanich picked me up in a minivan while I marched along the shoulder, spearing the concrete with a Gandalf-like walking stick. There were two blond parents and a pair of well-behaved kids, preteens probably, a boy and a girl. The Malahat Highway wound up through rock clefts, the sloped curves and humped apexes giving drivers ample opportunity to collide with oncoming traffic. The family was eating McDonald’s breakfast and talking about a television show I’d never heard of, so I quickly became bored and fell back to sleep. Forty minutes later they clambered out into the Goldstream parking lot, fist-knotting their hiking boots and pulling on matching Lululemon wind-jackets, preparing to hike up Mount Finlayson.

“You sure you don’t feel like some exercise?” the father asked, because he felt like he had to. He was stretching his calves. “We’d be happy for the company.”

“I’m supposed to be in Victoria by this evening,” I lied.

Morning bird calls erupted all around, and I watched the four of them laugh-jog into the woods, slapping each other’s arms and gesturing effusively at their surroundings. I detoured off the trail, scrambling over a few embankments until I was just out of sight of the parking lot. Then I went back to sleep under a shaggy Douglas Fir, with tail-like hanks of white-green moss dangling overhead and a spongy bed of it underneath me.

All that happenstance to bring me to this moment, mid-evening and mid-shit, when I jump at the scream of metal on metal.

“What the hell is your fucking problem? Look at my truck!”

The two vehicles had met, hood-to-hood, at the narrow exit leading back up to the highway. I was twenty feet away. Late evening now, the entire area was deserted. Glass shards twinkled in the glare while both engines continued to rumble. Two jean-skirted girls flip flopped out of the truck while the driver hoisted himself out after them. He had crashed into a small hatchback sedan, driven by a nervous college kid wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Even from the woods I could see his animal panic, his head ducking deer-like from one side to the other. Finally he opened the door.

The truck driver, I could tell, was a muscled hick kid perpetually ready to scrap. He was wearing a skin-tight black beater tucked into well-worn Carhartts. Each of his pock-marked work boots looked like it weighed twenty pounds.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“I guess I wasn’t paying attention. It was my fault,” said the kid. At least he’d figured out that much. “Listen, I’ll get my insurance.”

“You scared the girls.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Listen, I really am sorry.”

I stood thirty feet away in the dark, with my bag, waiting for the next thing to happen. Mist tendrils wisped through the tree trunks as the fight commenced. Bodies hurled, slapped, thumped. The logistics were banal, mundane in their simplicity—knuckles meeting shoulder blade, hip bone, neck—and the kid’s response ranged from feeble to nonexistent. He whimpered, pain-dancing in the headlights. The girls made a spectacle of attempting to intervene, shrieking like hyperactive kids and grabbing at their friend, until one of them staggered back from a elbow to the eye socket. The kid’s pavement impact sounded wet.

The truck crunched out of the parking lot, dragging the kid’s bumper, and turned right on to the highway. The kid was doubled over with both arms outstretched towards his feet, balanced up on one hip, like he’d been reaching for his toes and toppled over. He coughed and spasmed, jerking like a flattened windowsill insect.

Traffic droned through the trees. I jogged through the woods towards the highway, waving at the yellow eyes hurtling down the mountainside.

A taxi U-turned into the park’s entrance. I yanked open the passenger door and told him, “Some guy got the shit kicked out of him down there. Pretty bad.”

“Someone you know, hon?” he asked, glancing down the dark lane way. The glow from the kids’ headlights could be seen, but little more.

“No, just some guy. Unconscious, I think. You got a phone?”

He pulled his parking brake with a grunt, twisted his keys to turn off the engine. “Cell coverage is spotty out here, but let’s give it a shot.”

The cabbie’s tone was nonchalant, unworried. He motioned with a flash of his wrist for me to sink into the passenger seat, which I did gratefully. His composure was comforting. He was a thin, hard-looking man wearing a denim vest over a T-shirt that read Kiss My Bass. The flailing green fish erupted from his chest, already hooked. He held a flip phone to his ear while he smoked, the cigarette see-sawing as he spoke.

“What kind of injuries does he have?” the cabbie asked, phone chin-wedged to his shoulder. “They want to know how bad he’s hurt. Is he talking?”

“I didn’t really look.”

“Why don’t you run down there and check?”

The kid was gurgle-moaning as I approached, one of his feet dragging noisily back and forth on the ground. I stopped a few feet away, stomach-sick with empathy pain, staring afraid at the thick clots of crimson slicked into his hair and pooling on the pavement. I crouched down by his face and reached out to squeeze his hand, which was about all I could manage in that moment. I wondered if he could feel my skin, whether my presence here during this moment would register in any meaningful way. He was pretty, skin soft like an infant’s, with an expensive-looking and elaborately shaved white-blond haircut. His gasps came with mint whiffs, and it made me sad to see how much work he’d put into his newly destroyed face—a ragged flap scraped off his eyebrow, a purpled lump rising in his hairline, his lips crusted and foamy. Eventually I whispered something to him that you once told me: “remember this is just a moment, and all moments end.”

Maybe I imagined the cheek-twitch of recognition. Maybe not.

Eventually two police cruisers pulled down into the parking lot, while another parked on the shoulder behind the taxi. Rain drifted at us sideways from the forest as cop radios rambled at the car’s empty interiors. I sat on a massive stump for nearly fifteen minutes before anyone thought to address me. I gave my account to an attractive woman with a tight black ponytail. While we talked two paramedics kneeled beside the kid and shone flashlights in his eyes. He remained unconscious, having rolled at some point on to his back luxuriously, but they readjusted him and pulled an oxygen mask down over his face. That’s when he began to vomit, pinkish stomach contents filling his mask until he choked and spat, involuntarily whimpering.

I thought once I’d told my story I could head back into the woods unnoticed, but the cops wanted me to come to the Victoria Police Department. They’d already stopped a truck, only a few clicks down the highway, and they wanted me to ID the assailant. I sat in an air conditioned room an hour later, my soggy bag under my feet, as the cops waited for the others to arrive.

“Hopefully this won’t take too long,” one of them said.

“They’re thinking brain damage at this point, with a head wound like that. Without you we’ve got no leads. You’re the reason this guy will do time.”

“Good job.”

I asked to use the washroom, and one of them led me down a hallway and opened the door with a key. After I finished, as I swung the door open, I was met eye-to-eye with the truck driver as he swished through the automatic doors at the end of the hallway. I meant nothing to him, of course, and as leftover urine spotted my underwear I watched as his female companions were led from the cold blackness of the parking lot into the station behind him. The first was Cleopatra-proud, chin jutting with dignity, though she was barefoot and bleeding. The second wasn’t so cooperative, and was bouncing back and forth between two flustered fat cops, who held their hands back as if in fear of a wild animal. She was young—sixteen or seventeen—and her flesh was hyper-alive with feral, drunk rage. Throwing her weight into one officer she propelled herself into a flying roundhouse that nearly caught the other one in the throat. She hit the ground hard, howled ape-like as she kicked her feet uselessly at the sky. It was a violent, bombastic, pointlessly beautiful spectacle and neither of her friends were there to witness it. Only me. As one officer pinned her face to the ground with his knee, she wrenched her face into position and clenched her teeth into the meat of his shin. I was transfixed. I’ve spent my whole life trying to summon up that sort of emotion. I’ve never been able to fight back.

The kid survived, I found out later. The cops made me promise to show up in court a few weeks later, then drove me back to the edge of the highway. White-gold, the sun incinerated the horizon as it cast its deep black morning shadows. Across the ways the trees congratulated me, groan-rocking, their limbs outstretched in preparation for the coming applause. And you said I was useless.

The Kootenay Goon

[stephhannes]

dead dadiversary 2: electric boogaloo

On this day (plus 1 day) two years ago, I heard my father take his last breath. Though two years have passed, the grief still sits in the back of my mind every day- rearing its head at the worst possible times. For months now, I’ve been able to push it aside, I’ve had a lot going on to distract me- finals, graduation, moving to New York, being broke, trying to find a job, etc.  But now, for the last week, as I’m trying to go to sleep I’ve found myself lying in bed and quietly crying. I’ve been unable to keep my dead dad feelings repressed like I normally do. There’s been a lot of re-living scenarios, conjuring up guilt that I shouldn’t really have but still do anyways. There’s been a lot of “It’s not fair that my dad is dead!!!” anger. There’s just been... a lot. As I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting lately, I remembered an essay that I wrote 10 months after my dad died as a term paper for my Women’s Autobiographical Writing class. I never posted it online anywhere- so as a celebration of my 2nd annual Dead Dadiversary, here it is

+++

My dad was an alcoholic. I hate telling people that, not because I’m ashamed of my father, but because of the reaction I always get. It’s always the same sort of unease from anyone I tell. No one knows how to react, because everyone assumes that because my dad was an alcoholic, he was inherently abusive. Or that he was inherently a neglectful father. Or that he was inherently just generally not a good parent. That’s the farthest from the truth though. My dad was the best. My dad was always the best. When my dad died, I wrote something to read at his funeral, and I feel like this directly reflects the impact he had on my life.

A few days after my 20th birthday, my dad came into my room and said- “It has been an honor and a privilege to spend these last twenty years with you,” I feel like this is an appropriate sentiment to start this speech, because I reciprocate that wholeheartedly. There is no one I would have rather had by my side for the last 20 years. I couldn’t have asked for a better parent. Despite my acting like an awful teen at times, he always was on my side. I think that’s what I’ll miss the most. I’ll miss having someone who had my back 100%. I’ll miss having someone who was always making sure I was happy. No matter what I wanted, my dad would always see that I got it.

When I decided that I wanted to go to art school in Chicago, he didn’t say “that’s not realistic,” he started to help me get everything in order to go. When those plans fell through, he helped me apply to UT. When I got accepted, he helped me move to Austin. During my first semester, when I doubted my major, while other parents were forcing their kids to be lawyers or doctors, he told me to do what I love. At the end of the semester, when I had a breakdown and hated college, he told me that I didn’t have to go if it wasn’t making me happy. My dad always encouraged me to do what made me happy, and he always did what he could to ensure I could live the life I wanted. I’ll miss that kind of guidance the most.

I’ll also miss the little things as well, the way he called me ‘old sport,’ or the way he listened to me ramble on and on about whatever it was that I was obsessed with. (He could probably tell you 100 different useless facts about My Chemical Romance) The way he always helped me with my school projects (not just the 5th grade science fair, but even my college research papers). The way he always stocked the fridge with food I loved when I came home from college etc.

My dad was my best friend, which I’m sure a lot of you feel the same way about. Never in my life have I met someone so compassionate and caring. I have never met someone who cared so deeply for everyone they loved. In my life, I hope people remember me as fondly as everyone remembers my father.

When I was growing up, my mother was a nurse; she worked at an inconvenient time every day. While she was working, I went to school from 7:45am to 4:45pm, which meant that our paths crossed very little. For the first 13 years of my life, I never really saw my mom. My dad was an alcoholic, but he still woke me up for school every day. He made me breakfast, and brushed my hair. He walked me to school and gave me a kiss goodbye every day. At 3:45, every afternoon, he was there waiting to pick me up. He walked me home, made me dinner, and helped me do my homework. Every night he tucked me into bed and made sure I went to sleep at a normal hour.

When I was growing up, my dad always went to all my soccer games. He cheered me on relentlessly even though I was the most embarrassing player on the team. He came to all my choir performances, even though I only sang one line most of the time. He volunteered at every single event my school put on. He organized talent shows and chaperoned field trips and donated money. My dad was an alcoholic, but he was always my biggest supporter.

In elementary school, of course, I didn’t know that my dad was an alcoholic. At night I would hear my parents arguing over money, but I never really grasped what exactly was happening. At night I would hear my dad complaining about how he was unhappy, about how he could never sleep well, about how tired he was. During the day he wasn’t like that, he was my best friend. My best, coherent, alert friend. My dad was an alcoholic, but he never let me see it when I was a child.  

In middle school, my dad was my closest friend. In 6th grade, my family had just moved from Austin to Abilene and I was having a hard time adjusting to the new city. I didn’t make friends very easily, because I was very different from everyone else. Everyone at my new school was very clean-cut, very Christian, and very affluent. I however, was a little weird, very non-religious, and very poor. It was hard for me to relate. In this time of transition, I would come home and complain about my day to my dad, every single day. He would let me vent, he would give me advice, and he would ask if there was anything he could do to make it better. If there was anything he could do, he would do it without skipping a beat. My dad was always there to make sure that I was happy. My dad was an alcoholic, but my happiness was always his number one priority.

In high school I finally started to understand what was going on. Partially because the situation had escalated, and partially because I was old enough to start to realize the character flaws in my father. My dad had a routine, every morning; he would go to the grocery store and get groceries. He would run errands, and then come home and clean for a few hours. He would pay the bills, and then he would start drinking. I’d come home from class and he would be on the couch. We would watch Jeopardy together and then I would go to my room to do homework. He would make dinner. Then he would drink some more. And some more. He’d drink until he was able to eventually fall asleep. And then he would fitfully sleep through the night. He would wake up the next day and do the same thing over again. My dad was an alcoholic, but he still managed to keep the house together.

In this time, I started to get an opinion on his drinking. I hated it. It made me so unhappy to see him like that. When he was drunk, he just wasn’t himself. It’s not that he was mean, or abusive, or negligent. He just wasn’t who I knew and loved. I missed my dad so much. My dad was an alcoholic, and it was starting to take a toll on me.

When I went off to college, it was great because I got the best of my dad at all times. I didn’t have to see him when he was drunk, but we would constantly talk on the phone. I’d call him during the breaks between my classes, and I’d call him whenever I needed help on an assignment. I’d Skype him once a week and make fun of his long hair and tell him how much I miss him. He’d get drunk every day. He was still always my biggest supporter, my best friend, and my confidant. I’d come home for spring break or for Christmas and spend time with him, he would be drunk for most of it, but the few sober moments I got were the greatest. My dad was an alcoholic, but he still loved me despite all the poor choices I made during college.

February of my sophomore year, I got a call from my mother. Dad was in the emergency room. The trip to the emergency room turned into a bunch of meetings with doctors, which turned into a cancer diagnosis, which turned into him only having three months left to live. I guess I was in denial of the whole situation, because I just played it off like it wasn’t really a big deal. I continued to go to school, would call home occasionally and majorly just ignored what was happening. My dad’s health continued to decline, but three months later, he was still alive. At this point he was living on borrowed time. My dad was an alcoholic, and he was dying.

In May, I moved back home to spend time with my dad in his last few months. His friends and I would joke about how he was past his expiration date, but it was incredible to me that he was still alive. In this time, we got hospice services involved. My home turned into a makeshift hospital. Where laughter and conversation used to fill the room, the sound of my dad’s oxygen machine hummed. Where we used to make dinner together every night turned into a graveyard for empty take-out containers. Some days were better than others though, and those good days were incredible. The bad days were devastating. My father became a ghost of who he used to be. He was unable to stand on his own, unable to speak clearly, unable to live his life.

When I was younger, I was a child actor. Part of that hobby included being able to cry on cue. Only one thing could make me cry on cue, thinking about my dad being sick or dead. Nothing triggered tears quicker than the thought of losing my dad. Any time I needed to conjure up some tears, whether it be for a scene, or to get my way in an argument, I would just think of that. Though I was experienced in making myself cry, nothing could have prepared me for when it actually happened. During the summer before my dad died, I played over how it would probably go in my head over and over- just to prepare myself. I figured that in the early morning, I would hear my mother crying, and that would be it. I was basically right.

In my parents’ house, my room is directly next to my parents’ room, which means that I can hear whenever they’re watching tv, or talking through the walls. I could also hear my dad struggling to breathe in his sleep. I could hear how each breath was a huge undertaking. I was heartbroken. I was scared. I knew it was coming. The next day, when the hospice nurse came, she told us that they were going to start “comfort care” for my dad. Morphine every 15 minutes, no food or water unless he asks for it. That night, I heard the same struggle for breath. I finally fell asleep. I woke up at about 6am, and could still hear the breath getting caught in my dad’s throat. At 7:20 I stopped hearing it. At 7:30 I heard my mother wailing. At 7:30 I walked into my parents room to see my mother holding my dad’s hand in bed, my dad lifeless. At 7:32 my mother turned to me and said, “I just lost my best friend,” I choked out a weak “me too,” and sat down next to her quietly. I was in shock. My dad was an alcoholic, and he had just died.

The days following that are a blur. I had never known such a deep and profound sadness. When my dad’s ashes got delivered, I didn’t know what to do with them. We didn’t get an urn. We put the ashes in a flowerpot we had bought from goodwill a few months beforehand. I think he would have appreciated that. So many of my friends reached out to me, some people I hadn’t talked to in months sent condolence texts. My best friend immediately went out and bought me a ton of snacks and mailed them to me the next day. My home was filled with flowers, and condolence cakes, and “sorry for your loss” cards- but it still felt overwhelmingly empty without my dad there. My dad was an alcoholic and I missed him every single hour of every single day.

