#fucking Connecticut ass losers
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husbeast told me today that when we started having money problems, all but one of his friends just vanished. and when i say that i would vaporize them all in an instant if i could, i’m not fucking kidding.
if your friends being poor is that much of a fucking problem, do everyone a good turn and cave your fucking asshole insensitive bitch ass head in with a hammer, k? k.
#i hate u and i actively hope u suffer :)#i hope u lose all your fucking money and get to know what it’s like to be abandoned by the people who r supposed to care about u#money turns people into selfish pricks#fr tho they all just dumped him like a bad tinder date and i am FURIOUS#that wasn’t it either they also basically forced him out of the club he built#i hate it here#i hate new englanders they are the Fucking Worst#fucking hayseed ass bitches#fucking Connecticut ass losers#i DESPISE how cliquey that group has gotten w the melding of other clubs outside Boston#it’s the fucking piss holes from ct#fuck connecticut#ct once again proving it produces the worst ppl u will ever have the displeasure of meeting#i wish i could smash them all in the face w a bat
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After seeing this post, @frazzledsoul and I have been busy pulling a Rory and making an exhaustive Chilton Vs SHH ProCon list. I'm surprised I could come up with so many Pro SHH points when I mock the school ever so relentlessly.
As always feel free to chime in.
CONS OF SHH
School is located in Stars Hollow, Connecticut :(
You have to go to school with Dean Forrester
Shitty Principal & Guidance Counselor
Lorelai Gilmore and Miss Patty are always hanging around the school looking for teenage boys to snack on
Everyone in town knows your fucking business... except when they don't (like how Jess' classmates had no idea he wasn't going to school or that he supposedly pulled the fire alarm or stole 500 baseballs) and high school gossip has the potential to become Town Meeting material for a bunch of old retirees and other adult losers with no lives
Your classmates talk about Rory Gilmore constantly.
PROS OF SHH
You get to go school with Jess (con: he's only there half the time)
The cafeteria food presumably sucks, but you can nip right across the street to Luke's (even though you never actually see any high schoolers eating there except Rory and her crew) or to Doose's for snacks
Lorelai Gilmore comes to give a presentation after school and you can humiliate her in front of the class
Site of a famous homicide, get to hear your school's name on true crime podcasts for decades to come
When Jess Mariano makes millions of dollars from his writing and is famous (after beating the murder charges) you can say you went to school with him
When Shane Campbell becomes a famous homicide victim, you can say you went to school with her
During gym class you can throw dodgeballs at Dean Forrester
Little to no academic pressure so you can do whatever.
A lot of substitutes because no decent teacher wants to teach there full time. Roll out the tv/vcr combo cart!
CONS OF CHILTON
English teacher is banging your mom
DIet Logan (aka Tristan) (and even though he was expelled, you'll never truly get rid of him, because like cockroaches Tristans multiply fruitfully and he has dozens of clones at that school)
Shitty Principal with a fake posh accent
Shitty Guidance Counselor who doesn't impress upon you the important or existence of extra cirriculars and safety schools
Can't be a lonely introvert in peace without the guidance counselor telling you you're a friendless loser
Dorky uniforms
Academic pressure out the ying yang, which may lead to Dropping Out Of Yale
Everyone knows and spreads your fucking business here too and your high school gossip can become country club gossip for old ass high society people with nothing better to talk about
PROS OF CHILTON
Madelyn and Louise hook you up with cute guys (and drugs, alcohol and parties, although that's happening at SHH as well, when you're living in The Hollow you have to numb the pain somehow) and provide you sexual wisdom and gossip
Madelyn becomes famous multi millionaire after inventing the Amazon Alexa for the school business fair and you can say you went to school with her
School newspaper that nobody reads has many uses, like bird cage liner or spitball material
Witnessing the burning hot homoerotic chemistry between Rory Gilmore and Paris Geller
Every so often, you can manage to get away with shit (like skipping school to take a bus to new york city and nobody notices) (but don't you dare be late to an exam because you had a car accident)
A variety of interesting after school clubs like botany, role playing, loom weaving, and hitting up all the rich kids who know where to find the best drugs
Better lunches
(Except when its White Bread Wednesday, Rory's favorite day):
#gilmore girls#jess mariano#stars hollow#stars hollow high#chilton#pro and con list#GG pro and con list#rory gilmore#paris geller#PariMore#White Bread Wednesday#Prison Lunch
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hello!! i saw that your requests are open so I decided to come here and ask for a ship with the boys from the IT movie , if that's okay with you ofc
i'm a female (she/her), ravenclaw, I tend to be stern at times, and when people expect me to be smart and strict, i don't actually abide to the rules and question them often. And I believe in opposite attracts!! so I tend to be inclined with humorous people
ps. no pressure please!! i just found your blog and it's beautiful (and yeah you can ship me with pennywise but that'll be super hilarious xD) have a great day, lovely!!
