#how to kill a rockstar

[redninjaoutfit]

"why don't you hang out with your brother?" "he's at his new girlfriend's house"

You genuinely do not understand the emotional impact these two sentences had on me. I didn't respond sooner because this ask actually pushed me to write a whole ass oneshot about Colt and Lucky based on this. I've been sat here in my pajamas doing nothing but writing.

SO. ENJOY. IDK IF ITS GOOD BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND KNOW IT DESTROYED ME EMOTIONALLY. (below the cut cause its long as shit)

4386 words of unfiltered angst hurt/comfort.

His brother's soulmate

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The bell signalling the beginning of the next class rang out loudly, piercing the ears of nearby students and rousing birds out of the branches of surrounding trees. In their rush towards the main entrance, no one detected the hasty, light steps and delicate gush of wind passing through like a ghost, unaware that someone fortunate enough to avoid the oppressive authority of the school prefects had slipped through the front gate, completely unnoticed. The truant in question darted absentmindedly towards nearby shrubbery leading to Bullworth Town, unlit cigarette sitting patiently between his paint-blotched fingers, other hand smoothing the copper mane his older friends enjoyed tussling so much.

Colt De Luca, a Bullworth freshman and member of the feared and respected Greaser clique, could feel his legs moving yet had no idea where he was headed. He let his body take him wherever as he busied himself with searching his pockets for a lighter acquired off Ricky in the parking lot mere moments earlier.

After successfully retrieving the small object and lighting the tip of his very last cancer stick, Colt took a vigorous drag and felt his lungs burning, instantly relieving some of the stress off his mind. Granted a moment of clarity, the Greaser looked around. He found he’d already made his way over to the main road leading towards the path heading to New Coventry, his own place of residence.

Looks like it was yet another day of aimless wandering ahead of him.

While Colt was not usually one to skip school, having been brought up to value education and consider its impact on his future, today was different - much different - he thought to himself as he bitterly kicked the pebble which had the audacity to find itself in his way. Colt’s mind seemed preoccupied with thoughts and anxiety from the very moment he woke up and rose off his paper thin mattress and continued through the few classes he chose to attend and do badly in. Frustration kept him on the edge of his seat as the teachers talked and talked and asked invasive questions and refused his requests for a bathroom break (which they rightfully suspected would turn into a smoke break). Not even his trusty sketchbook helped soothe his irritable mind and upon hearing the dreaded ring of the bell, nothing could keep the boy inside the confines of the stone walls of the academy.

Colt’s anger was not unfounded yet as he traversed the decrepit streets of New Coventry he could not help but cringe at the memory of his friends’ concern throughout the day. Many of them have come around to inquire about his well being, sought him out of their own volition while he hid and ran. Norton offered to lend a comforting ear. Ricky asked if he wanted to ride around town after school. Lefty remained on his tail break upon break, attempting to get him out of his own head with chatter. Hell, even Johnny, the aloof, tough king of the Greasers said they should ditch and talk. Colt, regretfully, dismissed them all. He didn’t need their help, he could do this on his own, he was grown now.

Grownups don’t mope about the anniversary of their parents’ death.

Colt took a final drag of his cigarette and tossed it onto the side before its remains could burn him, stomping it out with his dirty loafer. He looked at the pitiful bud for a moment before averting his eyes, reminded much to his dismay of his current appearance. “I probably looked like a pathetic kicked puppy right now, damn it.” He thought to himself bitterly and headed for one of New Coventry’s many sketchy alleyways.

He’s fourteen years old, fifteen in a few months. Practically a grown man, hanging around the most dangerous and intimidating group in the whole school (excluding the Jocks, but Colt didn’t like to think about the roid monkeys if he could help it). He should have already learned how to deal with grief a long time ago, should have forgotten about the whole ordeal either way since he was merely a baby by the time he became an orphan. He had no right to miss the people he didn’t even know. Yet the stabbing in his heart and tightness in his throat he felt at the moment were just as intense as when he was first yelled at by his uncle after bashfully handing him a Father’s day card he was forced to make in school. Or when neighbourhood children tripped him onto a busy road and asked if he’d tattle to his mommy. Or when he was scowled at by teachers for being brought to school by a boy not much older than him instead of an adult. 

In previous years though, as juvenile and immature as it was, he had someone to share that grief with. None of his friends could understand better than that person did, for good reason too. He’d take young Colt out to do anything to get their minds off their parents, visit their favourite hotdog stand, wander around surrounding fields with no purpose at all, ride around on bikes from sunrise till dawn. They’d religiously visit their parents’ joined grave, year by year, and talk. Touch on things they normally would, couldn’t, and those conversations brought them closer than ever before.

This year was different, however. Colt would have to grow up and be brave on his own, since the jerk didn’t care about him-

Just as Colt was about to descend down the winding path behind the Tenements a small, familiar hand roughly grasped his upper arm, violently ripping him out of his own thoughts. He smelled the smoke before he even turned around to glance at the person with irked, surprised eyes.