In the months following his death, I went through all the stages of grief. September was a month of constant tears. Not only was I under the stress of taking 15 hours of class, but also I was still just trying to cope with the loss of my father. Every little thing would remind me of him. Every time something happened, I wanted to call him and tell him about it. I found myself missing the littlest things about him. That’s the hardest part, the little things. The way he would email me stupid jokes he found. The way he would call me “old sport,” every time we talked on the phone. The way he would call me just to tell me about a cool new song he heard. In October I was angry, angry that my dad was gone. I was angry with myself for not being as present as I could have been during his last months. I was angry at the universe for taking away my best friend. In November, I finally settled down and got my emotions in check.

It’s been 10 months since my dad died, and I don’t miss him any less. I think of him every single day and I wish more than anything he was here. I’m upset that he’ll never be around to see me graduate, or see me get married, or witness the day that I finally get a job and stop borrowing money from my parents. I’m upset that I’ve lost my best friend. Despite that though, I’ve finally started to come to peace with it. Every day I try to live my life in a way that I know he’d be proud of. I try to remember his constant support. I try to remember his words of assurance when I feel like things are going terribly. I try to remember the way that he treated everyone with kindness and compassion. Every day, I try to do the same. I put everyone in my life before me; I’m always a shoulder to lean on. I want everyone I know to feel the same way my dad made me feel- loved and happy. My dad was an alcoholic, and he was the best person I ever knew.

[adambstingus]

This Is Not Hazing. This Is Rape: Inside a Texas Towns Football Nightmare

LA VERNIA, Texas—When Jennifer’s* son made varsity—as a freshman, no less—it should have been cause for celebration.

Here, football is king. The town is one of the oldest communities in the Lone Star State, with a rich history dating back before the Alamo.

It’s lush and green, with farms, donut shops, and about a dozen churches ministering to the population of 1,200. Crosses and bluebonnets dot the tranquil streets, and there’s a historical marker on nearly every block. Neat rows of mini-mansions sit nestled behind the pristine elementary school, and neighbors happily chat over weekend errands at the H-E-B—the only grocery store in city limits.

Jennifer’s sprawling property rests just outside city limits, a two-story butter-yellow home filled with hand-carved wooden crosses. Her kids like to play ball in the front yard as cows graze nearby.

She was home on the day her son learned he was promoted to varsity. But he and his friends were uncharacteristically nervous about leaving the JV team behind to move into the new locker room.

“My son comes home and is like, ‘I heard that there’s something that happens to us,’” Jennifer says.

He’d heard a rumor. Something about an initiation to the team. It involved sodomy.

Jennifer was horrified but skeptical that the—admittedly outrageous—rumor was worth worrying about.

“I looked at him, I was like, ‘You’re lying, that’s not true. That’s a lie,’” she protested, crying as she remembers it now. “We trusted that the coaches were watching them, and, you know, taking care of them.”

Police later told Jennifer that witnesses say her son was raped with a broomstick. He has not corroborated those accounts.

In February of this year, a victim went to La Vernia police with claims of sexual assault by the town’s athletes. As the investigation unfolded, police found at least nine more victims of alleged abuse—spanning a period of at least three years—by football, baseball, and basketball stars.

The varsity players were accused of sodomizing their younger teammates with various instruments, including baseball bats and carbon-dioxide tanks. A total of 13 students so far—six of them adults—have been arrested and charged with either sexual assault or sexual assault of a child.

All of the suspects who have released public statements or spoken through attorneys have denied their involvement in the alleged crimes. None of them have been indicted.

One warm evening in May, Jennifer and Michelle* sat on a back porch in La Vernia, 30 miles southeast of San Antonio, recounting the scandal. They describe themselves as “sports moms” and say their families customarily attend one of the big churches in town. They’ve both lived in the area since before the H-E-B moved in—the typical dividing line that separates longtime residents from outsiders.

“We can guarantee we’ll always be at those football games on Friday nights because our sons play,” said Michelle. “You don’t really see my face around the school much unless somebody’s messing with one of my boys.”

The mothers gush while describing their sons as “above-average athletes,” goofy and popular.

“They like to showboat and stuff, but, you know, they’re teenage boys, and they’re already pre-NFL,” glowed Michelle.

But even as the moms rooted for the La Vernia Bears at Friday-night games, they were unaware their sons were allegedly being raped by their teammates.

Both women shook their heads, as the sun set over the green farm horizon. “We all thought we were living in an awesome little community, you know?”

Then, one day in March, Michelle got a call from the La Vernia Police Department.

Five minutes later, she was sitting in the police station.

“‘I’m not going to sugarcoat it,’” an officer told her, as he allegedly detailed the various items used: deodorant bottles, soda bottles, pipes, and baseball bats.

“What did they use on my son?” she asked, sobbing angrily.

“‘I’d rather not tell you,’” he responded. “‘You don’t want to know.’”

‘Do Not Judge Unless You’re Without Sin’

The 13 suspects facing criminal charges include Colton Weidner, Christian “Brock” Roberts, and John Rutkowski, who are all 18 and members of the school’s basketball team. According to arrest affidavits, Weidner, Rutkowski, and an unnamed juvenile held down a struggling 15-year-old while Roberts raped him with a flashlight.

Also charged were 17-year-old Alejandro Ibarra, 17-year-old Robert Olivarez Jr., and 18-year-old Dustin Norman. They stand accused of holding down a 16-year-old boy on a bed while sodomizing him with the threaded end of a carbon-dioxide tank, according to arrest affidavits.

“The victim struggled to stop the assault, but was overpowered by the four suspects and pinned down where he could not move,” La Vernia Police Sgt. Donald Keil wrote in an affidavit.

Around the time of his arrest, Ibarra took to Facebook to defend himself and his teammates.

On a local reporter’s Facebook post, Ibarra wrote of Olivarez and Norman: “They didn’t do anything… I was with them every day and we were never involved in this stupid shit!… If you don’t know the whole story behind it don’t bother commenting… and yes they are my friends… my brothers.. I was raised with them.”

Since the arrests, all 13 boys are walking free on bail until the investigation makes its way into a courthouse. “What’s bugging me is that these perpetrators are still running around La Vernia,” groaned Michelle. She’d waited outside the school to watch on the day her son’s alleged tormentors were hauled out of class and arrested.

“They’re still out and about and they’re posting pictures on Instagram and Facebook and having a good old time while they’re out on bond or whatever.”

Several of the accused seniors even joined in on the prom festivities this past spring, despite being barred from the actual dance. They dressed up, took pictures together, went to a group dinner, and rode in the limo with their friends, according to photos viewed by The Daily Beast.

“They took pictures and went out to dinner for a night on the town and all that,” Michelle said. “It’s like their parents are rewarding them. If that was my kid who had just sexually assaulted another child, he would not be going to prom.”

Not everyone in La Vernia is bothered by it, though. A very large section of the community is emphasizing mercy and forgiveness for the accused. “They’re very quick to defend the perpetrators,” said Jennifer. “There’s a sense of entitlement for some of these families, that they deserve ‘innocent until proven guilty.’

“They’re very quick in our community to quote the Bible,” she continued. “Oh yeah, ‘Do not judge unless you’re without sin.’”

Both women believe the same community members preaching compassion aren’t extending it to their sons and the other alleged victims. The suspects “were grabbing [the younger boys] in headlocks and hitting them with belts,” Jennifer said. “They’re threatening [my son] while he’s taking a shower with no clothes on.

“I think a lot of these perpetrators think that they’re going to get away with it because they’ve never been held accountable,” she continued.

One day, Michelle and her son were shopping in H-E-B when they saw 18-year-old Dustin Norman grabbing a bag of dog food in an aisle nearby. (Norman is accused of holding down the 16-year-old boy as others sodomized him with a carbon-dioxide tank.)

When her son pointed him out, Michelle could only mumble curses under her breath. They soon saw him again in AutoZone.

She said she stopped herself from doing anything more because she’s a Christian woman and because he “should be treated or punished as an adult,” not by a victim’s mother, she says now.

“He’s vile,” she sighed.

Jennifer said she believes the suspects and their families have fallen into a habit of “playing victim” in the aftermath of the scandal and that others in town are letting them. All of the suspects reached by The Daily Beast declined to comment, with the exception of Norman, whose attorney maintains his innocence.

“You know, if this had been done to a bunch of females,” Jennifer said, “it would’ve been rape straight up and there would’ve been no way around that.”

Even though police told Jennifer that five or six witnesses came forward to report assaults on Jennifer’s son, he—like many other victims—doesn’t want to talk about the alleged abuse.

“At the beginning, both boys felt sorry for the perpetrators,” said Michelle. “They didn’t want them to go to jail and lose their scholarships and lose everything they had going for them.”

“He doesn’t want to see his coaches lose their jobs,” said Jennifer. “They feel very indebted to them.”

Jennifer believes her son is holding back for similar reasons and “because he feels so loyal” to his coaches and teammates, who have been his longtime friends.

“When you’ve got all of that happening, it’s no surprise to me that no one would come forward,” said Alesha Istvan, the director of community initiatives at Break the Cycle, a national nonprofit that works with teens to prevent sexual assault.

“The stigma associated with being a victim of sexual assault period, whether or not homosexuality comes into play, just creates this whole culture of silence,” she noted, emphasizing that the dynamics of a small town and a football team only contribute to that culture.

“In certain communities, it is not what you talk about,” she explained. “You assume it’s not happening. So when it does, it rocks you to your core. For some, it might be easier to stay in denial about it.”

Jennifer and Michelle both expressed confusion at what to do next for their sons.

“I tried to take him to counseling today, and he said he didn’t want to go back,” Michelle said. When he told her he just wanted to “forget about it,” she replied, “Baby, you’re not going to forget about it anytime soon. This is just starting.”

“It’s very painful. For some of the freshmen and sophomores, this was their first sexual experience. And it was violent,” wept Jennifer. “That breaks my heart.”

Both women say they believe that their sons felt the alleged assaults were part of routine varsity initiation. “They thought it was a rite of passage,” said Jennifer, the conversation visibly wearing on her. “They were so desperate to play football. They thought it was normal.”

After the accusations came to light, Jennifer said that other students harassed the alleged victims in the halls, calling them “rats” and “snitches.”

Inside the school’s blue and white halls, an 18-year-old student, Joshua*—who spoke to The Daily Beast with the permission of his parents—said high-schoolers were largely instructed by teachers to keep quiet about the allegations. He said, in April, that school officials told kids over the intercom, “Don’t let it define us as a community.” School officials stressed that remaining quiet about the alleged assaults should be part of “the healing process,” he said.

Still, he said then, “everyone is talking about it.”

Joshua—who has since graduated—said a lot of students were siding with the accused athletes. Some of the teens, mostly athletes, were calling the victims “rats and snitches,” he said, echoing Michelle and Jennifer’s accounts.

“A lot of the athletes are saying there’s no real victim here,” he said.

At least one teen even expressed his support for the accused boys by wearing a T-shirt to school with Robert Olivarez Jr.’s face on it. The shirt was made for a playoff game last year. (Olivarez Jr. was the one who allegedly raped the 16-year-old with the carbon-dioxide tank.)

“The football team means more than anything around here,” Joshua added. “The football team is what means the most to the community and the administration.”

But for Joshua and some other students, “this [scandal] has to be seen” instead of hidden because the “school has gotten away with so much… it’s so incredibly sickening and we all want justice for [the victims].

“It’s shocking that no one died,” he added. “With how brutal it was.”

‘New Year, New Initiation’

“This is taking place in the locker rooms during the day on school property,” Michelle said. “In the buses, at the little team parties. Anywhere they could do it, they were doing it.”

The mothers say there were even assaults in the locker-room showers and that boys began keeping on their underwear while bathing because they were terrified of being targeted.

According to their sons, once enough pairs of underwear were allegedly ripped off and stuffed down the drains, it clogged the pipes in the school.

La Vernia Independent School District Superintendent José Moreno, through a representative, “politely declined” to comment on this story—and the allegations herein—when reached last week. (Note: This story previously identified Pascual Gonzalez, who has been assisting the district with media requests, as a “spokesman” for Moreno. He is not an official spokesperson for the district.)

In April, a civil lawsuit was filed in Texas’ Western District Court, claiming that school coaches “sanctioned these rituals” and that other school officials “turned a blind eye toward the abuse, even after the abuse was reported to them.”

The 19-page complaint—filed on behalf of an alleged victim, Child Doe—names the school district, Superintendent Moreno, Principal Kimberley Martin, and Coaches Brandon Layne, Richard Hinojosa, Chris Taber, Keith Barnes, and Scott Grub, as co-defendants in the case.

According to Doe’s lawsuit, as a 15-year-old freshman, he was promoted onto the varsity football team. During an away game in fall 2015, three upperclassmen allegedly forced Doe onto the locker room floor and raped him using a Gatorade bottle.

The suit alleges that the whole school quickly knew about the attack, including a teacher who reached out to Layne, the school’s athletic director. According to the complaint, that teacher told Doe—in front of her class full of students—that the alleged assault was “wrong” and that she was sorry. She urged the other students to “cut it out,” according to the suit, and emailed Layne about it. She allegedly told Doe that “it would be taken care of.”

The complaint claims that Layne—who left the school before the scandal broke—told his varsity players to quit abusing one another.

“You won’t be able to get a job, no girl will want to date you, and you could go to prison,” the complaint says Layne told the players. (Reached by email last week, Layne said, “Due to there still being open cases, I don’t feel it appropriate to comment at this time.”)

Despite this alleged deterrent, Doe claims that his teammates repeatedly attempted to assault him over the next year. Doe’s complaint says that at one point a senior grabbed him at an indoor practice facility in the school while holding a metal pipe—and flipped him over, threatening to rape him with the instrument. When a coach walked in, the senior dropped the pipe and walked away.

During another attempt just two weeks after the first attack, according to the complaint, Doe was “punched and fondled” before fighting off his alleged assailants.

But he wasn’t able to escape every time, and Doe alleges that he was raped again with a cardboard tube stripped from a coat hanger. Doe said the players who attacked him laughed during the assault, chortling, “New year, new initiation.”

Doe’s lawsuit sought damages for mental anguish, physical pain, medical expenses, and punitive damages—and his family was hoping to censure the district’s employees. He withdrew from the school after the alleged assaults.

But the suit, which was filed by San Antonio attorney John Kemmerer “J.K.” Ivey, was dismissed in July, citing Ivey’s recent decline in health. The alleged victim’s family may later reopen the case if they so choose.

(Before the case was voluntarily dismissed without prejudice by the Doe family, the defendants filed several motions to dismiss the case.)

Ivey told The Daily Beast in April that the case was likely “just the first shot” and that he “would not be surprised if this was just the first of what will be many lawsuits,” though no other civil suits have been filed.

Nearly everyone interviewed for this story—on either side of the allegations—placed blame for the abuse scandal squarely on La Vernia High School and the La Vernia Independent School District.

“What those boys did was sickening, but, at the core, the school is at fault,” Joshua’s mother told The Daily Beast in April. “We send our kids there every day. It all boils down to the school.”

Jennifer echoed that point, observing that Superintendent Moreno was far “too worried about the school and the football program” to handle the abuse claims with any compassion.

It’s “typical for La Vernia,” Michelle added, to “sweep it all under the rug.”

Both of the moms want to see the entire school cleaned out: “All the coaches, the superintendent, the school board, the vice principal, the principal.”

When the scandal broke, the first email sent out to parents following the arrests was titled “HS Athletics Letter March 23, 2017.”

“The title of the attachment was deceiving and the body of the letter said nothing,” seethed one concerned parent, Stephen McNeill, at a May school board meeting. “It leads me to believe that title was intentionally written that way in order to mislead. Maybe to hide the fact that Mr. Moreno has finally admitted that there has been a problem in one of his schools.”

The meeting that day took place inside the picturesque high school, awash with evening sunlight on Bluebonnet Road. The glass doors were spray-painted with colorful messages of support: “We <3 our town” and “Go Bears, Go!” Pickup trucks and SUVs thronged the parking lot, where trees peacefully rustled.

What started out as a routine Monday-night event—handing out ribbons to gifted students, issuing bland announcements about upcoming events—became charged and hostile when McNeill rose to speak.

“For over a month, you could not even bring yourselves to say the words ‘alleged sexual assault,’” fumed McNeill, admonishing Moreno. “To the victims, this says that you do not believe the accusations and are just protecting the perpetrators, the [La Vernia School District] administration, and the board.”

As McNeill hollered at the administrators, La Vernia Police Chief Bruce Ritchey—who is no longer leading the investigation into the assaults—hid behind a column in the very back of the room, where extra chairs were stacked, where no parents or reporters could see him.

Ritchey did not respond to multiple requests for comment for this story, and he refused to answer questions when approached at the school board meeting in La Vernia. But in March, he told The Daily Beast that the assaults were “a hazing gone bad,” adding, “these kids were stupid.”