you got: RICHIE TOZIER!
you and richie would be so cute together! like you said, you believe in opposites attract, which basically covers the basis of you and richie. you are this pretty much stern and intelligent person when suddenly, boom! you meet mister tozier!
you two first met when you biked past eddie’s house!
you’ve been living across eddie kasprak for about a week or two when you first moved into the small town of Derry, Maine. you’ve never stayed in a place for more than two weeks, so this was completely different for you. luckily, you finished your schooling over in Connecticut just in time for Derry’s summer to start. you started biking around the neighborhood when you hear the most foulest of mouths speak...
“Damn, who the fuck is your neighbor, Eddie? How come I haven’t fucked her yet?”
“R-R-Richie, s-stop,” said Bill, standing in between Richie and Eddie.
“Hey sweetcheeks!,” said Richie, making you stop right in your tracks.
Creating skid marks on the road, you parked your bike in the middle of the street and headed over to the dude with glasses.
“The name’s not sweetcheeks,” you said, sternly, walking back to your bike.
“Come on, I was being nice! I would’ve tickled my pickle to you!” said Richie, laughing and nudging Bill who currently has a “you’re so fucked” face plastered, which resulted in you turning around and slapping him.
“Thanks for the fun, sweetcheeks!” you said, chuckling, while walking back to your bike and speeding off.
“I like that girl a LOT,” said Richie, mounting his bike, as Eddie sighs.
“You never know if her hands are infested with some stuff. She gardens and the soil get all up in her n-“ said Eddie, getting paranoid and avoiding Richie’s touch as much as he could.
“Eddie!” said Richie and Bill, as they all bike off.
soon enough, you find yourself being friends with the losers club.
during the summer, you guys ALWAYS go to the quarry. like ALWAYS. (it usually always results in you both getting in arguments)
when he feels like you trust him a lot, he comes out as bisexual to you.
“Sweetcheeks-” said Richie, holding both of your hands.
“Before you go on, don’t even call me that,” you said, laughing.
Richie lightly smiled and you could tell from the sweat on his palms that he was nervous.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, concerned as if something horrible happened.
Then, Richie took a deep breath and said it.
“I’m bisexual,” said Richie, looking down at the ground.
What took him by surprise was that fact that you kissed him and pulled away with a smile.
“Oh my gosh, Rich! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked, smiling towards him.
“I was scared that you would leave me because of my sexuality,” said Richie, as you hug him.
“I love you for you and I would never ever do that to you, okay?” you said, as Richie nodded.
as cheesy as it is, your couple song would be “crazy for you” by madonna. it’s also his guilty pleasure song yet you wouldn’t let the losers know *wink wink*.
you have a SHIT TON of polaroid pictures of you two, but your favorite would be the one at the losers club headquarters with the showercaps. ben happened to snap the picture and he gave it to you.
richie absolutely LOVES your room! not only do you guys do the nastayyy but he loves when you read to him and play with his hair.
you always put his ass in PLACE. once time, you had him wear a rubber band on his wrist and pulled it back a lot to the point it broke.
he loves going on bike rides with you! you two normally could be spotted bike riding and sometime while you do, you two hold hands while riding.
i hope you enjoyed this! i just want to also thank the lovely person who requested for the nice comments on my blog! i’m so happy to provide more content soon and i hope to be more active. xoxo.
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Froggy Frogg Frogg
I'm a bit Froggy all jumpy and shit. Lol Maybe it's because I have had an intelligent conversation with a person who volunteers in the computer lab. Let's call him Computer Lab-dude. He's cute but more importantly what I think is the coolest is that he's been volunteering here for 10 years.🙃 He's there to help people with putting together resumes, look for work, and yatta yatta. Well… Fuck that's crazy. But in a good way because I totally respect that. Before this hoopla landed on my lap, ironically, I wanted to do volunteer work too. About a year ago 😅 I wanted to collect disability and volunteer so that my happy ass isn't getting fat and sassy.