Standing behind him was Lefty, his best friend, in all his jean jacket-clad, greased up glory, though the intimidating effect of his appearance was dampened by how out of breath he looked, coughing small droplets of black tar onto the pavement below their feet. Yet his grip on Colt’s arm never weakened.

“Dude, why do you have t’ be so fast?” Lefty gasped, straightening his back yet still appearing winded “Ya got a bounty on yer head or somethin’?”

Why was Lefty even there to begin with, though? Colt knew the little Greaser still had two more classes and though he often skipped school, some days entirely, he usually hid away from the prefects in the labyrinthine path toward the Autoshop. That, or he hung around the Blue Balls Casino, smoking it up to the point where they had to let it air out before entering.

He chose not to pry, however. He just wanted to hide somewhere, even if it was from who he considered a brother from another mother. Especially since his real one…

Colt sighed and looked away, feigning interest in nearby anti-Greaser graffiti.

“Not that I know of. Why are you even chasing me, shouldn’tcha be getting your beauty sleep in Slawter’s class right now?” retorted Colt, more venom in his voice than he would have wanted. He couldn’t even control himself with his best friend, what a child, he chastised himself, fists clenching.

Unbeknownst to him, Lefty had begun moving away from the alleyway as they talked, grip firm on his brooding friend as they slowly traversed the sidewalk rounding their designated yet dilapidated hangout spot. Truth be told, the chainsmoker had been worried about his childhood bud for a few days now. It was not uncommon for Colt to grow snappy and sad as they neared this time of the year, when leaves grew yellow and air crisped yet the avid painter found no drive to capture such picturesque sights. That was usually when he and the other Greasers stepped in - though emotional maturity was decidedly not their forte - to mitigate the bad moods of two of their clique members. That was when they partied the hardest, laughed the loudest, got up to most comedic hijinks they could think of and led actual in-depth discussions about things left untouched any other time of the year. The 50’s enthusiasts had their own, unique ways of showing each other they cared and, though unconventional, they usually worked.

This year was different and Lefty spotted it instantly. As the mid-October grew closer, nothing seemed to soothe Colt and the desperation Lefty felt witnessing his best friend’s pain was unlike any other. Unaware, or rather left in the dark about the reason for such an abrupt change (because he asked, many times at that!) he tried everything to make it better, which, ironically, did nothing. Which is why, having lost sight of Colt, Lefty turned to his friends to see if they’d caught wind of him anywhere in the academy.

Ricky, the ever-worrier, was the first person Lefty approached. He knew their resident mechanic usually had the most intel on all of their whereabouts since he usually obsessed over the people in his life to an unhealthy degree (such as his ex, but he didn’t like to talk about that). When asked about Colt, the older Greaser looked around the Autoshop’s entrance tentatively where he could only see Peanut and Vance having an animated conversation, upon which he leaned in, cigarette nearly falling from behind his ear.

“Don’t tell Lucky but I saw him dashin’ out of the front gate and haven’t seen him return since. Also might have given him a lighter, I ain’t proud of it but the kid was insistent.” Ricky confessed bashfully, smoothing the back of his pompadour, concerned expression never dropping from his face.

“Big deal, like we don’t all smoke.” Lefty muttered under his breath, shaking his head curtly. That was one thing he’d never been able to see eye to eye on with Lucky, he and Colt were barely four years younger than him and the rest of the Seniors yet when they smoked like a chimney it was okay. But enough about that.

“Why would Colt skip, though? He’s too nerdy for that, even on this day…” Lefty wondered.

“Don’t know dude, I’ve just been waitin’, hoping he’ll return before Luck sees and loses his shit. Hey, it wasn’t that long ago that he scrammed, maybe YOU can go bring our baby bro back since you seem to, ya know, be playin’ hooky too?” Ricky quipped playfully, looking at his watch to see it was already fifteen minutes since class began.

Which is how Lefty found himself in his current predicament, meandering the dirty streets of New Coventry, Colt in tow, head down as they traversed quietly. The silence was not awkward yet held an air of tension and sadness Lefty tried his best to signal a will to converse about through his pointed stares which, unfortunately, went completely unnoticed. Colt seemed lost in his own head, even more so than usual around the date of the anniversary. Lefty did not want to press but could simply not allow his friend to silently suffer any longer.

He led Colt towards a familiar, comforting path towards the abandoned, destroyed playground behind an old pizza parlour in a similar degree of upkeep. Since the closure of the restaurant many years back, the playground on its premises had been used exclusively by its undesignated audience of troublemakers, urban explorers and junkies who sought a secluded place to shoot it up in. It also just so happened to be where Lefty and Colt hid away since childhood when all seemed too overwhelming, when the world was just too big, their family issues too stifling.