Moreno, too, has been largely unwilling to give one-on-one interviews to reporters or to answer questions in a public forum. Instead, he typically pulls reporters into a private room during the school board meetings, where he reads from a prepared statement and will only discuss positive changes being made in his administration.

His first public comments on the scandal came in the form of a Facebook post encouraging the community to “tell our story before someone tells it for us.”

He wrote, “Let others know that we as a community will not be defined by the negative press outside of our community and various social media outlets. Be proud to let them know that just this past week our Bears and Lady Bears soccer teams defeated their opponents in the first round of playoffs.”

At the May school board meeting, Moreno read aloud from another prepared statement. “I realize the allegations have impacted our entire community,” he read. “Our hearts go out to our students and our families as well as our teachers and our administrators. I ask that we continue to reach out and support one another. Let’s hold strong to our La Vernia family values and not allow for news headlines, social media, or gossip to negatively influence who we are or the success of our students and who they will become. Thank you.”

This circle-the-wagons tone was echoed by Taber, the school district’s head football coach, who claimed in a March statement that he informed all male athletes at the school that “measures are being taken by the athletic department to ensure students are participating in a safe environment.”

Students, he emphasized, will be supervised “at all times” while in athletic facilities.

“I know this is a very troubling time for our students, staff, and our community,” he wrote. “It is very important that we stick together. We will be strong and get through this together.”

Then he added, “Go Bears!!!”

‘It Ain’t No Damn Tradition’

The varsity sexual-abuse scandal may be the largest to engulf the La Vernia school district, but the town has weathered a shocking number of school-related problems over the years—including the alleged rape of a middle-schooler on campus last year. The school district never announced the rape to parents, according to multiple sources, but it was widely known around the small town. (Neither the school district nor the police department responded to questions from The Daily Beast about the alleged rape.)

Then, this past May, a La Vernia High School student was charged with possession of child pornography after a fellow student told police that she was assaulted and that her attack was filmed on the suspect’s phone. According to the victim’s account, the assaults happened on campus—in a school hallway—in November 2016. During an interview with police, the suspect allegedly admitted to having other images on his phone. According to police records obtained by News 4 San Antonio, officials found at least 20 photos of nude children between the ages of 8 and 14. Superintendent Moreno issued a statement after news broke of the arrest, noting that disciplinary action was being taken and that the suspect, who was never identified, was expelled from the school on Dec. 1.

It isn’t clear if the suspect was involved in any of the alleged athletic team assaults or if the child-pornography case ever went to trial. Ritchey never returned phone messages seeking comment on the case.

There have also been allegations of theft and embezzlement within the district, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. In 2011, a seventh-grade teacher led police on a high-speed chase and was arrested for possession of methamphetamine and assault on a public servant. That same year, a vice principal at the middle school committed suicide. A local story about that case was appropriately titled, “La Vernia Parents Left to Speculate About School Board Secrecy and Turmoil.”

In 2015, a physics and anatomy teacher at the school was arrested and eventually convicted of an “improper relationship” with a 16-year-old student. He is now serving 10 years of probation as a registered sex offender, according to Texas Department of Public Safety online records. The next year, in 2016, a La Vernia math teacher quietly resigned during an FBI investigation that later resulted in child-pornography charges. Theodore De Aubrey, 57, pleaded guilty to one felony in that case.

Twenty-eight employees have so far resigned or retired from the La Vernia Independent School District in 2017, local TV station KENS5 reported this month. The year before, 37 people reportedly stepped down from the district. There are four schools in the district.

“In my position there, where I had an insight into just how many people resigned and how many new hires there were each year, the amount of turnover was surprising to me,” Brian*, a former employee at the school district, told The Daily Beast last week.

According to KENS5, one former teacher wrote in a 2013 exit letter that they quit because “psychological working conditions are very poor” in the district. The unidentified teacher continued, “I began to feel very professionally vulnerable, as I realized that my supervisor was, in my opinion based on my observations, more interested in keeping things quiet and peaceful, than doing what was professionally responsible and ethical.”

Brian said he was surprised anyone was so explicit about their reasons for leaving.

“I certainly didn’t detail all of the reasons for my departure when I resigned, but if I had been truly happy with my work environment, I wouldn’t have been looking in the first place,” he said.

Moreno, unsurprisingly, responded to the KENS5 story in a prepared statement, “The investigation led by the Texas Rangers as well as the one led by the school district continue. No reports have been issued yet. As is common with any school system, a certain percentage of the employee work-force retires or resigns at the end of a school year. La Vernia ISD experienced the same. People choose to leave for a variety of reasons, mostly personal like new jobs, moving, or retirement.”

“The level of scandal and stuff that happens in La Vernia is very unusual” for the town’s size, Brian said in May, over coffee in San Antonio. He asked not to be identified for fear of losing future work opportunities in Texas education.

“La Vernia Independent School District is the biggest employer in town,” he said. People won’t speak out because they’re “afraid for their jobs.”

Brian said that after the hazing arrests, Superintendent Moreno “completely missed the mark” when it came to showing concern for the alleged victims or parents whose children could have been affected.

“I think all he can see is what’s best for the district,” Brian explained. “With him you’ll get moments, moments, of genuine, and then it’s back to business.

“The people who work there can only follow the lead of their leader. When you have someone who isn’t concerned with the welfare of his own employees and only concerned about how the district looks to the outside, everyone else’s hands are tied,” he said.

“That’s the way Moreno operates,” he elaborated. “It’s all about how things look. It’s always been that way.”

The abuse scandal has been hard for La Vernia—which likes to think of itself as “exceptional,” Brian said. People in town want to believe,“‘We’re a community of God, we’re holier than thou, we don’t have things going on like that in our community. We don’t want to possibly think that any of our star athletes, boys, are doing things like this to other boys.’

“They don’t want to think that kind of thing would happen in their town,” he said.

Angela*, the parent of a student on the football team, told The Daily Beast that the shroud of secrecy and the lack of transparency from the administration has only made the community more tense.

One night in March, the father of a suspect walked into a restaurant in town and—referencing the assaults—yelled, “It’s a lie! It’s bullshit! It never happened!”

“I think everyone is just really embarrassed,” Angela said. “We’re all praying very hard that the truth will come.”

She implored: “Every instance—whether it’s bullying or sexual assault—it should all be public knowledge.”

Police say the alleged varsity sex abuse may have been going on since at least 2014. But one former football player, a quarterback on the team more than 20 years ago, told The Daily Beast that he never experienced anything so violent while in school.

Adrian Guilbeau, a 37-year-old former homecoming king who still sports a La Vernia tattoo, comes from a family that has lived in the historic town since the 1800s. They were one of the first black families to move to La Vernia, and Adrian says he was the only black student enrolled when he attended the school.

On a Sunday afternoon this past spring, he sat with his mother, 62-year-old Audrey Calhoun, inside of her white mobile home. The house is decorated with a neat green trim; there were wind-chimes on the porch and cigarettes on the coffee table.

When Adrian was on the varsity team, initiations typically involved carrying other players’ books to class or being knocked to the end of the lunch line. “We poured oil in [a teammate’s] car one time,” he said, laughing. “On the seats and stuff, on the windshield. Dumb stuff like that.

“One time, we turned the lights off in the weight room and threw weights—now that was dumb. But physically assaulting somebody like that?… This to me is not hazing. This is rape.”

His mother interjected, “It ain’t no damn tradition.”

“This is city shit,” Adrian said, referring to the sexual assaults. “It’s what they do out there and it’s wild and crazy. People from the country don’t do that.

“I’m not saying it’s the H-E-B’s fault, but when the H-E-B came in it changed everything,” he added. “La Vernia was a small town, there was a grocery store, we had a wood store, a mini mart, there was one Dairy Queen.”

Audrey said her family found out about the scandal through Facebook comments and the news, like most other families in town.

“I feel like people knew something was going on and they just closed their eyes and dismissed it,” she said. “Like La Vernia does.

“Little people—like I call us, we don’t live in big houses or fancy houses—are dismissed. They don’t listen to us. From what I’ve heard, there’s been complaints in the past, and nothing was done.

“If you’re Mr. So-and-So or whoever with a big name and you have all this money in La Vernia, then you’re protected, something’s done for you, and they listen to you,” she lamented.

In town, both mother and son agree, the school is the hub of social activity and power.

“The school is the main interest,” Adrian said. “If stuff happens with the students, it’s going to cause mass hysteria. You have to keep that quiet because you’re going to lose money.

“For years it’s been like that because football is the biggest attraction,” he said. “La Vernia’s all about football. If you’re not in athletics, you ain’t shit.

“It’s the image,” added Audrey.

“On a Friday night after the game [the players] go to someone’s house, and everyone’s loaded up on beer, alcohol. Win or lose, we’re getting drunk. That’s just how it went. Now I guess they’re touching on boys.”

“Football is everything,” Adrian stressed. “If you’re on the team and you played football, the athletes are sort of shielded.

“I did feel invincible,” he said of his time as quarterback. “I felt like I floated through the motherfucking hallways.

“What are they going to do, kick me off the football team?” he mused. “I’m the shit; they need me.”

‘They’ve Ruined His Life’

“Dustin is innocent,” says his lawyer, Alfonso Cabanas.

That would be 18-year-old Dustin Norman, whom Michelle saw in the H-E-B, the one accused of helping rape a boy with a CO2 tank. Cabanas, who spoke to The Daily Beast from his office in downtown San Antonio, sat perched behind his desk.

He emphasized how much he believed in his client’s innocence.

“He’s had a very hard time,” Cabanas said. “Dustin is a soft-spoken, mild-mannered kid who never had any disciplinary issues… [but] they label him and call him a child molester and a rapist.”

Norman wasn’t allowed to walk the stage during the La Vernia High School graduation, but he did receive his diploma and will attend college in the fall.

“They’ve ruined his life,” Cabanas said of the school district. “He’s ostracized everywhere he goes, including H-E-B and Whataburger.”

The district’s decision to expel Dustin, Cabanas said, was “extremely unfair” and his client has considered legal action as a recourse.

“You can see how or why Dr. Moreno’s inaction has led to this mess,” Cabanas noted. “I think the school reacted without thinking of the consequences.”

Like most others interviewed for this story, the attorney took issue with the lack of communication and transparency by the school district. The spread of the story on its own, via local news and social media, created a “hysteria” that Moreno could have prevented, Cabanas said.

“The school is trying to protect itself,” he said. “If, in fact, this incident did happen, why not go after the teachers, the athletic staff who knew about it and did nothing to resolve it?

“[Moreno] passed judgment right away,” Cabanas added. “He did not have compassion. They violated Dustin’s due-process rights.”

People in town, Cabanas claimed, have turned on the 18-year-old.

“He’s been secluded to his home,” the attorney continued. “It affects his mom, just like it would affect anyone’s mom. They’ve been ostracized by the community and their coworkers. They’re upset. They would ask that people respect their privacy and to not pass judgment on the arrest and mugshot and to wait until the facts come out. It has taken a toll on them.”

It may take some time for all those facts to emerge.

The investigation began in earnest in March, when police began interviewing alleged victims. Within days, at least nine more boys were sitting in forensic interviews at the local child-advocacy center. Police say there are at least 10 victims, but Michelle, Jennifer, and others in town claim there may be more who don’t want to come forward or admit that they were abused.

Before long, the Texas Rangers and the state attorney general’s office swooped in to take the case out of local hands.

That decision was “applauded” by La Vernia’s mayor, Robert Gregory. “It was best that the case moved over for the Rangers to be in the lead role and our [police] department being in the support role,” he told The Daily Beast, over the phone. “We’ve had great support from the state. Once this investigation closes, my role is going to change. My role will then be to bring the community together.”

Even though Gregory has been at his post for five years, not a single family interviewed for this story knew his name. He still has not spoken publicly about the scandal, and a lot of residents want to know why he’s been so absent in the face of serious community hardship.

The mayor said he understands that there’s frustration in the community over the “perceived lack of information” but points back to the ongoing investigation, and he says he’s limited in what he can say.

“Once we start to put some closure to this, I think you’ll see the community realize what did or didn’t take place,” he said. “We’re still a vibrant community and we will get through this.”

Gregory also appears alone in his belief that Moreno has done a “fabulous job” in his role as superintendent.

“Everything has been proactive in terms of safety in the school,” he affirmed.

“Every time that we’ve ever had something—like a car accident—take place, this is one community that always comes together,” Gregory said. “We bear that tragedy together. That’s a place I want to live in and be a part of.

“We pray, we raise our kids, and we try to do it to the best of our ability.”

Gregory’s definitely not alone in stressing the need for La Vernia to rally right now. Various civic groups have organized shows of solidarity—including Grandma’s House Childcare, whose owner Sue Coats organized an April 5k walkathon in the city park to fight child abuse and raise awareness. The walk began and ended at a white gazebo in the center of town, covered in blue bows and pinwheels. For the walkers, there were cakes, chili, and face-painting.

“Everyone needs to be prayed for and have the cloud lifted over us,” Coats said, the Saturday of the event. “We need to be united again.”

Only about two dozen people gathered for the walkathon that warm and windy day. Most of those present were not even from La Vernia but instead were members of the San Antonio chapter of Guardians of the Children, a motorcycle group that advocates against child abuse. (“This is still child abuse, even if the actors were minors also,” said chapter President Tom Patterson, 51, who has been in the group for six years. “It’s not too surprising to see teenagers doing this.”)

Despite the low turnout, Coats is hoping she and other La Vernia residents can help “bring our community back together again.”

Coats’ children long-ago graduated from the high school, but she said they were never aware of any assaults when they were students. Her husband, Doug, is a retired football coach. They both lament how the town has changed since the H-E-B opened nearly five years ago.

“You don’t recognize everyone you see anymore,” said Doug, noting that in the two decades his family has lived here, the population has doubled. More and more subdivisions have moved in and taken away some of the city’s trademark serenity, he lamented.

“I used to like the quietness, but now I don’t know.”

Still, the community is more resilient than people are giving it credit for, he said.

“People say [the abuse scandal] destroyed the community. It hasn’t destroyed it. It’s going to be around forever, if Jesus doesn’t come back,” he noted.

“We’ll survive this, believe it or not.”

‘Hope and Healing’

Since the scandal broke, La Vernia’s faith leaders have been encouraging the town to embrace mercy and acceptance for the accused rapists.

Right after the arrests, the La Vernia Ministerial Alliance and the La Vernia News hosted a joint community service with 10 local churches to encourage “hope and healing.” Students and parents spent the evening filling plastic Easter eggs with positive messages of hope and praying together.

Pastor Steve Curry, of the La Vernia United Methodist Church, told local media at the time that the service was intended to “lament what’s happened: the loss of innocence, the crimes that have taken place.”

Over at St. Ann’s Catholic Church, Father Stan Fiuk hosted at least one youth ministry in which he called for forgiveness. (One of the suspects, notably, was a youth leader at the church, according to multiple sources.)

“We want to see only negative, but I am asking where is positive?” Fiuk preached to the congregation. “Not only on the level of La Vernia, but on the level of the state, on the level of the country, we are sick. These children need mercy and we have to learn to be merciful because they are victims of the sick society.”

St. Ann’s director of religious education, Shannon Kosub, also told local media: “I hope that those in our community that are true Christians will show true mercy to everyone involved and will reach out to show love. Because that’s all our duty is, is to love.”

Some people, like Gary Darnell—a bespectacled, ponytail-wearing member of the Baptist church in town, known as “Uncle Gary” to the flock—believe the abuse scandal is part of God’s plan to bring the community closer together.

“It has to,” Gary insisted, as he stood in the grass at the city park. “It has to bring people closer to God because it requires a lot of forgiveness.”

Gary has lived in La Vernia for seven years. He’s a photographer for the La Vernia News and the Wilson County News. Like many La Vernians, he blames the coaches and the administration at the school for the scandal.

“I’m really upset with the coaches and the principal,” he told The Daily Beast in April. “How do you not protect them? The school’s athletic program isn’t that important—not at the expense of some other kid. And that’s what it turned out to be.”

Gary, looking on at the park, said he believes La Vernia is the kind of place where neighbors volunteer to fix one another’s porches, a community where people feel a responsibility and compassion for each other. But “the devil has a way of trying to manipulate the world and create chaos,” he said.

“They’re all kids; they’re still kids,” he continued. “Kids on both sides will suffer their whole lives.”

The town’s youth ministries are particularly consumed with how to address the scandal. On a sleepy Sunday in May, at the 10:30 a.m. youth-led church service at La Vernia United Methodist, the lessons presented by the teens may have seemed unrelated to the abuse allegations, but the messages carried a lot of salient subtext.

“He puts you in a situation for a reason—because He knows you can handle it,” said a 15-year-old freshman at the high school, who spoke nervously before the congregation. Dressed in brown cowboy boots and a white button-up, the teen used Tim Tebow’s switch from the NFL to the MLB as a metaphor for following one’s dreams in difficult moments.