Eh, so Computer Lab-dude said he'd be back every Tuesday. 🤔 Now thinking about it I might have seen him before? Idk but I'm kind of mad that in the 4 months I've been here fucking around I've not noticed him! Lmao this is the guy that turned his head when I was talking to a friend about bands like 😂👌 Rob Zombie and Nine Inch Nails. In the corner of my left eye, I saw him move his head and it was just hilarious. I'm still laughing about it. Omg… Am I horrible? Oh wait, I actually have seen him around before. It was always so dark though. Yeah now I'm thinking, yup. At least once or twice. Hmmm…
In the talk we had, I had to know more...
...Because I'm nosy. 🤔 He's kind of an engineer for some software company. My memory is a dick… I had a friend who did that. Worked for Citrix which I think is a big deal. Computer Lab-dude asked what I did and I told him briefly about my interest in computers, technology and gaming. He lit up, like lit the fuck up and said basically how much he loves gamer-girls. I'm like… Eeerrrr kind of freaked out. He had on this grin like he just won the lottery. It was cute. 🤣 But he asked what games and I ran through a list of a few I like. Told him about the emulators I use in place of consoles since I built it specifically for gaming… And music but forgot to be specific about the music part.
So what's a girl like me doing there? I told him I left a boyfriend. Am I a student? No. Why not go to Connecticut? No family up there anymore. Why not with family here? I wasn't ready for that question so I said I have none. 😞 What a royal fuck up. But it's true that everyone has their own thing and no room for me. I can't fault them for that! We aren't really connected and I hardly know what's going on. 🙄 Until there's a death of some distant relative that I haven't heard of or from in 15 years.
Soooo I was going to go back to the computer lab anyway…
Computer Lab-guy said he'll be there every week and hopefully he is. I also hope we can be friends. I've learned my lesson now. I'm too old to make mistakes. So in case anything happens I'm ready to take his number. I need a friend on the outside who has his ducks in a row! Just you know, stable, responsible, drug free, and just a good person overall. Here it's like a unicorn. 😂👍 Good luck finding one here! While you're at it, Holla at me when you find gold at the end of a rainbow. 🤣 👏🏼👏🏼 I'll be the troll taking your change before you cross "the 7-mile bridge" should any daring snowbirds venture to the Florida keys. Omg omg hahahaha hilarious!
All I know and kind of want to know is that he really does like me enough to tell me he'd be there every week, and help me. I think 🤷♀️. He said I'm young and smart. Well these days I'm not too clear on the smart bit. I know he wanted to say I'm beautiful too lol. 😆 I'm totally kidding (...no I'm not) and these losers over here aren't it. So I might be stupid but I'm not dumb. The men are disgusting and I have to distance myself. Keep myself relatively busy until 4pm. Why does this happen to me? I'm just asking for trouble. Like I say "no", but then it's like God is testing me! I have too big of a heart. I have to stop giving it away.
😘💕❤️ Have a good weekend!
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(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧Don’t forget to take a look at Erik’s blog ran by his amazing mom Dr Elisa Medhus. Lots of stuff about his afterlife and 💩 at channelingerik.com.
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Happy Effin’ Anniversary to Me!
I was going to write something as part of this week’s upcoming Weekend Warrior, because I’m celebrating a couple personal anniversaries this month. Maybe “celebrating” is too strong a word, because there really doesn’t seem to be much to celebrate right now.
Sure, I’m pretty darn happy I’m alive seven years after getting a stem cell transplant for the acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL) that very nearly could have killed me in 2013. I’m also still thrilled to no end that the good doctors of the James Hospital at OSU were able to find me a great stem cell donor like Michael Levin whose stem cells have helped give me a super-strong immune system that I feel can fight off anything (including COVID-19). But all of what I went through in 2013, and 2014, and 2015, and that I’m STILL going through with all of the long-term damage done by my leukemia and its treatment – stuff I’ve mostly kept to myself -- just doesn’t really seem like it was worth it anymore.