The jean-clad Greaser moved the large carton box covering the entrance hole out of the way and bent down to pass, looking back at Colt as he went. His friends seemed aware of his surroundings at least, in his state of depression, as he mimicked Lefty’s movement and soon they stood in front of the hazardously rusty playground equipment, unmoving. Lefty saw it as his chance.

“OK dude, trust me, I know today’s rough on ya but I can see it’s worse than usual. What’s gotten into ya?” Upon receiving a deafening spur of silence in response, Lefty continued, attempting to look his friend in the eyes “I mean… skippin’ school, smokin’, ignorin’ us, to hell with the guys, ignorin’ me. It’s just… If something’s eatin’ ya up I wanna be able ta help and it clearly is.”

Desperate for any sort of answer, Lefty felt himself beginning to ramble, getting closer so he could put his hand on Colt’s shoulder in a - hopefully - consoling manner.

“And if you don’t wanna tell me, why don’t you hang out with yer brother? You know Lucky would be down to skip and drive around with you, he don’t like Maths anyway, you’d be doin’ him a favor.”

That seemed to finally get a reaction out of the artist, not one Lefty was hoping for, however, as the mournful Greaser sucked in a breath too quick to conceal and stiffened up under his arm. In the mere seconds their eyes met, Lefty saw pain and frustration and an unexpected glisten and moments later, Colt made a dash towards the entrance they had just breached.

Lefty hurriedly dove after him, grasping his arm much akin to how he caught him earlier in front of the Tenements.

“No gettin’ out of this one now buddy. Tell me what’s goin’ on and what’s it got to do with yer bro.” he stated, uncharacteristic severity in his voice as he led Colt towards the nasty, rusted swing set, other hand instinctively reaching for the full pack of smokes in his pocket “We’ve got all day, I may not be patient but for you, Imma sit here in silence till spooky hours till you’se in the mood to spill.”

Though the last part of his sentence may have been humorous, not even a hint of a smirk graced his face as he lowered himself carefully onto the squeaking swing and took out a cigarette out the box. His friend mimicked him wordlessly, sagging against his own seat’s cable, hand reaching out in unsaid request of his own cancer stick. Lefty did not hesitate before handing it over, bringing the tips of the cigarettes together before lighting them at once.

For a few solemn minutes, the two friends sat and filled their lungs with smoke, the only sound penetrating the silence between them being the croaking of the playground equipment around them and cars whooshing by on the other side of the fence. A light gust of wind tousled their hair from time to time, blowing the smoke back into their eyes, though neither gave it much consideration, lost in their own thoughts. Lefty wondered and pondered, unused to deep thought processes and obviously unaware of what exactly went down between the brothers on a day to day basis. To him, they seemed as in cahoots with one another as they usually were, albeit more glum with the anniversary of their parents’ passing around the corner. Having practically grown up alongside the De Luca siblings, Lefty felt he could confidently judge when the two had just had a falling out and despite Colt’s terrible mood Lucky appeared his regular self.

“He wouldn’t.” A meek voice disturbed his train of thought.

Lefty glanced over questioningly at his best friend who was mid cigarette drag, hands visibly shaking, brimming with anxious energy. Colt pushed himself absentmindedly back and forth on the swing with the heels of his loafers, the motion soothing to the Greaser, albeit barely. Noticing Lefty’s steely, concerned gaze, he coughed and continued.

“He wouldn’t. Be down to hang, that is. He uh… he’s goin’ over to his girl’s place today. Stayin’ the night too…” Colt mumbled and twisted his head away completely from his friend, cigarette long forgotten, burning dangerously close to his fingers and trailing ash on his pants.

Why had he even said anything at all? He wasn’t the only one who was growing older, Lucky, who’d always taken care of him, who’d always been there for him, who'd given up so much to raise both of them since their uncle couldn’t give a rat’s ass about them. He had grown too, into a respectable young adult at that, as respectable as he could be given their life circumstances. Despite being a notorious ladies man in the past, in recent months he’d been trying to actually make things work with a girl he met in their uncle’s shop. His undisputed charm worked its magic on her but contrary to his usual flings, so did hers. Lucky was actually serious about this girl, introducing her to his way of life, to his friends and (until that point, at least) the most important person in his life, his little brother Colt.

He was not jealous. At first. Jealousy is juvenile, after all. He enjoyed her presence, rather motherly, she was the calm to his fiery nature, the ying to his yang. She liked all of his hobbies and shared her own with him, some of which Lucky would never have considered uptaking in fear of them not being manly or tough enough. She was there for him through thick and thin, helped him destress and relax and take his mind off things when burnout approached since he was such a terrible workaholic. In turn, he showed her real fun, a rough, dangerous edge of the town and the Greaser way of life. Encouraged her towards spontaneity previously foreign to her.

They were a fantastic influence on each other, one could (and did, such as Lola) call them soulmates who healed a little bit each time they gazed into each other's eyes.

And Colt selfishly wished he could be such a person for Lucky.