“As we’re struggling to find out what God wants us to do with our lives, I challenge you to find out,” he said, his voice wavering as he read from his lined school notebook.

The chapel shook with guitar-heavy, contemporary Christian music. Teens in bright spring colors sang out, “Through the storm, He is Lord.”

After the service, Pastor Curry said his congregation is shaken by the scandal. “We went through a hard time this spring,” he said. “That’s been traumatic for this community.

“The students seem to be feeling that the adults betrayed them,” Curry observed. “That there was somebody in the school who knew what was going on, didn’t do anything about it, let it fester. I don’t know.”

He continued, “A lot of people will move to a community this size to kind of get away from what they perceive to be big-city problems. But of course, the truth of the matter is we live in a world stained by sin; it happens everywhere.”

Phillip Higginbotham, the youth minister at the church, leaned back onto the chair in his office, which is filled with notes from children, family photos, and football paraphernalia.

“These boys made terrible decisions,” he sighed. “I don’t want to say I’m glad that this came to light, but I’m thankful that we can stop it.

“I don’t know how far we are through this process,” Higginbotham continued. “Are we finished? Are we just starting? Are we somewhere in the middle? We’re still holding our collective breaths.”

As for his students, he said many of them seem disturbingly desensitized to the alleged assaults.

One of the girls in the high school marching band told Higginbotham, “Well, this is my senior year. If we don’t have a football season, I can’t march. I may talk to my parents about going to Floresville.”

(Several students have mentioned moving to the nearby town, he said, if the La Vernia athletics program is permanently depleted by the scandal.)

She then shrugged her shoulders and said she assumed the “same stuff” was going on at the rival school in Floresville, too. “It happens over there, right?” she asked him.

“It’s almost normal on some level to them,” he marveled.

‘It’s One Real Clusterf$&k’

The Texas Rangers have been investigating the La Vernia abuse allegations for five months now, and have been—as the state agency is wont to be—extremely quiet about the progress of the investigation.

Lt. Jason Reyes, of the Texas Department of Public Safety, told The Daily Beast last week that there is still “no timeline” for when the probe will be concluded and that there have been no additional arrests beyond the initial 13. Reyes declined to elaborate on where the probe stands or to say if the Rangers will continue conducting daily interviews on campus, as they were doing at the end of the last school year.

Authorities are allegedly encouraging Michelle’s son to speak about what may have happened, for fear that video footage will surface online of the alleged crimes.

“It’s ongoing, but no sign of any indictments in the near future,” Cabanas, who represents Norman, told The Daily Beast this month. Otherwise, there were no updates.

At least one local news outlet was mired in a legal fight with the school district over access to records, and now that the only civil suit has been dropped, it isn’t clear what will happen next.

As one local defense attorney recently noted, “It’s one real clusterf$&k.”

But Moreno refuses to let the public see a shadow hanging over the impending school year, which began Wednesday.

A letter from the superintendent in the La Vernia News unveiled the district’s new theme for the year: “We Are La Vernia.”

“I think the town is ready to move on; I think the community is ready to move on,” Moreno told San Antonio’s KSAT-TV, in a rare one-on-one interview this month. “We’re going to be OK as we start moving forward.”

When asked by a reporter if the scandal was preventable, Moreno replied that “this was an underground culture among a few students, and those are the students that we still care about, but I think that as soon as we found out what we needed to find out, at that point we did what we needed to do as a school district.”

Moreno also pointed to the changes he tried to implement at the end of the last school year: a full-time police officer to secure the high school’s campus, better training for teachers, and a way to report bullying online.

Meanwhile, Michelle called such efforts by the administration “a band-aid over this huge tumor.”

Football training for the new season began Aug. 7. Most of the suspects were expelled and won’t be at practice until they are either convicted or acquitted—if they haven’t already graduated from high school. The alleged victims are, for the most part, still anonymous.

Jennifer recently told The Daily Beast that her son is back on the varsity team this year. She noted, relieved, that they’ve been moved to a different field house so they aren’t back in the gym where the assaults allegedly occurred.

“The boys are resilient and push forward,” she said last week, adding that there are still “bullies” around at school and on the team—students who support the accused, witnessed the assaults, and even encouraged the abuse.

Coach Chris Taber told La Vernia News in July: “The big thing is how we preach to the kids about right and wrong and the choices we make.

“We have to make sure we stay the course and remember why we’re here—to compete, to create a family atmosphere, and to make lifelong memories.”

*Names have been changed or omitted throughout this story at the request of the participants in order to protect the identity of alleged sexual-assault victims and other minors at La Vernia High School.

—with additional reporting by Brandy Zadrozny

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/this-is-not-hazing-this-is-rape-inside-a-texas-towns-football-nightmare/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/183103386232

[allofbeercom]

This Is Not Hazing. This Is Rape: Inside a Texas Towns Football Nightmare

LA VERNIA, Texas—When Jennifer’s* son made varsity—as a freshman, no less—it should have been cause for celebration.

Here, football is king. The town is one of the oldest communities in the Lone Star State, with a rich history dating back before the Alamo.

It’s lush and green, with farms, donut shops, and about a dozen churches ministering to the population of 1,200. Crosses and bluebonnets dot the tranquil streets, and there’s a historical marker on nearly every block. Neat rows of mini-mansions sit nestled behind the pristine elementary school, and neighbors happily chat over weekend errands at the H-E-B—the only grocery store in city limits.

Jennifer’s sprawling property rests just outside city limits, a two-story butter-yellow home filled with hand-carved wooden crosses. Her kids like to play ball in the front yard as cows graze nearby.

She was home on the day her son learned he was promoted to varsity. But he and his friends were uncharacteristically nervous about leaving the JV team behind to move into the new locker room.

“My son comes home and is like, ‘I heard that there’s something that happens to us,’” Jennifer says.

He’d heard a rumor. Something about an initiation to the team. It involved sodomy.

Jennifer was horrified but skeptical that the—admittedly outrageous—rumor was worth worrying about.

“I looked at him, I was like, ‘You’re lying, that’s not true. That’s a lie,’” she protested, crying as she remembers it now. “We trusted that the coaches were watching them, and, you know, taking care of them.”

Police later told Jennifer that witnesses say her son was raped with a broomstick. He has not corroborated those accounts.

In February of this year, a victim went to La Vernia police with claims of sexual assault by the town’s athletes. As the investigation unfolded, police found at least nine more victims of alleged abuse—spanning a period of at least three years—by football, baseball, and basketball stars.

The varsity players were accused of sodomizing their younger teammates with various instruments, including baseball bats and carbon-dioxide tanks. A total of 13 students so far—six of them adults—have been arrested and charged with either sexual assault or sexual assault of a child.

All of the suspects who have released public statements or spoken through attorneys have denied their involvement in the alleged crimes. None of them have been indicted.

One warm evening in May, Jennifer and Michelle* sat on a back porch in La Vernia, 30 miles southeast of San Antonio, recounting the scandal. They describe themselves as “sports moms” and say their families customarily attend one of the big churches in town. They’ve both lived in the area since before the H-E-B moved in—the typical dividing line that separates longtime residents from outsiders.

“We can guarantee we’ll always be at those football games on Friday nights because our sons play,” said Michelle. “You don’t really see my face around the school much unless somebody’s messing with one of my boys.”

The mothers gush while describing their sons as “above-average athletes,” goofy and popular.

“They like to showboat and stuff, but, you know, they’re teenage boys, and they’re already pre-NFL,” glowed Michelle.

But even as the moms rooted for the La Vernia Bears at Friday-night games, they were unaware their sons were allegedly being raped by their teammates.

Both women shook their heads, as the sun set over the green farm horizon. “We all thought we were living in an awesome little community, you know?”

Then, one day in March, Michelle got a call from the La Vernia Police Department.

Five minutes later, she was sitting in the police station.

“‘I’m not going to sugarcoat it,’” an officer told her, as he allegedly detailed the various items used: deodorant bottles, soda bottles, pipes, and baseball bats.

“What did they use on my son?” she asked, sobbing angrily.

“‘I’d rather not tell you,’” he responded. “‘You don’t want to know.’”

‘Do Not Judge Unless You’re Without Sin’

The 13 suspects facing criminal charges include Colton Weidner, Christian “Brock” Roberts, and John Rutkowski, who are all 18 and members of the school’s basketball team. According to arrest affidavits, Weidner, Rutkowski, and an unnamed juvenile held down a struggling 15-year-old while Roberts raped him with a flashlight.

Also charged were 17-year-old Alejandro Ibarra, 17-year-old Robert Olivarez Jr., and 18-year-old Dustin Norman. They stand accused of holding down a 16-year-old boy on a bed while sodomizing him with the threaded end of a carbon-dioxide tank, according to arrest affidavits.

“The victim struggled to stop the assault, but was overpowered by the four suspects and pinned down where he could not move,” La Vernia Police Sgt. Donald Keil wrote in an affidavit.

Around the time of his arrest, Ibarra took to Facebook to defend himself and his teammates.

On a local reporter’s Facebook post, Ibarra wrote of Olivarez and Norman: “They didn’t do anything… I was with them every day and we were never involved in this stupid shit!… If you don’t know the whole story behind it don’t bother commenting… and yes they are my friends… my brothers.. I was raised with them.”

Since the arrests, all 13 boys are walking free on bail until the investigation makes its way into a courthouse. “What’s bugging me is that these perpetrators are still running around La Vernia,” groaned Michelle. She’d waited outside the school to watch on the day her son’s alleged tormentors were hauled out of class and arrested.

“They’re still out and about and they’re posting pictures on Instagram and Facebook and having a good old time while they’re out on bond or whatever.”

Several of the accused seniors even joined in on the prom festivities this past spring, despite being barred from the actual dance. They dressed up, took pictures together, went to a group dinner, and rode in the limo with their friends, according to photos viewed by The Daily Beast.

“They took pictures and went out to dinner for a night on the town and all that,” Michelle said. “It’s like their parents are rewarding them. If that was my kid who had just sexually assaulted another child, he would not be going to prom.”

Not everyone in La Vernia is bothered by it, though. A very large section of the community is emphasizing mercy and forgiveness for the accused. “They’re very quick to defend the perpetrators,” said Jennifer. “There’s a sense of entitlement for some of these families, that they deserve ‘innocent until proven guilty.’

“They’re very quick in our community to quote the Bible,” she continued. “Oh yeah, ‘Do not judge unless you’re without sin.’”

Both women believe the same community members preaching compassion aren’t extending it to their sons and the other alleged victims. The suspects “were grabbing [the younger boys] in headlocks and hitting them with belts,” Jennifer said. “They’re threatening [my son] while he’s taking a shower with no clothes on.

“I think a lot of these perpetrators think that they’re going to get away with it because they’ve never been held accountable,” she continued.

One day, Michelle and her son were shopping in H-E-B when they saw 18-year-old Dustin Norman grabbing a bag of dog food in an aisle nearby. (Norman is accused of holding down the 16-year-old boy as others sodomized him with a carbon-dioxide tank.)

When her son pointed him out, Michelle could only mumble curses under her breath. They soon saw him again in AutoZone.

She said she stopped herself from doing anything more because she’s a Christian woman and because he “should be treated or punished as an adult,” not by a victim’s mother, she says now.

“He’s vile,” she sighed.

Jennifer said she believes the suspects and their families have fallen into a habit of “playing victim” in the aftermath of the scandal and that others in town are letting them. All of the suspects reached by The Daily Beast declined to comment, with the exception of Norman, whose attorney maintains his innocence.

“You know, if this had been done to a bunch of females,” Jennifer said, “it would’ve been rape straight up and there would’ve been no way around that.”

Even though police told Jennifer that five or six witnesses came forward to report assaults on Jennifer’s son, he—like many other victims—doesn’t want to talk about the alleged abuse.

“At the beginning, both boys felt sorry for the perpetrators,” said Michelle. “They didn’t want them to go to jail and lose their scholarships and lose everything they had going for them.”

“He doesn’t want to see his coaches lose their jobs,” said Jennifer. “They feel very indebted to them.”

Jennifer believes her son is holding back for similar reasons and “because he feels so loyal” to his coaches and teammates, who have been his longtime friends.

“When you’ve got all of that happening, it’s no surprise to me that no one would come forward,” said Alesha Istvan, the director of community initiatives at Break the Cycle, a national nonprofit that works with teens to prevent sexual assault.

“The stigma associated with being a victim of sexual assault period, whether or not homosexuality comes into play, just creates this whole culture of silence,” she noted, emphasizing that the dynamics of a small town and a football team only contribute to that culture.

“In certain communities, it is not what you talk about,” she explained. “You assume it’s not happening. So when it does, it rocks you to your core. For some, it might be easier to stay in denial about it.”

Jennifer and Michelle both expressed confusion at what to do next for their sons.

“I tried to take him to counseling today, and he said he didn’t want to go back,” Michelle said. When he told her he just wanted to “forget about it,” she replied, “Baby, you’re not going to forget about it anytime soon. This is just starting.”

“It’s very painful. For some of the freshmen and sophomores, this was their first sexual experience. And it was violent,” wept Jennifer. “That breaks my heart.”

Both women say they believe that their sons felt the alleged assaults were part of routine varsity initiation. “They thought it was a rite of passage,” said Jennifer, the conversation visibly wearing on her. “They were so desperate to play football. They thought it was normal.”

After the accusations came to light, Jennifer said that other students harassed the alleged victims in the halls, calling them “rats” and “snitches.”

Inside the school’s blue and white halls, an 18-year-old student, Joshua*—who spoke to The Daily Beast with the permission of his parents—said high-schoolers were largely instructed by teachers to keep quiet about the allegations. He said, in April, that school officials told kids over the intercom, “Don’t let it define us as a community.” School officials stressed that remaining quiet about the alleged assaults should be part of “the healing process,” he said.

Still, he said then, “everyone is talking about it.”

Joshua—who has since graduated—said a lot of students were siding with the accused athletes. Some of the teens, mostly athletes, were calling the victims “rats and snitches,” he said, echoing Michelle and Jennifer’s accounts.

“A lot of the athletes are saying there’s no real victim here,” he said.

At least one teen even expressed his support for the accused boys by wearing a T-shirt to school with Robert Olivarez Jr.’s face on it. The shirt was made for a playoff game last year. (Olivarez Jr. was the one who allegedly raped the 16-year-old with the carbon-dioxide tank.)

“The football team means more than anything around here,” Joshua added. “The football team is what means the most to the community and the administration.”

But for Joshua and some other students, “this [scandal] has to be seen” instead of hidden because the “school has gotten away with so much… it’s so incredibly sickening and we all want justice for [the victims].

“It’s shocking that no one died,” he added. “With how brutal it was.”

‘New Year, New Initiation’

“This is taking place in the locker rooms during the day on school property,” Michelle said. “In the buses, at the little team parties. Anywhere they could do it, they were doing it.”

The mothers say there were even assaults in the locker-room showers and that boys began keeping on their underwear while bathing because they were terrified of being targeted.

According to their sons, once enough pairs of underwear were allegedly ripped off and stuffed down the drains, it clogged the pipes in the school.

La Vernia Independent School District Superintendent José Moreno, through a representative, “politely declined” to comment on this story—and the allegations herein—when reached last week. (Note: This story previously identified Pascual Gonzalez, who has been assisting the district with media requests, as a “spokesman” for Moreno. He is not an official spokesperson for the district.)

In April, a civil lawsuit was filed in Texas’ Western District Court, claiming that school coaches “sanctioned these rituals” and that other school officials “turned a blind eye toward the abuse, even after the abuse was reported to them.”

The 19-page complaint—filed on behalf of an alleged victim, Child Doe—names the school district, Superintendent Moreno, Principal Kimberley Martin, and Coaches Brandon Layne, Richard Hinojosa, Chris Taber, Keith Barnes, and Scott Grub, as co-defendants in the case.

According to Doe’s lawsuit, as a 15-year-old freshman, he was promoted onto the varsity football team. During an away game in fall 2015, three upperclassmen allegedly forced Doe onto the locker room floor and raped him using a Gatorade bottle.

The suit alleges that the whole school quickly knew about the attack, including a teacher who reached out to Layne, the school’s athletic director. According to the complaint, that teacher told Doe—in front of her class full of students—that the alleged assault was “wrong” and that she was sorry. She urged the other students to “cut it out,” according to the suit, and emailed Layne about it. She allegedly told Doe that “it would be taken care of.”

The complaint claims that Layne—who left the school before the scandal broke—told his varsity players to quit abusing one another.

“You won’t be able to get a job, no girl will want to date you, and you could go to prison,” the complaint says Layne told the players. (Reached by email last week, Layne said, “Due to there still being open cases, I don’t feel it appropriate to comment at this time.”)

Despite this alleged deterrent, Doe claims that his teammates repeatedly attempted to assault him over the next year. Doe’s complaint says that at one point a senior grabbed him at an indoor practice facility in the school while holding a metal pipe—and flipped him over, threatening to rape him with the instrument. When a coach walked in, the senior dropped the pipe and walked away.

During another attempt just two weeks after the first attack, according to the complaint, Doe was “punched and fondled” before fighting off his alleged assailants.

But he wasn’t able to escape every time, and Doe alleges that he was raped again with a cardboard tube stripped from a coat hanger. Doe said the players who attacked him laughed during the assault, chortling, “New year, new initiation.”

Doe’s lawsuit sought damages for mental anguish, physical pain, medical expenses, and punitive damages—and his family was hoping to censure the district’s employees. He withdrew from the school after the alleged assaults.

But the suit, which was filed by San Antonio attorney John Kemmerer “J.K.” Ivey, was dismissed in July, citing Ivey’s recent decline in health. The alleged victim’s family may later reopen the case if they so choose.

(Before the case was voluntarily dismissed without prejudice by the Doe family, the defendants filed several motions to dismiss the case.)

Ivey told The Daily Beast in April that the case was likely “just the first shot” and that he “would not be surprised if this was just the first of what will be many lawsuits,” though no other civil suits have been filed.

Nearly everyone interviewed for this story—on either side of the allegations—placed blame for the abuse scandal squarely on La Vernia High School and the La Vernia Independent School District.

“What those boys did was sickening, but, at the core, the school is at fault,” Joshua’s mother told The Daily Beast in April. “We send our kids there every day. It all boils down to the school.”

Jennifer echoed that point, observing that Superintendent Moreno was far “too worried about the school and the football program” to handle the abuse claims with any compassion.

It’s “typical for La Vernia,” Michelle added, to “sweep it all under the rug.”

Both of the moms want to see the entire school cleaned out: “All the coaches, the superintendent, the school board, the vice principal, the principal.”

When the scandal broke, the first email sent out to parents following the arrests was titled “HS Athletics Letter March 23, 2017.”

“The title of the attachment was deceiving and the body of the letter said nothing,” seethed one concerned parent, Stephen McNeill, at a May school board meeting. “It leads me to believe that title was intentionally written that way in order to mislead. Maybe to hide the fact that Mr. Moreno has finally admitted that there has been a problem in one of his schools.”

The meeting that day took place inside the picturesque high school, awash with evening sunlight on Bluebonnet Road. The glass doors were spray-painted with colorful messages of support: “We <3 our town” and “Go Bears, Go!” Pickup trucks and SUVs thronged the parking lot, where trees peacefully rustled.

What started out as a routine Monday-night event—handing out ribbons to gifted students, issuing bland announcements about upcoming events—became charged and hostile when McNeill rose to speak.

“For over a month, you could not even bring yourselves to say the words ‘alleged sexual assault,’” fumed McNeill, admonishing Moreno. “To the victims, this says that you do not believe the accusations and are just protecting the perpetrators, the [La Vernia School District] administration, and the board.”

As McNeill hollered at the administrators, La Vernia Police Chief Bruce Ritchey—who is no longer leading the investigation into the assaults—hid behind a column in the very back of the room, where extra chairs were stacked, where no parents or reporters could see him.

Ritchey did not respond to multiple requests for comment for this story, and he refused to answer questions when approached at the school board meeting in La Vernia. But in March, he told The Daily Beast that the assaults were “a hazing gone bad,” adding, “these kids were stupid.”

Moreno, too, has been largely unwilling to give one-on-one interviews to reporters or to answer questions in a public forum. Instead, he typically pulls reporters into a private room during the school board meetings, where he reads from a prepared statement and will only discuss positive changes being made in his administration.

His first public comments on the scandal came in the form of a Facebook post encouraging the community to “tell our story before someone tells it for us.”

He wrote, “Let others know that we as a community will not be defined by the negative press outside of our community and various social media outlets. Be proud to let them know that just this past week our Bears and Lady Bears soccer teams defeated their opponents in the first round of playoffs.”

At the May school board meeting, Moreno read aloud from another prepared statement. “I realize the allegations have impacted our entire community,” he read. “Our hearts go out to our students and our families as well as our teachers and our administrators. I ask that we continue to reach out and support one another. Let’s hold strong to our La Vernia family values and not allow for news headlines, social media, or gossip to negatively influence who we are or the success of our students and who they will become. Thank you.”

This circle-the-wagons tone was echoed by Taber, the school district’s head football coach, who claimed in a March statement that he informed all male athletes at the school that “measures are being taken by the athletic department to ensure students are participating in a safe environment.”

Students, he emphasized, will be supervised “at all times” while in athletic facilities.

“I know this is a very troubling time for our students, staff, and our community,” he wrote. “It is very important that we stick together. We will be strong and get through this together.”

Then he added, “Go Bears!!!”

‘It Ain’t No Damn Tradition’

The varsity sexual-abuse scandal may be the largest to engulf the La Vernia school district, but the town has weathered a shocking number of school-related problems over the years—including the alleged rape of a middle-schooler on campus last year. The school district never announced the rape to parents, according to multiple sources, but it was widely known around the small town. (Neither the school district nor the police department responded to questions from The Daily Beast about the alleged rape.)

Then, this past May, a La Vernia High School student was charged with possession of child pornography after a fellow student told police that she was assaulted and that her attack was filmed on the suspect’s phone. According to the victim’s account, the assaults happened on campus—in a school hallway—in November 2016. During an interview with police, the suspect allegedly admitted to having other images on his phone. According to police records obtained by News 4 San Antonio, officials found at least 20 photos of nude children between the ages of 8 and 14. Superintendent Moreno issued a statement after news broke of the arrest, noting that disciplinary action was being taken and that the suspect, who was never identified, was expelled from the school on Dec. 1.

It isn’t clear if the suspect was involved in any of the alleged athletic team assaults or if the child-pornography case ever went to trial. Ritchey never returned phone messages seeking comment on the case.

There have also been allegations of theft and embezzlement within the district, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. In 2011, a seventh-grade teacher led police on a high-speed chase and was arrested for possession of methamphetamine and assault on a public servant. That same year, a vice principal at the middle school committed suicide. A local story about that case was appropriately titled, “La Vernia Parents Left to Speculate About School Board Secrecy and Turmoil.”

In 2015, a physics and anatomy teacher at the school was arrested and eventually convicted of an “improper relationship” with a 16-year-old student. He is now serving 10 years of probation as a registered sex offender, according to Texas Department of Public Safety online records. The next year, in 2016, a La Vernia math teacher quietly resigned during an FBI investigation that later resulted in child-pornography charges. Theodore De Aubrey, 57, pleaded guilty to one felony in that case.

Twenty-eight employees have so far resigned or retired from the La Vernia Independent School District in 2017, local TV station KENS5 reported this month. The year before, 37 people reportedly stepped down from the district. There are four schools in the district.

“In my position there, where I had an insight into just how many people resigned and how many new hires there were each year, the amount of turnover was surprising to me,” Brian*, a former employee at the school district, told The Daily Beast last week.

According to KENS5, one former teacher wrote in a 2013 exit letter that they quit because “psychological working conditions are very poor” in the district. The unidentified teacher continued, “I began to feel very professionally vulnerable, as I realized that my supervisor was, in my opinion based on my observations, more interested in keeping things quiet and peaceful, than doing what was professionally responsible and ethical.”

Brian said he was surprised anyone was so explicit about their reasons for leaving.

“I certainly didn’t detail all of the reasons for my departure when I resigned, but if I had been truly happy with my work environment, I wouldn’t have been looking in the first place,” he said.

Moreno, unsurprisingly, responded to the KENS5 story in a prepared statement, “The investigation led by the Texas Rangers as well as the one led by the school district continue. No reports have been issued yet. As is common with any school system, a certain percentage of the employee work-force retires or resigns at the end of a school year. La Vernia ISD experienced the same. People choose to leave for a variety of reasons, mostly personal like new jobs, moving, or retirement.”

“The level of scandal and stuff that happens in La Vernia is very unusual” for the town’s size, Brian said in May, over coffee in San Antonio. He asked not to be identified for fear of losing future work opportunities in Texas education.

“La Vernia Independent School District is the biggest employer in town,” he said. People won’t speak out because they’re “afraid for their jobs.”

Brian said that after the hazing arrests, Superintendent Moreno “completely missed the mark” when it came to showing concern for the alleged victims or parents whose children could have been affected.

“I think all he can see is what’s best for the district,” Brian explained. “With him you’ll get moments, moments, of genuine, and then it’s back to business.

“The people who work there can only follow the lead of their leader. When you have someone who isn’t concerned with the welfare of his own employees and only concerned about how the district looks to the outside, everyone else’s hands are tied,” he said.

“That’s the way Moreno operates,” he elaborated. “It’s all about how things look. It’s always been that way.”

The abuse scandal has been hard for La Vernia—which likes to think of itself as “exceptional,” Brian said. People in town want to believe,“‘We’re a community of God, we’re holier than thou, we don’t have things going on like that in our community. We don’t want to possibly think that any of our star athletes, boys, are doing things like this to other boys.’

“They don’t want to think that kind of thing would happen in their town,” he said.

Angela*, the parent of a student on the football team, told The Daily Beast that the shroud of secrecy and the lack of transparency from the administration has only made the community more tense.

One night in March, the father of a suspect walked into a restaurant in town and—referencing the assaults—yelled, “It’s a lie! It’s bullshit! It never happened!”

“I think everyone is just really embarrassed,” Angela said. “We’re all praying very hard that the truth will come.”

She implored: “Every instance—whether it’s bullying or sexual assault—it should all be public knowledge.”

Police say the alleged varsity sex abuse may have been going on since at least 2014. But one former football player, a quarterback on the team more than 20 years ago, told The Daily Beast that he never experienced anything so violent while in school.

Adrian Guilbeau, a 37-year-old former homecoming king who still sports a La Vernia tattoo, comes from a family that has lived in the historic town since the 1800s. They were one of the first black families to move to La Vernia, and Adrian says he was the only black student enrolled when he attended the school.

On a Sunday afternoon this past spring, he sat with his mother, 62-year-old Audrey Calhoun, inside of her white mobile home. The house is decorated with a neat green trim; there were wind-chimes on the porch and cigarettes on the coffee table.

When Adrian was on the varsity team, initiations typically involved carrying other players’ books to class or being knocked to the end of the lunch line. “We poured oil in [a teammate’s] car one time,” he said, laughing. “On the seats and stuff, on the windshield. Dumb stuff like that.

“One time, we turned the lights off in the weight room and threw weights—now that was dumb. But physically assaulting somebody like that?… This to me is not hazing. This is rape.”

His mother interjected, “It ain’t no damn tradition.”

“This is city shit,” Adrian said, referring to the sexual assaults. “It’s what they do out there and it’s wild and crazy. People from the country don’t do that.

“I’m not saying it’s the H-E-B’s fault, but when the H-E-B came in it changed everything,” he added. “La Vernia was a small town, there was a grocery store, we had a wood store, a mini mart, there was one Dairy Queen.”

Audrey said her family found out about the scandal through Facebook comments and the news, like most other families in town.

“I feel like people knew something was going on and they just closed their eyes and dismissed it,” she said. “Like La Vernia does.

“Little people—like I call us, we don’t live in big houses or fancy houses—are dismissed. They don’t listen to us. From what I’ve heard, there’s been complaints in the past, and nothing was done.

“If you’re Mr. So-and-So or whoever with a big name and you have all this money in La Vernia, then you’re protected, something’s done for you, and they listen to you,” she lamented.

In town, both mother and son agree, the school is the hub of social activity and power.

“The school is the main interest,” Adrian said. “If stuff happens with the students, it’s going to cause mass hysteria. You have to keep that quiet because you’re going to lose money.

“For years it’s been like that because football is the biggest attraction,” he said. “La Vernia’s all about football. If you’re not in athletics, you ain’t shit.

“It’s the image,” added Audrey.

“On a Friday night after the game [the players] go to someone’s house, and everyone’s loaded up on beer, alcohol. Win or lose, we’re getting drunk. That’s just how it went. Now I guess they’re touching on boys.”

“Football is everything,” Adrian stressed. “If you’re on the team and you played football, the athletes are sort of shielded.

“I did feel invincible,” he said of his time as quarterback. “I felt like I floated through the motherfucking hallways.

“What are they going to do, kick me off the football team?” he mused. “I’m the shit; they need me.”

‘They’ve Ruined His Life’

“Dustin is innocent,” says his lawyer, Alfonso Cabanas.

That would be 18-year-old Dustin Norman, whom Michelle saw in the H-E-B, the one accused of helping rape a boy with a CO2 tank. Cabanas, who spoke to The Daily Beast from his office in downtown San Antonio, sat perched behind his desk.

He emphasized how much he believed in his client’s innocence.

“He’s had a very hard time,” Cabanas said. “Dustin is a soft-spoken, mild-mannered kid who never had any disciplinary issues… [but] they label him and call him a child molester and a rapist.”

Norman wasn’t allowed to walk the stage during the La Vernia High School graduation, but he did receive his diploma and will attend college in the fall.

“They’ve ruined his life,” Cabanas said of the school district. “He’s ostracized everywhere he goes, including H-E-B and Whataburger.”

The district’s decision to expel Dustin, Cabanas said, was “extremely unfair” and his client has considered legal action as a recourse.

“You can see how or why Dr. Moreno’s inaction has led to this mess,” Cabanas noted. “I think the school reacted without thinking of the consequences.”

Like most others interviewed for this story, the attorney took issue with the lack of communication and transparency by the school district. The spread of the story on its own, via local news and social media, created a “hysteria” that Moreno could have prevented, Cabanas said.

“The school is trying to protect itself,” he said. “If, in fact, this incident did happen, why not go after the teachers, the athletic staff who knew about it and did nothing to resolve it?

“[Moreno] passed judgment right away,” Cabanas added. “He did not have compassion. They violated Dustin’s due-process rights.”

People in town, Cabanas claimed, have turned on the 18-year-old.

“He’s been secluded to his home,” the attorney continued. “It affects his mom, just like it would affect anyone’s mom. They’ve been ostracized by the community and their coworkers. They’re upset. They would ask that people respect their privacy and to not pass judgment on the arrest and mugshot and to wait until the facts come out. It has taken a toll on them.”

It may take some time for all those facts to emerge.

The investigation began in earnest in March, when police began interviewing alleged victims. Within days, at least nine more boys were sitting in forensic interviews at the local child-advocacy center. Police say there are at least 10 victims, but Michelle, Jennifer, and others in town claim there may be more who don’t want to come forward or admit that they were abused.

Before long, the Texas Rangers and the state attorney general’s office swooped in to take the case out of local hands.

That decision was “applauded” by La Vernia’s mayor, Robert Gregory. “It was best that the case moved over for the Rangers to be in the lead role and our [police] department being in the support role,” he told The Daily Beast, over the phone. “We’ve had great support from the state. Once this investigation closes, my role is going to change. My role will then be to bring the community together.”

Even though Gregory has been at his post for five years, not a single family interviewed for this story knew his name. He still has not spoken publicly about the scandal, and a lot of residents want to know why he’s been so absent in the face of serious community hardship.

The mayor said he understands that there’s frustration in the community over the “perceived lack of information” but points back to the ongoing investigation, and he says he’s limited in what he can say.

“Once we start to put some closure to this, I think you’ll see the community realize what did or didn’t take place,” he said. “We’re still a vibrant community and we will get through this.”

Gregory also appears alone in his belief that Moreno has done a “fabulous job” in his role as superintendent.

“Everything has been proactive in terms of safety in the school,” he affirmed.

“Every time that we’ve ever had something—like a car accident—take place, this is one community that always comes together,” Gregory said. “We bear that tragedy together. That’s a place I want to live in and be a part of.

“We pray, we raise our kids, and we try to do it to the best of our ability.”

Gregory’s definitely not alone in stressing the need for La Vernia to rally right now. Various civic groups have organized shows of solidarity—including Grandma’s House Childcare, whose owner Sue Coats organized an April 5k walkathon in the city park to fight child abuse and raise awareness. The walk began and ended at a white gazebo in the center of town, covered in blue bows and pinwheels. For the walkers, there were cakes, chili, and face-painting.

“Everyone needs to be prayed for and have the cloud lifted over us,” Coats said, the Saturday of the event. “We need to be united again.”

Only about two dozen people gathered for the walkathon that warm and windy day. Most of those present were not even from La Vernia but instead were members of the San Antonio chapter of Guardians of the Children, a motorcycle group that advocates against child abuse. (“This is still child abuse, even if the actors were minors also,” said chapter President Tom Patterson, 51, who has been in the group for six years. “It’s not too surprising to see teenagers doing this.”)

Despite the low turnout, Coats is hoping she and other La Vernia residents can help “bring our community back together again.”

Coats’ children long-ago graduated from the high school, but she said they were never aware of any assaults when they were students. Her husband, Doug, is a retired football coach. They both lament how the town has changed since the H-E-B opened nearly five years ago.

“You don’t recognize everyone you see anymore,” said Doug, noting that in the two decades his family has lived here, the population has doubled. More and more subdivisions have moved in and taken away some of the city’s trademark serenity, he lamented.