Hence why, upon receiving the news of his brother spending the anniversary of their parents’ death, which the two of them usually bonded on, at his girlfriend’s place in a little village some distance away from Bullworth, something inside of Colt broke. The little boy inside of him, so painfully and tenderly helpless, desperately grasping onto his big brother’s hand like a lifeline fell onto the grainy sidewalk and watched his only support crutch walk away without looking back. He could not cry, he could not show weakness, yet he could not get up on his own either, left to rot and slowly melt into the pavement beneath.

He knew he had to be mature. To grow up one day. Let go of Lucky who did not deserve to have been forced to play parent for so many years. Let him lead his own life after he’d already shaped so much of himself to accommodate Colt's unseemly form. But he didn’t feel ready. Despite his desperate, unfair battle against his own feelings and his tormentor’s allegations, Colt knew deep down he was still just a silly, desperate child, incapable of fending for himself in the real world just as they had suspected all along.

He felt a hot, fat tear rolling down his cheek before he quickly rubbed it away with unwarranted force. Impulsively confessing something ridiculous to his best friend was one thing but letting him see him cry? Colt couldn’t handle that level of embarrassment. He’d already wallowed in self-pity in front of other people enough for his liking.

Before Lefty could form a response, Colt tossed the remains of his cigarette down into the sand below them, burying it with the tip of his shoe and standing up abruptly, not regarding his friend with the slightest of glances.

“I’m okay though, don’t worry ‘bout me man, ‘s just the usual. At least he’ll be havin’ fun. Let’s go back to school, I’ll mope ‘round a bit and then I’ll be good.” Colt began moving towards the exit of the playground, a faux smile plastered over his features. He knew it showed in his eyes which were still as mournful as before and although he realised that Lefty was not dumb enough to believe him, he’d hoped he was negligent enough to drop it.

The other Greaser had different plans, however.

While Lefty would not argue with the others saying he had the emotional intelligence of a fruitfly, he also considered it one of his greatest weaknesses and felt nothing was worse than when he wanted to comfort a friend and failed miserably due to his attitude of actions over words. His own upbringing and parents did not grant him much opportunity to develop a sense of maturity required to handle such intense situations and he fumbled with his words, stumbling and landing head first before he could even attempt to console the other person, which had ironically happened with Colt more times than he could count. The artistic Greaser was much more mature in that sense yet never judged him for his inadequacy.

Today was different.

Lefty caught up with Colt, placing a tentative hand on his leather-covered back, his long hair just barely tickling his fingertips as the other came to a half, short of bending down to the hole in the fence.

“‘S that why you’ve been so depressed these past couple ‘a days? ‘Cause Lucky ain’t gonna be here today fer you today?” Lefty inquired carefully, not a drop of judgement in his voice.

Colt spared him a measured glance, insecurity clouding his judgement as he convinced himself he saw humour within the icy gaze of his friend. He shrugged off his hand.

“I know it’s fuckin’ ridiculous and childish of me, okay. Let’s just move on and go back ta class.”

Lefty, indignant, stopped the advancing boy in his tracks with his elevated tone.

“Dude, FUCK class.” He spun Colt around to face him directly without a hint of hesitation “You need to hear this right now, you ain’t ridiculous, you ain’t childish, and ya certainly don’t gotta force yaself to be okay today. I’m not gonna sit here ‘n listen to ya talk about my friend like that.”

Both held uncertain breaths, not looking away from each other, one set of steel meeting sky blue in a desperate attempt at reading the other’s mind, hoping to make the message stick. Lefty knew deep down that if he let his friend go, he’d never let himself live that fact down. He clicked his tongue and continued, struggling to think of the right way to articulate his thoughts.

“It fuckin’ sucks, that you’se breakin’ a tradition like that. I know yer bro means the world to ya and nothin’ will ever replace him. But… you ain’t alone, with or without Luck. Maybe we don’t tell ya enough but you got the guys, you got me, I’m not gonna let you forget.” Lefty felt the corner of his own mouth twitch upward for a moment “Matter of fact, since you’se not busy with Lucky, I’m takin’ you out, gettin’ yer mind off it all-”

Colt attempted to butt in, shaking his head adamantly, a horrified blush gradually spreading across his features. “I couldn’t make you do that! You don’t gotta-”

“But I wanna!” Interjected Lefty, growing giddy by the second “Man, I want you to be happy. I want you to see you’se not alone. And I wanna hang out!” He assured, smiling with his teeth now.

“We can do whatever you want man, throw firecrackers at the coppers, ride ‘round the town, stay out ‘n sleep outside somewhere like bums. Hell, we can even go visit yer parents together… if you’se good on that…” Now was Lefty’s turn to smooth his hand over his pomp nervously, hoping he didn’t cross a boundary.

A quick glance upon Colt’s awestruck expression told him all he needed to know.

“Just… don’t isolate yerself from me, Colt. I’d rather see you bawl yer eyes out than have’ta wonder what’s got you down in the dumps. Lucky’s not the only one who cares about ya you know.”

He did know now.

It took a moment for Colt to collect himself after such an outburst from his usually humorous and emotionally unavailable best friend. The shaking in his limbs subsided as he carefully considered Lefty’s spontaneous stream of consciousness, gratitude clouding the sheer awkwardness of the moment and the embarrassment he felt at his impromptu venting session. While he still missed Lucky and felt lost without him by his side, he could now approach the situation with more assurance, his dearest companion in clear support even through his withdrawal and depressing attitude.

Therefore, after exhaling deeply, his gaze traversed over to his friends wherein he nodded, more enthusiastically than he thought possible mere hours before, agreeing to Lefty’s primitive yet endearing idea of consolation.

The rest of the day, albeit undeniably sombre and glum, was spent by the two best friends on their feet, causing unwarranted mischief to their beloved neighbours, wandering aimlessly and basking in each other’s presence. They did, to Colt’s alleviation and Lefty amazement, visit the marble headstone of Mr. and Mrs. De Luca and though Lefty’s presence in Lucky’s place was strange at first, it felt natural, as the chainsmoker encouraged him to retell tales of their childhood afore the couple’s passing, a request with which he complied enthusiastically.

Colt felt no need to remark that most of them he'd only learned from his brother.

Hours later and much after curfew, Colt and Lefty laid on a patch of desolate green grass outside of the dirt path surrounding New Coventry. Fully clothed, not caring whether the blades stained their garments green, they conversed calmly, though the events of the day were starting to take a toll on their energy levels. Conversation drifted lazily, their faces only illuminated by the wide array of stars visible to the naked eye outside of their polluted neighbourhood and the glow of the moon bestowing upon them the ability to look each other in the eye from time to time, snickering at one another’s drained expressions.

From where he resided, Colt was sure that through squinted eyes he could see his mom and dad smiling down on him from up above, telling him it was all going to be okay.

He hoped Lucky saw that too, wherever he was.

[mittenlady]

athena cykes: best wingwoman

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

Steve looks up when there’s a knock on his cubicle wall. Robin stands on the other side, leaning over the flimsy partition that gives the busy office floor the illusion of privacy.

“Hey, Steve, wanna get lunch?” She asks him.

“Yeah, let me finish this,” Steve says before turning back to his computer screen to save his notes from fashion week. He can’t help but sigh as he looks at the endless lists of what celebrity wore which brands and who sat front row at each show.

He and Robin make their way downstairs to the cafeteria, where they head to the end of the long line. The lunch room was always packed at this time of day. Steve thinks for the thousandth time that they should plan their breaks better, maybe for a time when the entire building wasn’t battling a sudden salad bar craving.

After about twenty minutes and several sharp elbows to the ribs at the refrigerator where the pudding cups are kept, they make their way to the only open table with their sad, wilted-looking lettuce. Steve stares down at his plate, stomach rumbling, before Robin catches his attention.

“Ready for the pitch meeting?” Her brows are furrowed, anxiety written across her face.

“I mean, yeah.” Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Not much to pitch. I’m just gonna get that lame premiere assignment anyway.” His voice comes out an irritated grumble.

“What about that story about the teachers’ strikes you wanted to pitch? The teachers organizing across districts?” The furrow in her brow deepens.

��Face it, Robin,” Steve sighs. “If we want to write what we really want to write, we’re not gonna do it here. Best to get these few years under out belt and do what we’re told, so we can get a good reference for a publication that actually cares about the things we care about.”

Robin looks down at her own plate, moves her fork around her pile of browned lettuce and ranch dressing. “Well, I’m pitching my rail nationalization story. Imagine what this country could do with a high speed rail system organized by the state. It would be a game changer!” She sounds excited about her pitch and Steve wonders if that’s the way he used to sound, too, before he’d been relegated to “Who Wore It Better”s and celebrity advice columns.

As Steve’s contemplating his entire career trajectory, Nancy makes her way over to them with a tray in her white-knuckled grip. Steve would never say it to her face, but he thought it was only a matter of time before she popped a blood vessel because of the cafeteria line.

“I fucking hate this place,” Nancy practically snarls as she slams her tray down on the table between them. She takes a chair from the neighboring table without even asking before sitting and hanging her crossbody bag on the back. She glances at Steve’s tray. “You got a pudding cup?” Steve says nothing as he moves the pudding cup further from Nancy’s reach. She rolls her eyes.

“We were just talking about the pitch meeting,” Robin tells her. “I’m really gonna pitch the railway story. This is important stuff, Nance, we should be publishing it.”

Nancy takes a sip from her orange juice before responding. “I don’t disagree, Robin, but Erica will never go for it. You know those serious pieces are reserved for Terry, Patrick, and Elaine.”