“I used to like the quietness, but now I don’t know.”

Still, the community is more resilient than people are giving it credit for, he said.

“People say [the abuse scandal] destroyed the community. It hasn’t destroyed it. It’s going to be around forever, if Jesus doesn’t come back,” he noted.

“We’ll survive this, believe it or not.”

‘Hope and Healing’

Since the scandal broke, La Vernia’s faith leaders have been encouraging the town to embrace mercy and acceptance for the accused rapists.

Right after the arrests, the La Vernia Ministerial Alliance and the La Vernia News hosted a joint community service with 10 local churches to encourage “hope and healing.” Students and parents spent the evening filling plastic Easter eggs with positive messages of hope and praying together.

Pastor Steve Curry, of the La Vernia United Methodist Church, told local media at the time that the service was intended to “lament what’s happened: the loss of innocence, the crimes that have taken place.”

Over at St. Ann’s Catholic Church, Father Stan Fiuk hosted at least one youth ministry in which he called for forgiveness. (One of the suspects, notably, was a youth leader at the church, according to multiple sources.)

“We want to see only negative, but I am asking where is positive?” Fiuk preached to the congregation. “Not only on the level of La Vernia, but on the level of the state, on the level of the country, we are sick. These children need mercy and we have to learn to be merciful because they are victims of the sick society.”

St. Ann’s director of religious education, Shannon Kosub, also told local media: “I hope that those in our community that are true Christians will show true mercy to everyone involved and will reach out to show love. Because that’s all our duty is, is to love.”

Some people, like Gary Darnell—a bespectacled, ponytail-wearing member of the Baptist church in town, known as “Uncle Gary” to the flock—believe the abuse scandal is part of God’s plan to bring the community closer together.

“It has to,” Gary insisted, as he stood in the grass at the city park. “It has to bring people closer to God because it requires a lot of forgiveness.”

Gary has lived in La Vernia for seven years. He’s a photographer for the La Vernia News and the Wilson County News. Like many La Vernians, he blames the coaches and the administration at the school for the scandal.

“I’m really upset with the coaches and the principal,” he told The Daily Beast in April. “How do you not protect them? The school’s athletic program isn’t that important—not at the expense of some other kid. And that’s what it turned out to be.”

Gary, looking on at the park, said he believes La Vernia is the kind of place where neighbors volunteer to fix one another’s porches, a community where people feel a responsibility and compassion for each other. But “the devil has a way of trying to manipulate the world and create chaos,” he said.

“They’re all kids; they’re still kids,” he continued. “Kids on both sides will suffer their whole lives.”

The town’s youth ministries are particularly consumed with how to address the scandal. On a sleepy Sunday in May, at the 10:30 a.m. youth-led church service at La Vernia United Methodist, the lessons presented by the teens may have seemed unrelated to the abuse allegations, but the messages carried a lot of salient subtext.

“He puts you in a situation for a reason—because He knows you can handle it,” said a 15-year-old freshman at the high school, who spoke nervously before the congregation. Dressed in brown cowboy boots and a white button-up, the teen used Tim Tebow’s switch from the NFL to the MLB as a metaphor for following one’s dreams in difficult moments.

“As we’re struggling to find out what God wants us to do with our lives, I challenge you to find out,” he said, his voice wavering as he read from his lined school notebook.

The chapel shook with guitar-heavy, contemporary Christian music. Teens in bright spring colors sang out, “Through the storm, He is Lord.”

After the service, Pastor Curry said his congregation is shaken by the scandal. “We went through a hard time this spring,” he said. “That’s been traumatic for this community.

“The students seem to be feeling that the adults betrayed them,” Curry observed. “That there was somebody in the school who knew what was going on, didn’t do anything about it, let it fester. I don’t know.”

He continued, “A lot of people will move to a community this size to kind of get away from what they perceive to be big-city problems. But of course, the truth of the matter is we live in a world stained by sin; it happens everywhere.”

Phillip Higginbotham, the youth minister at the church, leaned back onto the chair in his office, which is filled with notes from children, family photos, and football paraphernalia.

“These boys made terrible decisions,” he sighed. “I don’t want to say I’m glad that this came to light, but I’m thankful that we can stop it.

“I don’t know how far we are through this process,” Higginbotham continued. “Are we finished? Are we just starting? Are we somewhere in the middle? We’re still holding our collective breaths.”

As for his students, he said many of them seem disturbingly desensitized to the alleged assaults.

One of the girls in the high school marching band told Higginbotham, “Well, this is my senior year. If we don’t have a football season, I can’t march. I may talk to my parents about going to Floresville.”

(Several students have mentioned moving to the nearby town, he said, if the La Vernia athletics program is permanently depleted by the scandal.)

She then shrugged her shoulders and said she assumed the “same stuff” was going on at the rival school in Floresville, too. “It happens over there, right?” she asked him.

“It’s almost normal on some level to them,” he marveled.

‘It’s One Real Clusterf$&k’

The Texas Rangers have been investigating the La Vernia abuse allegations for five months now, and have been—as the state agency is wont to be—extremely quiet about the progress of the investigation.

Lt. Jason Reyes, of the Texas Department of Public Safety, told The Daily Beast last week that there is still “no timeline” for when the probe will be concluded and that there have been no additional arrests beyond the initial 13. Reyes declined to elaborate on where the probe stands or to say if the Rangers will continue conducting daily interviews on campus, as they were doing at the end of the last school year.

Authorities are allegedly encouraging Michelle’s son to speak about what may have happened, for fear that video footage will surface online of the alleged crimes.

“It’s ongoing, but no sign of any indictments in the near future,” Cabanas, who represents Norman, told The Daily Beast this month. Otherwise, there were no updates.

At least one local news outlet was mired in a legal fight with the school district over access to records, and now that the only civil suit has been dropped, it isn’t clear what will happen next.

As one local defense attorney recently noted, “It’s one real clusterf$&k.”

But Moreno refuses to let the public see a shadow hanging over the impending school year, which began Wednesday.

A letter from the superintendent in the La Vernia News unveiled the district’s new theme for the year: “We Are La Vernia.”

“I think the town is ready to move on; I think the community is ready to move on,” Moreno told San Antonio’s KSAT-TV, in a rare one-on-one interview this month. “We’re going to be OK as we start moving forward.”

When asked by a reporter if the scandal was preventable, Moreno replied that “this was an underground culture among a few students, and those are the students that we still care about, but I think that as soon as we found out what we needed to find out, at that point we did what we needed to do as a school district.”

Moreno also pointed to the changes he tried to implement at the end of the last school year: a full-time police officer to secure the high school’s campus, better training for teachers, and a way to report bullying online.

Meanwhile, Michelle called such efforts by the administration “a band-aid over this huge tumor.”

Football training for the new season began Aug. 7. Most of the suspects were expelled and won’t be at practice until they are either convicted or acquitted—if they haven’t already graduated from high school. The alleged victims are, for the most part, still anonymous.

Jennifer recently told The Daily Beast that her son is back on the varsity team this year. She noted, relieved, that they’ve been moved to a different field house so they aren’t back in the gym where the assaults allegedly occurred.

“The boys are resilient and push forward,” she said last week, adding that there are still “bullies” around at school and on the team—students who support the accused, witnessed the assaults, and even encouraged the abuse.

Coach Chris Taber told La Vernia News in July: “The big thing is how we preach to the kids about right and wrong and the choices we make.

“We have to make sure we stay the course and remember why we’re here—to compete, to create a family atmosphere, and to make lifelong memories.”

*Names have been changed or omitted throughout this story at the request of the participants in order to protect the identity of alleged sexual-assault victims and other minors at La Vernia High School.

—with additional reporting by Brandy Zadrozny

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/this-is-not-hazing-this-is-rape-inside-a-texas-towns-football-nightmare/

[specialagentfluffstein]

All the asks! In a really nice way!

All the asks, minus the attitude! Sorry this took forever, I just finally had some time to sit and do it.

1. What was the last present you gave? I gave one of the girls in my EMT class some apples off my neighbor’s tree as a thank you for creating a complete medical terminology quizlet and then sharing it. 

2. What was the last present you received? My stepdad has a 3D printer at work and he made me a little block thing with the Walt Disney castle/signature. 

3. What animal best represents your personality? Bears. 

4. What are you most afraid of? Failure.

5. Who is your favourite villain? Right this second? Dr. Facilier from The Princess and the Frog.

6. Who is your favourite family member? (we all have one, admit it) My sister.

7. If you could name your own planet what would it be called? Fluffsville.

8. Stars or Moon? Stars.

9. Do you have/want kinds? I’m gonna assume this means kids. No. 

10. What is your greatest life goal? Happiness. And also visiting every Disney park.

11. What is something you can’t live without? Music. I almost always have something playing. Right now it’s my ‘Halloweenie’ playlist on Spotify. 

12. What is a place you associate with your childhood? A specific local library.

13. How was your first kiss/how would you like your first kiss to go? It went terribly. I got cornered like a wounded animal and as soon as he left I scrubbed my lips with the fancy sugar scrub I reserve for special occasions. My second first kiss (new boy) was much nicer, even though he missed. 

14. What is some life advice you have acquired? If the worst thing that happens today is that you messed up on the radio, it’s been a good day. And keep a spare pair of boots polished, just in case.

15. Who in history has influenced you? David Bowie and Walt Disney.

16. What is something strange that you think about often? Simulation and consciousness theories. It makes my brain hurt, but also, what if none of this is real, beyond what I can see and experience at this very moment?

17. Baths or Showers? I usually take showers for convenience’s sake, but I do love a nice soak with fun bath bombs or Epsom salts.

18. Tea of Coffee? Before 1400? Coffee. After 1400? Tea. 

19. Alcohol or soft drink? What do the hard sodas (Henry’s, Not Your Father’s, etc.) count as? Because the first thing I bought alcohol-wise from the grocery store after I turned 21 last month was a six pack of hard grape soda. I’m kinda a lightweight, I’ll be real with you. 

20. Writing or typing? Both, but I prefer handwriting stuff. 

21. What is you most favourite thing in your bedroom? Ugh that’s like picking a favorite child. I guess, right this second, it’s the Greg (from Over the Garden Wall) figure on my desk.

22. Spontaneous holiday! Where are you going and with who? Disneyland with my Boo Thang. 

23. Introverted or Extraverted? Extravert. 

24. Describe yourself in two words. Attention Whore. 

25. A song that always puts you in a good mood. “Dancing Queen”

26. What makes you feel? Really good music or food. 

27. What was your favourite concert? Chris Isaak. I’ve seen him twice.

28. Any plans for a tattoo? Yes! I just need to buck up and get it.

29. What was the first book you ever read? I have no idea. Probably a Magic Treehouse book.

30. What was the first movie you saw in cinemas? No se.

31. What do you think of when you hear ‘portrait’? An image of something. 

32. Tell me about your partner/ideal partner? I have one of those! He’s funny and has a cat and does competitive pistol and rifle matches. 

33. Tell me about your siblings, if you have any? I have a sister. She’s great.

34. What is a topic you would like to talk about more? I really wish I had more people to discuss religion with, and not just Christianity. I think religion is super interesting, and it’s tough to find people who will discuss it objectively. 

35. What are you a big advocate for? Seeking counseling. Everyone should see a counselor. We’d be much happier as a society. 

36. If you’re comfortable to answer, what is the sickest you have ever been? This past January I got the flu or something after doing a bunch of traveling, and I was so out of it I forgot that I texted the Detective I was interning for at the time that I was sick and not coming in, and that he responded with like ‘feel better’ or whatever and I even responded to that. So I spent the whole day going ‘oh nooooo I’m a no call no show.’ 

37. When were you the most scared in your life? I woke up from a really horrible dream and for about twenty minutes I couldn’t figure out if it was real or not. 

38. Ever had a paranormal experience? Yes! My grandma’s house is absolutely haunted, and when I’d be there alone watching TV in the living room I’d hear footsteps like someone coming to see what I was watching. They weren’t malevolent or anything, but it was a little unsettling. 

39. Biggest celebrity crush at the moment? Henry Cavill. 

40. What is something happening in your life right now? I’m in an EMT class and it’s not awesome at all. 

41. What is your favourite mythological creature? UNICORNS. 

42. Marvel or DC? For movies? Marvel. For comics? DC.

43. What object would be on your family’s banner? Alcohol. 

44. Favourite flower? Carnations.

45. One characteristic you like in a partner? You have to be able to laugh at things. Especially vaguely off color things. 

46. What planet/star would you travel to if it were possible? Jupiter.

47. What is your favourite meal… ever? Thanksgiving. 

48. First time…. doing anything. Describe your first time doing something? The first time I ran an overdose call as a Police Explorer, I got to see the guy get dosed with Narcan. It was rad. And then we ended up arresting the guy later. 

49. Who is your favourite superhero? Nightwing.

50. What is your favourite poem? Recite it? This is Just To Say - William Carlos Williams

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

51. What is an exercise you despise doing. Running. God I hate it so much. 

52. Secret talent? I can pole dance. Not well, but I can do a couple tricks.

53. Current song on replay replay replay? “Halloween” by Sonic Youth and “All That Heaven Will Allow” by the Mavericks. 

54. Recommend me anything. Seriously… anything. Go listen to the Mavericks. They are great.

55. If you weren’t in your current occupation what would you be doing? Probably going to school for a masters.

56. What is the first thing you notice about the person you fancy? Shoes and smile.

57. If you had one wish that would definitely come true, what would it be? That money would never be an issue. 

58. If you could time travel, when and where would you visit? I feel like I would just go to a bunch of concerts. 

59. What is your lucky number? 21.

60. If you adopt a pet what would it be and what would you name it? Oh man so many dogs. I want five corgis and a pitbull and the pittie’s name would be Korg. Korg and the Corgis. 

61. Do you believe in fate/everything happens for a reason? Kind of. I think personal decisions have a lot to do with it. 

62. What is your favourite thing about your personality? I am so aggressively cheerful. 

63. What is your favourite thing about your appearance? Hair.

64. What is your favourite clothing store? To actually buy stuff in? TJ Maxx. To walk around in? Nordstrom’s. 

65. What is your favourite online store? Tarte, or any makeup site. I love makeup.

66. Use one word to describe your most favourite person? Blond.

67. How do you usually have your hair? Up, unfortunately.

68. What was your favourite subject in high school? English and EMR.

69. What makes you feel empowered? Good outfits and good makeup.

70. What motivates you to do something? Spite.

71. What advice would you give someone who is going through a rough time? Things might not get better per se, but they’ll suck differently, so whatever sucks now probably won’t suck in the future. 

72. Ideal date? Dinner and a Movie. 

73. What is the best date night movie? A comedy. 

74. What is something you are currently looking forward to? Halloween!

75. Tell me a funny joke? You wanna know how I know it’s going to be a spoopy Halloween? I can feel it in my…bones! *skeletons laughing*

76. Do you like musicals? If so, what’s your favourite? I do like musicals, my sister and I really like Something Rotten right now. And I love the Lion King.

77. What is your favourite song currently? “All That Heaven Will Allow” by The Mavericks.

78. What song never fails to make you dance? “Footloose”

79. What is your favourite “classic?” Classic TV.

80. What is the best advice you have ever been given? The radio advice from the earlier question. 

81. Where did you ancestors come from? I think they were Vikings.

82. What have you learned from your parents/guardians? “Yes And” is the best answer.

83. What is a phrase you heard a lot growing up? “Knock it off”

84. Do you believe in magic? yes.

85. What reminds you of your best friend? The pictures I took down because we aren’t friends anymore. 

86. What are you passionate about? Being my authentic self. And Disney.

87. Tell me a story from middle school? I skipped middle school.

88. Who was your favourite teacher and why? Barthe. He was wacky as hell and taught in a way that I retained pretty much everything. I still use stuff I learned from him in college as examples for what I learn now.

89. Can you roll your tongue? Yes, and I can fold it.

90. What made you pursue what you are studying? (including school subjects) I thought I loved it. Now I’m not so sure.

91. Where would you like to travel to? All the Disney Parks. And I’d like to visit all 50 states.

92. What is something on your bucket-list? Visit all 50 states.

93. What is home to you? Wherever my bed is.

94. What do you do in your free time? When I have it, which is like never, I knit and watch TV or hang out with my boyfriend. 

95. If you could buy anything right now, what would it be? A house. 3 Bed 2 Bath with  two car garage, stainless steel appliances, and a yard. 

96. If you could see anyone, living or dead, right now, who would it be? My late grandfather. I could use some of his advice.

97. If you could choose, what would your last meal be? Chicken Wings.

98. How would you like to die? Um yeah that’s not going to happen. If it does I better be like 120. 

99. List five of your favourite pieces of art (paintings, books, songs etc) Everything. Everything is art and I love it all. 

100. What would you change about this world? Equality. I have just as much value as my male counterpart, even if we have different strengths. 

Thanks for asking!