“Terry, Patrick, and Elaine are practically geriatric,” Robin rolls her eyes. “The magazine needs fresh new voices. Erica understands that. I’m pretty sure it was her who said that at last month’s meeting.”

“Well, good luck,” Nancy says, twirling her fork in her pasta. Steve’s not even sure what sort of sauce the pasta’s supposed to have. He grimaces.

“Thank you,” Robin grins, choosing to ignore Nancy’s sarcasm.

~*~

Steve, Robin, and Nancy sit side-by-side in the conference room as they wait for their editor, Erica, to finish the phone call she’d taken in her office. They were surrounded by their coworkers--photographers, stylists, journalists--and there was a massive pile of donuts in the center of the huge polished wooden table. Steve’s fingers itched to reach for one, but the last time he’d eaten a donut at one of these meetings, he’d gotten a huge glob of strawberry jelly on his slacks. He’d had to beg to borrow a pair of pants from the fashion closet so he could go do an interview without a massive red stain on his leg later that day.

Everyone looks up when Erica enters the room. She always looked to Steve like she floated around the place, somehow both intimidating and approachable all at once. Steve’s palms were always sweaty whenever he had to have a one-on-one conversation with her.

The meeting starts and Erica directs the conversation around the room, hearing pitch after pitch for the next few editions of the magazine. Steve’s head is starting to bobble as he listened to the stylists pitch five different fashion spreads. He’s startled from a daydream when Erica says, “Alright, what do you three have for me?” from the end of the table.

Robin looks at Steve and Nancy before she speaks. “Well, uh. I had this thought that we could, uh, maybe do a piece, like, an article, you know? With, uh, interviews and first-person accounts and statistics and all that stuff--”

“Right, I know what an article is, Robin,” Erica says firmly, but not unfriendly.

“Right, Robin swallows, squirming. “Sorry. Um. Well, there’s been a lot of talk recently about the railway workers unionizing and the derailments and how corporations are going about handling these issues.” Steve notices how Robin’s voice starts to sound much stronger when she really gets in to her pitch. “And there’s a renewed interest online and in DC in a potential nationalization of the railway system in America and I think that could be a really worthwhile and interesting story for our readers.”

Erica looks at Robin for a long moment, thinking. Steve holds his breath, waiting for Erica to speak.

“I like it,” she finally says, a slow smile spreading across her face. “We’ll talk to residents where the derailments occurred, doctors and scientists, state representatives, workers, officials. It could even be a serial piece.”

“Wow, really?” Robin’s eyes brighten.

“Yeah, really,” Erica smiles again, before turning to her right. “Terry, what do you think? Can you handle that?” Steve sees Robin’s face fall out of the corner of his eye. Terry responds in the affirmative, before Steve cuts off the conversation that they’re having about Robin’s story.

“I have a pitch,” Steve says, voice loud in his own ears. His hands shake in his lap.

“Really, Harrington?” Erica asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as she turns to look at him.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “About the teachers’ strikes and how they’re organizing across districts in the city.”

Erica looks at him, like she’d looked at Robin. Her eyes shift back and forth between the two of them.

“That’s not a bad story,” she tells him. She pauses again, looking at Steve for another long moment before continuing. “Listen, I see what’s happening here. You want a chance at more serious stories. But you’ve both been here only a year. I need to know that you can write more than an analysis of what Selena Gomez was wearing when Justin Bieber broke up with her.” She looks at them and she looks so far away from where Steve is sitting. He feels like his vision has taken on a fish-eye lens, distorting at the edges, making everyone look tiny. “So, here’s what we’ll do. I was just on the phone with Corroded Coffin’s PR. Apparently the band is coming out of retirement and they’re announcing a new album and a new tour kicking off in March. They’ve asked us to publish something about the band, with full and complete access to recording studios, one-on-one interviews with each member, and live shows before the tour starts. We’re doing a whole issue on the resurgence of grunge and metal style from the eighties and nineties for it. I’ll let you, Buckley, and Wheeler have the central article. If you can get me some new, interesting, and relevant information on the band’s personal lives, I’ll let you start writing more serious pieces for the magazine.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the blood rushes in his ears. He hadn’t expected that to actually work. Plus, the Corroded Coffin article itself was a huge deal. Nancy’s saying yes on everyone’s behalf before Steve can even really wrap his mind around the offer.

~*~

After the meeting, Steve sits at his desk doing a cursory Google search of Corroded Coffin. He wasn’t the biggest metal fan and the closest he’d ever come to really giving the genre a try was adding a few Nirvana songs to his workout playlist.

He’s scrolling through the search results when he realizes that there’s a significant lack of interviews, even though the band has been active for almost a decade. Most of the articles were descriptions of the lead singer’s rather outlandish public stunts.

“Hey, Rob?” He calls out over the partition that separates their cubicles.

“Yeah?” She responds. Steve doesn’t like when he can’t see her while they’re talking, so he rolls his eyes and pulls himself from the chair to look over their shared wall.

“Have you noticed that there’s, like, no interviews with the band?”

She looks up from her computer screen. “There’s a few,” she says, sighing. “On the second page of Google. But there’s none with Munson.” Robin throws herself against the back of his chair. “A few of the articles say he’s ‘notoriously private.’” She rolls her eyes as she puts air quotes around the last two words.

Steve stomach drops. This was supposed to be an easy article. Full access usually meant a lot more intimacy between the journalist and the subject, but Steve knew first hand how hard it was to get a cagey and jaded celebrity to talk, even when the request for the interview came from their own camp. Sometimes especially when the request came from their camp.

“Is this going to be harder than we thought?” Steve asks, brow furrowing in concern. “”What are we going to do?”

Robin smirks. “We’ll just have to get creative.”

part one part two

[boxwinebaddie]

hello nina nation! sorry for the radio silence, but i’m running around at my new job a lot ( which i LOVE btw! i spend all day with the littles and hand out lots of ice pops to overheated kids and get drawn lots of pictures! ) so i fell asleep v early yday by accident.

pls note that i am working on my asks and am very excited about them ( there is an important lore one i’m stoked to finish aaa i’m taking extra time on it )

…i just ( smh ) keep getting distracted thinking about how iconique the When Worlds Collide HCU / Ravesey / OJV / Ewily/RSB stan-kyle swap crossover episode would be like it would go SOOOOO HARD GUYS

[benadrylcandlewhack]

"you can admit your blorbos are bad people" YEAH. starscream sucks but i love her <3

This man is an actual wanted thief and killer yet I love him with my whole heart and he's made me wanna cry for a billion years

[strwbrryfire]

something something charles constantly being a sacrificial lamb placed upon an altar decorated and embellished just for him, but his blood still spills and he still comes back again, again, again—next time will be different, it has to be, surely the hand that feeds me will be gentle! surely the knife won't cut too deep! and it does, it does..,..pitiful predestined how i wish they would love you the way you love them

[pippindot]

NABBED IT

[and-stir-the-stars]

Different anon,but flip the narrative. Replace Gregory with Evan. Put the boy in the pizzaplex, what would he do?

okay so we don't know exactly how Gregory got into the pizzaplex in the first place; maybe he was kidnapped and brought there specifically by Vanny, maybe he was glitchtrap-mindcontrolled and only broke free during a venture in the pizzaplex before Vanny chased after him; we don't know.

If Evan were to be kidnapped and brought there by Vanny, I'm not sure things would work out in his favor. There's no way he's overpowering her. I think the most chance he would have in that situation is if Vanny wasn't in her A-game at the time; either she got distracted and allowed Evan to escape, or she got cocky and made a mistake.

But if we're talking about an Evan who just gets dropped in the middle of the pizzaplex at night (either after escaping Vanny, or through time travel or mindcontrol shenanigans), then honestly, I think Evan would get through it just fine.

Would he be hella scared throughout the experience and have nightmares and trauma afterward? yeah. But I do think he'd be able to survive.

A lot of Gregory's difficulties in his night at the pizzaplex were because he was trying to escape. He kept moving throughout the pizzaplex, moving between one possible exit and the next, drawing more and more attention to himself and getting himself into more and more trouble as he went. He was on the offense through the entire night.

But as fnaf 4 showed us, Evan is more of an 'on the defense' and not 'on the offense' kid. He tries avoiding Mike, and he tries holing up in his room and not letting any animatronics in rather than going after them before they can get him. Honestly, I think Evan would hole up in a hidden spot and refuse to come out until the pizzaplex is open again and he'd be just fine. Even if the animatronics and Vanny are looking for him, the pizzaplex is HUGE. Finding a little kid who doesn't want to be found isn't going to be an easy feat.

Of course, Evan tends to assume the best of people, so if he didn't have any reason to suspect Vanessa (which could be anything as obvious as seeing her with the mask/knife or as subtle as picking up on her having similar mannerisms to Vanny or overhearing Vanessa say she wants him "dealt with"), then it's possible that Vanessa might coax him out only for Vanny to kill him. Buuuut, on the other hand, Vanessa's personality comes off as abrasive, to say the least, in Security Breach, which Evan would hardly find comforting; he could decide that it's best to just wait for the place to open rather than come out, anyway. Or he might have just picked up on the fact that Vanessa is out to get him. It could honestly go both ways when it comes to whether Evan would trust Vanessa.

And now for THE question on everyone's minds when it comes to an au where Evan is the one in the pizzaplex: how the heck is this child reacting to Glamrock Freddy?

I mean, obviously he's terrified. A giant real life manifestation of his greatest, most abused fear standing right there and towering over him?? Evan is NOT having a good time.