[itsaclife]

To Heaven and Back

Recently, I read To Heaven and Back by Dr. Mary Neal. Per Amazon, “To Heaven and Back is Mary’s remarkable story of her life’s spiritual journey and what happened as she moved from life to death to eternal life, and back again. Detailing her feelings and surroundings in heaven, her communication with angels, and her deep sense of sadness when she realized it wasn’t her time, Mary shares the captivating experience of her modern-day miracle.” Before I delve into this, let me give you some of my personal back story.

I was raised in the church and many many many of my early childhood memories are either within the church itself or surrounded by our church family. It truly wasn’t until my teens that I stopped going to church and even then, I didn’t question my faith; that was in my 20′s. I’ve been fairly vocal about my thoughts on religion, particularly organized religion. Beyond that, though, I just have so so many questions about the ideal of Christianity itself. I find a lot to be contradictory. For example, I’ve heard many a’Christian say God made us to be just the way we are. I am of the belief that people are BORN gay, they do not actively decide to be that way. Christians believe that being gay is a CHOICE, and more so, being gay is a sin; but who woke up and decided that they wanted to be straight? Why is being straight, which doesn’t seem to me to be a choice, it is just who I am, not a sin? Point being, I find things that just don’t seem logical to me with the teachings I grew up with and, I decided, if I can’t fully believe in these teachings, then I’m not going to believe at all.

Years back, I met a wonderful, wonderful woman who viewed religion in a similar manner as me. She became terminally sick and I had the opportunity to go see her one final time before she passed away. While visiting her in the hospital, though she was unconscious, I told her that, if she finds out God is real, she better let me know. That evening, she was gone. A few days later, while at a store, I saw this little plaque that said, “If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to Heaven, and bring you home again.” This instantly made me teary eyed and then I saw, laying next to the plaque My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult. This book is my favorite book, but beyond that, my friend who passed... we called each other soul sisters. Was that my sign? At the time, I certainly took it as such. After the couple years I’ve had to reflect on that moment and how I was feeling at the time, I realize taking that as a sign had less to do with any confirmation of a Heaven, and therefore a God, and more to do with someone who is physically not with us anymore being able to see us and still communicate with us.

So, I reached a point in my life where I decided I needed to at least open myself back up to the idea of a God. While I haven’t done much by way of truly exploring God again, I have picked up the Bible on occasion. There are some of you I have had numerous religious conversations with. Sometimes I go deep. Sometimes the answers I’m given or the scripture I’m referred to still don’t make sense to me. I still have a million questions. I’ve learned, though, that sometimes, there just aren’t answers; you just have to believe. I think I’m to the point where I can believe in a higher power. The God I want to believe in may not be the God YOU want to believe in, though, and I think that’s alright since so much about Christianity is subject to 900 different interpretations. I choose to believe in a God that isn’t so Old Testament. I want my God to not think I need to go to church and tithe. I want to believe in a God that accepts all people for who they are, despite their race, creed, orientation, political views, and whether or not they can run a mile in under an hour. I want to believe in a God that sees me as his child and understands I’m going to make millions of mistakes, and he’s not going to be happy with me every single day, but he still loves me. I want my God to be happy when I come back to him, and to not be surprised when I might stray and focus on other things in my life.

In my quest to continue to garner knowledge about the almighty powers above, I purchased and read this book. Here are my thoughts. Please be warned there are spoilers ahead:

This woman, a doctor, made it very obvious from the beginning that she is strong in her faith and has always been a believer, which is interesting coming from someone in the medical field. Interesting but inspiring. She has had a number of life experiences that have continued to prove to her there is a God. On an international trip, she goes on a kayaking excursion and her boat becomes lodged in a waterfall. The team that she is with cannot locate her right away and she basically drowns. She describes being aware that she was dying, but believing that Jesus was with her and holding her during this time. She felt at peace and was not scared. Once her kayak was located and she was pulled from the water, CPR was started immediately. During this time, she describes meeting these beings, what I’m lead to believe were angels, but also being able to see her body and the efforts being taken to revive her. She details how she would be with the angels, then be pulled back to her body to take a breath, then she would go back to the angels, which she found frustrating because she just wanted to move on. Away from her body and with the angels, she makes it to this room and is then told it is not her time. She then goes back to her body for good. By this description alone, I don’t believe she made it to Heaven at all. Maybe she saw angels, that I can believe. She describes nothing about Heaven, though, outside of making it to this room only to be immediately turned around. This whole “recounting” of her time in Heaven is told in a matter of a few pages. Her story goes on and you learn about her recovery, where she describes a few separate times while in the hospital of having conversations with Jesus, where all her questions were answered. Conveniently, she was probably on a lot of pain medication at the time, like morphine, which can cause hallucinations, and she also doesn’t go into ANY DETAIL whatsoever about the questions that were answered. She does say that she was told she needs to be there for her family, that her husband was going to need her, and she needed to help her family get past what happens with their son.  This book was a good book about having a positive spirit and dealing with life as it comes. Dr. Neal has lived through some very trying things and it makes for a good story; she just didn’t go to Heaven. I can’t tell you if she came up with the title of this book or not; maybe it’s a marketing ploy, but I can only believe as the writer, it was her title to come up with. This title is a blatant lie. I realize that might come off harsh... but I’m not even sorry.  I would still recommend reading the book, just know if you’re really looking to read someone’s experience in Heaven, you aren’t going to get it here.

Reading this book also brought up a few questions for me. I have heard that drowning is a very peaceful way to die. Now, I could research this further if I wanted to and I’m sure I could find that there are some kind of endorphins released when your body is starved for oxygen that are released which bring about a sense of euphoria, peace, whatever. So, could that be why she felt so at peace when she realized she was dying? Also, if you aren’t truly dead, can you even get into Heaven? Isn’t that like a requirement at the pearly gates to begin with? On the other hand, I can see God being the kind of person to allow a few people who are near death to view what they have to look forward to - but not yet. I can see God being the kind of person to turn those people around and hope they spread the word that Heaven is for Real. (That is also a book, a much better book than this one was as far as stories about Heaven go). If the latter is the case, how does God pick and chose who gets a VIP pass to Heaven? Is it favoritism? Is it to give people who may not believe a chance to change their minds before it’s too late? And if THAT is the case, shouldn’t that same opportunity be afforded to all people? And if it IS afforded to all people, what’s the point of walking in faith every day of your life? Wouldn’t it be more fun to live your life exactly how you want to live without fear of spending eternity in the fiery pits of Hell because you’ll be given a chance to turn it all around before you’re REALLY dead? But what about the people who DON’T have near death experiences? Now I’m rambling... 

Moral of the story is the book was a good story about life and how to make it through the lows - but also, thou shalt not lie.

[princessclawdia-blog]

Call of the Wild

Now from the time I was a little kid, I could remember my parents would spank me for whatever nonsense or foolishness I had gotten into. Afterwards I remember feeling some shame, but the older I got it turned to more of an excitement. Like any kid at the time when I knew I was about to get my ass beat I would kick, fight back, run away, but afterwards it was such a turn on. The older I got when I finally had discovered masturbation and how if I rubbed my crotch hard enough how amazingly good it would feel, it was the same kind of excitement I would feel after being spanked. When I got close to adolescence I ended up stringing the two together. After I got my ass busted, once I was alone in my room, my cherry red cheeks throbbing I'd lay down onto my bed face down, put my headphones on and grind on top of my hand or a pillow. Now growing up in a Christian household with Christian parents, and my mother who at times was fanatical about her beliefs, I often felt ashamed like as if there was something wrong with me.

Homosexuality was a sin, masturbation was a sin, dirty or impure thoughts was a sin, rock n roll music was a device of the devil and pretty much anything else I enjoyed was a sin. I felt as if I were defective and a deviant. I would have nightmares about going to hell. My mother would blame our "sins" as the reason why she or my father had an illness, or the house needed repairs, financially they were struggling with bills or an unexpected expense that had come up that they weren't prepared for, because we were bad children. We were sinful children who didn't love God and so therefore God was punishing her and us because of our sins. I as a small child lived in fear of doing anything wrong or making mistakes because I was afraid God would punish me and or my family. No person could ever live up my mother's incredibly unreasonable expectations, regardless if God had a hand in it or not.

I truly believed this irrational nonsense until I was about thirteen and lived in a state of fear and constant anxiety. I loved reading to escape from the drama and I loved history too. Watching documentaries about the Nazis, about how the SS policed everything everyone said and did so as not to deviate from the ideal the Nazi party had set forth. Documentaries on the vietnam war and the fear of the rising threat of communism. I felt I could identify with the accounts people gave. They would give interviews and tell stories, remembering how scared and anxious they would be, living in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, the paranoia and how it would bring about a horrible end. All of that would change once I discovered the heavens that lie beyond, in the internet.

Once I had access to the internet and had built my own first computer from odds and ends of other ones that had since been upgraded in the computer lab at school and then happened upon a local computer store that was happy to have a young eager mind willing to learn and donate their spare parts towards my cause I was on my way to opening a whole new world. Now in the days of dial up internet if you knew how to link into a phone line and swipe the AOL demos from the local Wal Mart in multiples so you'd have a supply of the free trial codes, you would have unlimited access, unless the phone lines were down. I found a plethora of free porn, which was completely foreign to me up until that point. There was so much available, from girls sucking horse cocks, to gangbangs, gaping holes, spanking which of course was my immediate favorite and it was then like I had discovered Valhalla.

I had, had dreams before of being spanked and at this point coming into transitioning from being a little kid and I was now twelve years old which meant moving up into junior high school and soon I'd be a teenager and all teens think they are the shit and know it all. For me though once I stumbled upon four letters BDSM: bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism. Now, I had heard the term sadist before, on tv when reporters would be referring to some terrible serial killer and the horrible crimes they had committed, but the rest really didn't mean much to me. I would comb through pages and pages of pictures, videos, women tied up, being fucked with dildos and vibrators, clamps and the popular clothespins hanging from throbbing nipples and I discovered my panties would be so wet after a little while of viewing.

So just like any other young, stupid kid I began experimenting. I would find clothespins, shoelaces, nylon rope in the garage and I would try to bind my still growing breasts just like in the pictures online and clamp clothespins to my tiny pink nipples. It hurt of course at first, but it was a good kind of pain. Not like the kind of pain when I fell rollerblading trying to grind across a handrail at the local church on an angle too steep to start with, but a pleasurable kind of pain. Then I moved to finding whatever I could find to fuck myself with. The big fat coloring markers, tampons still in the plastic applicator, vegetables, my hairbrush handle and my fingers. It all felt so good and it was addictive, like who doesn't want to masturbate every fucking day if they can right?

I suppose this is probably also how I ended up starting to fuck at an early age. I wasn't a complete idiot, I had taken sex education in school so I knew about STDS. My mother being a nurse and had a library of educational books in the house. When I ran out of books to read from the local library and it donned on me the wealth of knowledge in those anatomy books I began to devour them page by page. I had always loved to read since I was really little, I could read, write and spell before I hit kindergarten, but now I had a new motivation to learn. By age thirteen my mother had decided I was old enough to go to the gynecologist since my periods much like hers were getting terribly heavy and almost unbearable. Some days she would let me skip school and ride along with her to her job, and we would go to the mall for lunch sometimes when she could afford it. So by eighth grade and going on fourteen years old I was already on the pill, reading all I could about male and female anatomy and a porn fiend. When I started dating guys who were of course always a grade or two older than me and the opportunity arose after making out to fool around I thought I know exactly how to do this, I had watched so many videos online.

Even now as a grown woman I have always prided myself on giving blowjobs. I have had a lot of practice and when the first few times I had the opportunity as a teen I did what I saw online and to my surprise when I got complimented on how much he enjoyed it, it lit a fire. So when I started dating a guy who wanted to have sex, it was like my mind and body was in auto pilot. I would sneak out at night meet him in the local park, sometimes there against the silky lining on his leather trench coat in the dark under the moonlight, sometimes when his mom would be out of town and his little sister was fast asleep in her room he would let me into his bed, sometimes in his car if we could find somewhere hidden to park for a while. He was one of the first, others it would become sneaking in a quickie in their bedrooms knowing the parents were nearby. The ginger one when I got to high school, the local coffeehouse bathroom because it was quite spacious for a public restroom plus the aroma of chocolate pastries with caffeine just added to the experience.

By the time I got to college and I had friends who were just learning how to get good at fucking, their first few times in high school usually were awkward and not something they cared to remember or they were virgins waiting for it finally to be their turn I had already been through several "boyfriends". I referred to them as that, because there is not really any better term. They were boys, we were friends to some degree and we did stuff together.

Later on as an adult and into my twenties porn was something anymore I'd watch when bored or just dry up on available "boyfriend" options to pass the time. When I moved to another state and a much bigger city, my new girlfriends would talk about their boyfriends wanting to do things they just didn't enjoy. Like having her the woman get on top of him, doggie style or trying anal. Now in high school the first guy, yeah the one I met in the park at night, loved when he finally could sneak me into his bedroom and after he donned a glow in the dark condom he procured from the local gas station vending machine and I mounted on top of him. He had black lights all around his room, those tacky posters from Spencer's to match and White Zombie turned down low, thumping from his shelf stereo and it was a straight up party to the two of us. Probably one of the best reasons was while I was bouncing away on his cock to orgasm after orgasm he could lay back and we could both smoke the fat blunt he had just rolled. Sometimes his friends would come spend the night too, they would lay on either side of us on his bed, singing along to the music, passing the joint and eventually I would take my turn with each of them.

Of course my inner circle of closest friends back then, my fellow " juggalettes" (yeah, yeah I know I.C.P is so lame now, but back in the day they were the shit), the outcasts, drama and theatre nerds, the band geeks, only a few of them knew of my wild habits. They were the same few who I'd bump into at a house party or at the local coffeehouse where all the middle and lower class kids who didn't have Wranglers, Land Rovers, or tricked out pick up trucks to cruise around in at the mall, this where we went to hang out.

The few of my closer girlfriends I admit we were total sluts by definition. We would swap notes in classes, trying to one up one another about our raunchy tales from the weekend before. We would swap condoms and other goodies we purchased from various vending machines at truck stops and gas stations. Chewing on the flavored ones in class like they were fucking bubble gum. I'd swap my banana for strawberry which matched my wildly colored pillarbox red hair, as Manic Panic called it. In our minds, we felt grown up and badass as fuck. It was as if we knew a little secret the rest of our classmates had not yet figured out. Sex felt fucking awesome, it was fun and we fucking loved it. We loved to fuck every chance we got. Some of us like myself loved to fuck every chance I could with guys of course and girls too. I would salivate and get wet thinking about some of my girlfriends in their low slung hip hugger flare jeans, thong poking out in the back, spaghetti strap tops with their nipples showing through the cheap polyester fabric and the cheesy Playboy bunny glitter logo planted front and center, between their firm tits. Now that I think about this as an adult it all sounds so stupid and it is embarassing.

I still remember always feeling just a little bit off though from my friends. I would go back home, look at the darker side of porn and in the internet world I didn't feel so much as an outcast and a freak. I did eventually get a cheap webcam and I had accounts on AIM, YAHOO, and ICQ by now. I eventually late one night, at home and alone got bored and adventurous and discovered chat rooms. This wasn't like usual bullshit kiddie fun I had with my school friends, this was before emoticons were a thing too, you had to know the keystrokes to make each face. I of course found the over 18 chat rooms, quickly created an alternate profile with a fake name, address, age, and went to town. I got a cheap headset too, and I would spend hours talking to men and women from all over the world. I would exchange short videos and pictures with them. Clothespins on my nipples, tied up breasts, my fingers sloshing away at my puffy slippery wet pussy. It was in this world that I didn't feel I was an outcast, a defective, and certainly not a deviant. How could I be? There was a world of people out there just like me and enjoyed the things that I did. In this realm I felt like I belonged, like I had become part of some sort of kinky tribe. I at the time didn't know the definition of the word kink or that there was a name for these interests, just that they seemed to only come natural to me.

Now I don't know if this is the way other people have been introduced to the world of kink, but for me that is my earliest memory. As an adult now it seems to me that what I discovered was by happen stance, but if I hadn't discovered kink through the internet I would have eventually through another avenue in time. I now have piercings, tattoos, I change my hair color often on a whim and while some of these things are still considered even today in 2018 "alternative" or "wild" to me it just seems completely normal. Like my piercings and my tattoos I look at them everyday no different than the freckles on my skin. They are part of who I am, speak about me and I find them aesthetically beautiful. I don't think you can define or explain why it is some things are just attractive to some people and repulsive to others. The same with kink, it's just a turn on for many and for many others just seems bizarre and somehow unhealthy or there must be something wrong with you to enjoy such a thing. For those of us it speaks to, it's on a whole other level beyond just the physical sensations. There is a level of intimacy deeper than sex that's hard to describe, you just have to experience it.

Really and truly what it is at the core, for me at least, is an experience even when there is no sex involved. It does bring about that same kind of high you get after an intense orgasm, or at the end of a thrilling roller coaster ride. I get a high just from trying something new, it is for me a personal challenge, something new I hadn't tried before. It feels sometimes daunting, nerve wracking as fuck at times, even the feeling of danger maybe an element to it, and I have to self talk myself away from my fears of judgement or misunderstanding rooted in my conditioning since I was a child that this is not "normal behavior" and I am somehow a twisted deviant to derive such massive pleasure from participating in such things. Each new high, with each new experience it becomes cemented in my brain as a pleasant memory that brings a smile to my face. After so many years now it has become welded to my being. It is truly a part of me, of who I am, of who I was always meant to be.

I have in the past tried to supress it for one reason or another. Whether it was from a lack of time, the lack of motivation or simply just trying to fit in with a people or place, to belong where I was in life then, but after a time the hunger comes back. Like an insatiable thirst and there's only one way I know how to quench and relieve it. A call back to the wild is what I feel. Without it I don't feel whole, it is a part of my soul. Alongside my studies into the bdsm world I have also changed religious beliefs and philosophy over the years too and have come to find paganism and wicca to speak to my inner core like no other belief system could before.

My present day belief system is a fusion from different pagan practices, yes mostly from wicca, but nature and animals speak to my inner being and provide a peace I never found in christianity. I had read the Bible committed much of it to memory, I had read the Koran, books on buddhism, hinduism, jainism, back again to different versions of the bible and catholicism, but it I just didn't "feel" it. Something just wasn't right and so I continued my search until I found what I was looking for to end my hunger and thirst. Wicca and much of the other pagan beliefs centered around nature, just touched my soul in every right way possible. I felt the same kind of calm and peace when strolling down a trail on a cool fall day, admiring the colors of the fallen leaves, feeling the breeze through my hair, the fall sun warm on my cheeks, and I am one with the nature in the world around me. This is my religion, this is my spirituality, it was always there and all around me I just didn't know it until that moment.

My willingness to throw my whole self into the bdsm world and with every opportunity I can find, the closest analogy I can think of to explain why, is how I became a pagan over the years. It just clicks with me. It just speaks to who I am and to who I have always wanted to be deep down inside of myself. I had always been angry, self destructive even and at war with my inner self. I had grown tired and weary and longed for peace, for soildarity, for quiet, and to calm the storm inside of me.

The experience when I am into my subspace, participating in whatever activity I have chosen to experience, is what I like to think of as a call back to the wild. It is a call to just be, to let go of the many inhibitions that hold us back from experiencing the body and soul the way it is meant to be felt.

Life they say is meant to be lived. If you are "living" but not with feeling, with a passion, with a fire burning, with a sense of feeling free and enjoying the whole experience then to me that isn't really living. For me, I know I had heard the call of the wild many times before and I didn't fully understand it or I chose to repress it and pretend I couldn't hear it. It sounded like a lone wolf crying at the moon in search of its brethren.

I heard the call of the wild again and again and I had decided to follow it and now I know I am home. I feel the peace and solidarity with my soul that I had longed for. I am one with the wild. I am one with the wild fire burning inside and while I am learning how to master it still, I am one of the wild and no longer scared to be true to myself. I am no longer ashamed of what I am, to remain faithful and loyal to who I am. I want to become the call of the wild now to others who are willing to hear its message and want to come home to the pack. Come home my brethren, listen to the call of the wild inside of you. Do not be afraid. This is the call to love yourself, of self discovery. This is how I am learning to love and trust myself. I am one of the wild now and I will never look back.

[scottielambchop]

My Summer Set Review (2/2) ...Like, a Year Later

Hey guys, I got really tired on waiting for this thing to be edited (and honestly so did the person editing it). So here it is, unedited (sorry no boobs).

Herobust – Dirty Work: Before I get into this, I have a feeling that this song isn’t about the 1998 Norm MacDonald classic. This song starts off like it’s going to be a dirty-ass hip hop song, which is pretty tight, but then actual beat comes in which sounds like someone put a bunch of springs in a coffee can and then recorded it. As the song progresses, it sounds like someone autotuned an auto body shop. It’s bordering on unlistenable. The lyrics are really good though, you know, just about straight objectification of a woman. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s songs like this that make me really wonder why the fuck I chose to write this shit in my free time. All I can think about are junked out white kids twitching to this song in a grassy field and saying that they’re “in a groove.”

Keys n Krates – Dum Dee Dum: Holy shit, this song’s initial beat is just the words “dum dee dum” on repeat at different tones while someone uses a drum machine. There’s no drive or real buildup or anything. I know these kids like to dance to this shit, but I’m having a hard time even finding myself able to move. Then again, I’m not stuffed to the gills with blow and molly. I just don’t know what I’m listening to anymore.

Malaa – Notorious: First thing’s first, at the time of this review, this song has 6,382,678 views, so I’m thinking this is a banger… but I’m actually expecting the audio equivalent of dog shit through an Instagram filter. Ok, getting started. This song has a very basic beat, almost the type of beat someone would make when they’re trying to explain generic techno. And honestly, I’m not far off. It’s just low-key shit while lyrics from a hip hop artist are scattered about whenever it fits. I don’t hate this, I mean, I also don’t really like it either. It’s so nondescript that it’s hard to formulate an opinion on it. Which makes the high number of views makes so much sense to me, because either it’s so generic that it will keep any shitty 20-something basement party going without “harshing” anyone’s mellow, or someone had to listen to the song six million times just for to formulate an actual opinion on it. It’s probably a mix.

Ookay – Thief: This guy is straight-up made out of autotune. Thankfully, he’s trying to bring back the sexy saxophone, but the shitty over-bassed beats ruin any sort of goodwill that had going for it. Like, this song just sounds like a modern slow jam. There are lyrics… layers and layers of the same lyrics over each other, but it’s alright. I just kinda wish I didn’t have to see what this guy looks like. You know when a barista says “I’m also a DJ?” I have a feeling this guy is that success story. Compared to everything I’ve listened to so far, this song may as well be Rust In Peace by Megadeth, but ultimately it’s just Ookay.

Petit Buscuit – Sunset Lover: Jesus, more than 37 million people have listened to this. It starts off with a with an alright guitar (or synth guitar) riff, but then follows it up with an annoying high pitched voice speaking in a remixed foreign language. But this is really just non-offensive, kind of relaxing. It ever so slowly builds up more, adding in beats and other percussion instruments. Minus the remixed voice, this song is actually pretty good. I’d play it to help me sleep (I swear that’s not a dig). It’s just a quiet, relaxing song, people probably fuck to it a bunch.

Playboi Carti – Magnolia: This is a break from your typical bullshit dubstep/EDM on this list, which is a warm welcome for me. Sadly, this guy sounds like The Streets, but with an over-bassed beat. I don’t know what’s going on with hip hop anymore. Lyrically, it’s like they’re not even trying anymore, no rhyme scheme or anything. Just drone beats and incomprehensible rambling followed by a clearly audible “bitch” and that’s it. That said, still better than most of the stuff I’ve listened to.

Slushii – So Long (Feat. Madi): I can really tell how much this review process has started to change my outlook on things. I legitimately got excited when I saw actual people on the YouTube video thumbnail. My brain is breaking, ever so quickly. Anyway, this actually starts off like a pop song, slow beginning, nice pianos. Hell, even the girl singing sounds like she’s using her own voice. Ok, now the electronic part kicked in, but it’s not overly annoying. Honestly, this just sounds like generic hipster garbage, that people would namedrop to get some sort of superiority (“Oh that’s cute that you Animal Collective, but I’m more of a Slushii person.”) Regardless, I’m worried that they’ll get kicked off of the festival for being an artist that creates an actual song. Prayers for the Slushii family.

Snails – Frogbass: Oh Jesus, they’re hitting the ground running on this garbage. This just starts off really loud and obnoxious. And there’s a buildup where everything speeds up really quickly and subsequently gets quiet. All leading up the huge “dubstep” climax that just sounds like it was made on Sega Genesis sound chip. Like, that breakdown seriously gives me a headache. I feel like I need drugs… I SEE THE APPEAL NOW!

Space Jesus – The Weed: Well fuck, at least we’re now throwing out any attempts a subtlety with this song title. Honestly though, if I wasn’t working on this little project, and someone asked me if I’ve heard “The Weed” by Space Jesus, I would assume they’re one of the coolest stoner metal bands ever. But in all actuality, this song is just a conversation between two people about how a guy doesn’t smoke weed anymore, and that there’s a new drug or some shit out there, then it’s all remixed at different levels over some boring-ass, non-consistent beats. There’s seriously no drive to any of this shit. Like I understand that kids want to have some sort of music to listen to while they’re frying their brains on elicit drugs, but for fuck’s sake, try and maintain some artistic integrity. Oh, and this video has some dumb, weird fascination with waffles, but really, who gives a shit?

Ugly God – Water: Who could have seen this coming? The next natural progression from Space Jesus is Ugly God. In the future, I’m going to cite these two groups as a reason for my atheism. Once again, this is just generic beats with a guy mumbling over it. But wait, this guy rhymed “water” with “water” NEVERMIND HE’S A FUCKING GENIUS! And according to this music video, he’s also very talented at pouring two types of alcohol on someone’s daughter’s breasts. You know, because that’s a thing apparently. Also, this video has a weird gangster element, and utilizes the “f-word” (homophobic slur). Maybe the Christian conservatives were right about us shitty “snowflakes.” I mean, if (Ugly) God doesn’t have a problem placing himself above women and homosexuals, why should anyone else. I need to rethink my life.

Vanic – Too Soon (feat. Maty Noyes): This Maty Noyes girl has a pretty good voice… I think. It’s kinda fitting the trend of inward sing/mumbling so I don’t know what’s good anymore. But anyway, this song has the format of a pretty basic electronic pop song. Yeah, there’s a part in the middle where the keyboards make auto-tuned “veep” and “voop” noises, but at this point, nothing is surprising. The buildup is ok, and parts of this song are somewhat catchy. Yeah, it’s just a dance-pop song. Nothing groundbreaking, but it’ll get your ass shaking in the club or wherever the fuck you want to go.

Whethan – Savage (feat. Flux Pavilion and MAX): Well first of all, this video was uploaded by an organization called Trap Nation. I suppose there is no better time to let you all know that I have no idea what trap music actually is. So far all I can tell is that it just involves a lot of bass-y fart noises in lieu of a chorus. The quiet parts of this song are relatively tranquil, and I would very much like the song to just be nice an relaxing, but I guess that would make doing drugs in the middle of a field boring, so I guess Whethan added some loud robot farts to get you guys going… and that is trap music.

Wolfgang Gartner – Devotion: Apparently Wolfgang Gartner is the artist most retail clothing stores hire to make their in-house music. I’m currently watching a “lyric” video for this song, and they just have the same two lines on repeat throughout the entire song. It’s really loud and annoying, and yet I feel the urge to buy a pair of $150 jeans and a suit jacket.

Blu J – HDLCK: They sample Imogene Heap for this, so that’s pretty alright. But they replaced all of the music with the typical techno drums and claps, and then fill the rest off with random noises (you know, the sounds like when you hit a PVC pipe with a stick or whatever). I suppose it can make someone shake their ass. It just goes quiet and then loud and then quiet again. I’m now realizing that this review has become a test in how many times I can write the same goddamn review.

Kasbo – World Away: To start off, this just sounds like something that would be played in a dimly lit bar that would make you pay $25 for a gin and tonic. Very light and ethereal, but also really annoying. It’s like the audio equivalent of a late 20s/early 30s aspiring Instagram model. I can only picture people wearing big hats and big sunglasses listening to this and saying that this song is “so dope” and then going back to eating sushi and talking about how they want to travel the world and then live in a tiny home in an open field somewhere.

Russ Liquid – Feral Cat: Oh Jesus Christ this starts with what sounds like a pan flute and then evolves to a Moog synth. All of the sounds are compiling over each other, it’s like a multiple layers of noise that start and stop with the overall beat, like nothing is overtly loud, but there’s just so much happening all at once. After a bit, it just cuts its initial beat, and the noises just come all willy-nilly. There’s a point where a high-pitched voice is singing something, then there’s a clearly slowed down voice saying some bullshit at the same time, while it sounds like someone is having a stroke while playing a synth. This is like the official theme to a sexy headache.

Oh My Love – Spark: Oh good, it’s a band that saw early MGMT and the Phoenix back in 2009 and never grew out of it! That said, compared to practically everything else I’ve heard on this list, this has a straight-up song structure. And if I’m being completely honest, it’s actually pretty good. The female vocalist has a relatively pretty voice, and the beat isn’t overbearing. This song sounds like it would be played on a depressing montage about love lost over a summer in an indie film. Shit, I might actually listen to this song again, when I’m not forcing myself to review it. I have no idea who I am anymore.

Mielo – Surreal (Feat. Abby Sevcik): The beginning of this was highly inspired by the vocal prompts in Animal Crossing. Vocal cuts stopped and turned into actual vocals, which was nice… oops spoke to soon, it’s now just the word “you” in different pitches with a typical electronic beat. And now were back to the regular vocals. I get how this song works. It has some really peaceful, pretty singing and then it’s followed by one of the most annoying choruses. It’s kinda brilliant really, it provides audio highs and lows for people on ecstasy to better ejaculate. Yeah, a little under half of this song is good, but the rest is annoying horseshit.

Porn and Chicken – Ugh, no.

Attom – Stay: This is just local coffee shop background hipster music. Light noises, overpowering beat, peaceful synths and indecipherable vocals. Easy to ignore when you’re trying to finish your essay about how the works of Kant and Descartes affected the political cultures of their times or whatever. It wasn’t anything, Hell, it was hardly there. So needless to say, I like it better than 75% of the rest of this stuff.

GainesFM – Negative Energy: This is just typical modern hip-hop song with a minimal beat and mumbled lyrics. The only thing that sets this song apart from the rest of it is the fact that it sounds like vocals were recorded with a megaphone muffled through a pillow. At least he has the wherewithal to rhyme on occasion. Whatever.

Indrid Cold – Cosmic Dust: This starts off with a sample from an Apollo space mission. As far as I can tell, this guy is just a typical club DJ. Fun fact: I did once go through a minor techno phase in the very early aughts (we’re talkin’ ’01 or ’02). During this time, I listened to a lot of Paul Oakenfold, Chemical Brothers, and Orbital, and honestly, that’s exactly what this sounds like. It’s still shitty techno, but it reminds me of the shitty techno that I used to listen to, so I can tolerate it. Stupid samples though.

Ragebeards – Round 2: Ok here’s the deal, these guys are a local Minnesota DJ duo, I can’t really find anything of theirs on YouTube, so I’m watching a video on their Facebook. The problem (other than the fact that they suck) is that the video is more than an hour long, and I’m certainly not going to waste an hour of my life listening to this. Anyway, I can review this relatively quickly, imagine the worst parts of late 90’s Crystal Method and then add Michael Buffer/Jock Jams samples in there and that’s basically what you’ve got. Take that however you want, I’d rather listen to Filter.

Why Khakiq – Knew the Half: This song is pretty wild, man. It starts off as one of those mumblely hip-hop songs, but then the dude starts straight-up spittin’ rhymes. Then half way through, the beat completely changes to something faster and the guy really goes after it. And then it cuts back down. I dunno, man, I kinda really like this. Solid

Trufeelz – Set Ya Mind Free: Ok, imagine sped up Musak, weird synthy laser sounds, and then the same phrase being repeated on different pitches, one high and annoying, and the other low and breathy… and also annoying. But I can see how people dance to this. It sucks, but as I’ve come to realize, that doesn’t mean you can’t dance to it. OH COOL, THEY’VE ADDED PAN FLUTES AT THE END! NEVERMIND THIS SONG RULES!

Conclusion:

I’ve given one song by every artist a shot. Surprisingly, I found one or two that didn’t make me want to lobotomize myself with forklift (Hell, I actually found one that I actually kinda liked (Lookin’ at you Oh My Love)). But ultimately, most of the people playing this festival sound like the audio equivalent of vape rigs.

Most electronic dance music (techno, trap, house, flip, flop, butt, farts, Jeep Cherokee, flat earth, and whatever other subgenres) is the goddamn worst. Granted, I haven’t even smoked weed since 2009, so I don’t know what these guys sound like on drugs… or stranded in a field with people on drugs. The one thing I’ve discovered, is that this is just the next iteration of hippie bullshit. If you need drugs to enjoy the sounds robots fucking, maybe the sounds of robots fucking isn’t good. But whatever, I’m not going to fully shit on someone’s good time. I just won’t go to the goddamn festival.

If I can leave you all with one last thought, it would have to be “Fuck hippies and their bullshit music.”

But seriously, I hope you guys all do what you want, and do what makes you happy. I know I didn’t. I’m going to neutralize the nearly irreversible damage I’ve done to myself by listening to Propagandhi and Snapcase.

But seriously, seriously, fuck hippies.

Stay safe out there. Always know your dealer.