But the Glamrock animatronics have phenomenal AI. I would be genuinely surprised if these guys didn't have protocols put in place to calm down any kids who are scared of them (scared little kids don't put any money in Fazbear Enterteinment's pockets, do they?). I don't know if Glamrock Freddy would actually be able to get Evan to calm down and maybe-kinda trust him, but it sure would be fun to see him try.

I mean, it would take Evan completely by suprise; this kind of thing would probably have never happened to him before. The more basic animatronics that we see in all other fnaf locations wouldn't have any ''don't frighten the kids'' protocols or dialogue in their programming (their ai obviously isn't as good, and putting those protocols in place isn't as intuitive in such small locations where the animatronics are so basic and rarely even leave the stage). And no one wearing the animatronic springlock suits would have been allowed to talk; just like modern day mascots, it ruins the illusion for all ages if the animatronics' voices are constantly changing as the person behind the mask changes, too. No animatronic is likely to have ever tried comforting Evan before. Well... to be honest, few humans have ever tried doing that for him, either. It would be a new experience in more ways than one.

Whether Evan begins to trust Freddy or not, there is NO way this kid is ever willingly hopping inside Freddy's chest cavity XD

(though, it would be interesting to see Evan hiding inside Freddy's chest cavity because his options are 98% likelihood of dying in an animatronic vs 100% likelihood of dying to Vanny; then Evan wakes up inside Freddy's chest cavity, and the thing that gets Evan to trust Freddy is that Freddy actually listens when Ev says he's scared and doesn't trust Vanessa...)

[slaygentford]

IT IS NO LONGER ENOUGH for lestat to get murdered. I want him to kill himself

[gilliontidestriderchampionoftheu]

grand finale ! BITB!! rand is the spiral. kian is the corruption. rolan is the stranger.

[melien]

When the world is darker than I can understand When nothing turns out the way I planned When the sky turns gray and there's no end in sight When I can't sleep through the lonely night

I turn to you Like a flower leaning toward the sun I turn to you 'Cause you're the only one Who can turn me around When I'm upside down I turn to you

[avocadomin]

i understand people miss the box style packaging and are hating on the binding/quality of the packaging of rockstar but why do some people follow it up with their favorite packaging being oddinary and why is it always newer stays within the last year like at least name one of their other 2 box style albums oddinary screams graphic design is my passion

[enbysiriusblack]

had loustat!wolfstar and danmand!jegulus thoughts.

[saphic-with-t]

When joking about how ridiculous it is that Fabian is popular I don’t think people realize how insanely cool the bad kids are in universe. As viewers we see their cool moments but we also see them being dorks and lame idiots. Think about their in universe reputations and how you would react to hearing about them if you lived in the same world as them.

There is a group of six people who saved the world 3 different times before they even entered their junior year of high school.

One of them never showed up to any of their classes until their third year and still passed. She is a rockstar and arch devil of rebellion who owns a recording studio in hell where she plays the bass.

One dude threw the greatest party the entire high school has ever seen, is captain of the sports team, and killed the school’s evil principal without facing any punishment.

One performed a motorcycle kick-flip that was doing a jump off of a mansion’s roof into a pool of flaming tartar sauce. Said kick-flip student has created a god, killed that god, brought herself back from the dead, and resurrected a completely different god.

One of the girls is the chosen oracle of all elves and punched her dad so hard he instantly died. Also if you dig deep enough into the political history books it turns out she caused there to be a feud (bordering on full war) between her home nation and the nation she currently lives in.

The quietest kid of the bunch is a super genius who invented a solar lasso that captured and contained an eldritch horror into his van, took 4 years of high school all at once and passed all of them, is currently acing his arcane mechanics and physical Ed studies, and is the second hand man on the school sports team. He also is the drummer for the arch devil’s band and launched a fully working satellite into space before he even started studying arcane mechanics.

Finally the “dork” of their group is an arcane consultant of heaven, became a P.I. after freshman year, is currently in every extra-curricular school club, and is beloved by seemingly all of his underclassmen. Also after he found out that the dragon his party was fighting ate his dad he fucking ATE IT to avenge him.

Obviously we know the truth behind all of these things and the actual way these six dorks act, but think how insanely sick they all sound in universe.

[silverhandj]

tag dump /

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  𝐃𝐘𝐍 : all of my devotion turns violent‚   a. c  &  j. s

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  𝐃𝐘𝐍 : speak of her over my grave & watch how she brings me back to life‚   alt  &  johnny

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  𝐃𝐘𝐍 : i couldn’t get V to kill me‚ but i wore their jacket for the longest time‚   v  &  johnny

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  𝐃𝐘𝐍 : i feel as though we were never strangers‚ you and i‚ never for a moment‚   kerry  &  johnny

musings/ #| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  i am a rockstar‚ i am a criminal‚ i am an anarchist & i am never going to die‚   j. s

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  i get mean when i'm nervous like a bad dog‚   musings

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  hello‚ night city !   audio

#| ▐     (    .   .   .    )     *  incoming message‚   asks

[trashbaget]

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