That brings me to my second anniversary…
As of this coming week (October 10), I’ll have been writing about movies for 19 years (!), mostly reviews and interviews and such, but up until 6 months ago, I was writing every single week about the box office, how movies might do at the box office, how movies did at the box office, etc. And I spent a LOT of time researching and analyzing and writing about these things over and over, week after week, with only a few gaps (like for that aforementioned leukemia treatment and stem cell transplant).
Right now, the box office is pretty much dead, and that’s because theatrical moviegoing is dead, and no one in any level of the movie business or in any level of government seems to want to do anything about it, except sit at home cowering and/or watching their substandard junk stuff on streaming or “virtual cinema,” if you prefer. Virtual indeed.
I have made my feelings pretty clear on this subject. In fact, I’m one of the few people who has constantly been putting my ass and neck on the line to convince people that going to the movies can be done safely, and what do I get for it? I get called names, have insults hurled at me, lost fucking friends – a few of them who I actually kinda liked, too – and here we are, six months after movie theaters were shut down in New York with absolutely zero sign that the governor will ever fulfill the promise he made months ago about “reopening the valve.” New York City has been in Phase 4 for over two months and he finally allowed indoor dining in NYC that the rest of the state has been able to do safely for months. No, apparently Cuomo has had the same lame-ass bullshit shoved down his throat about movie theaters being “death traps,” the same fucking yapping #FilmTwitter big shots going on and on about, “Oh, no, I need to protect my readers from themselves by warning them that if they go see a movie I write about in theaters, they will DIE!!!”
I have this great new job at Below the Line that I really like right now, but I’m still just sitting in front of my laptop every single fucking day for 12 to 15 hours trying to keep watching and reviewing movies in this far from ideal setting just for YOU, the five or six people who are reading this right now. So yeah, if I seem to be rather ornery on social media whenever a studio chickens out and decides to move their summer 2020 release to the summer of 2021, presuming things will be better by then and that there may be any movie theaters left then… (and with apologies to Steve Martin)… EXCCUUUUUUUUSE ME!
Sure, I make a joke, but I’m pretty darn pissed off right now, but especially from the amount of lame-ass big mouths who are constantly pushing back at me anytime I make any sort of comment about movie theaters reopening safely, and not just on Twitter either. I’ve made my case. I’ve written thousands of words and offered more than sufficient proof to allow people to make their own decisions.
If you don’t want to go back to movie theaters than don’t go. You do whatever you want to do, but don’t give me shit when I request and yes, even demand, that I am given the right to do what I want to do, and that’s to be able to see movies in theaters again without having to get on a train to Connecticut or New Jersey. There are about a half dozen movie theaters sitting empty and dormant within walking distance from me, so the fact I have to go into another jurisdiction is actually more likely to spread the COVID that a.) I don’t have, b.) have never gotten and c.) don’t plan on getting anytime soon.
The way things are developing and with no new strong new releases being offered to movie theaters, they’re just going to start shutting down again out of lack of money to run them. It’s already happening and people who have made a pretty penny getting WAY overpaid for what they do for a living i.e write about movies, just like I’ve been doing for 19 years, they seem to be celebrating every single time a movie is delayed. Every day this goes on, it seems even less likely movie theaters will ever be able to reopen. Not because they’re unsafe but due to the corporations trying to save their bottom lines while firing thousands of employees.
I can’t tell you how much it bristles me to no end knowing that there are hirable movie writers out there being paid $100k+ a year, more than double what I’ve made at my highest paying job as a movie writer, to sit at home and complain about anyone who wants to try to get movie theaters reopened, get people out of their houses and into theaters so that there will actually be movie theaters left by the time the studios decide to release their oh-so-precious tentpole movies.
I commend Warner Bros. and Christopher Nolan because they tried to do something that no one else out there had the balls to do, and that was to release Tenet in a market that had been so downtrodden, first by COVID and then by the movie critics, that there was no possible way the movie could have made anywhere near what it would have made if this pandemic had never happened. And once again, the theatrical naysayers celebrate.
I have made every effort I can to support this business, even if it’s just doing a bit of unnecessary traveling to another state to help a business that has given me everything (but also nothing) for the past 19 years of my life.
Don’t worry. I’m not quitting. There will still be a Weekend Warrior next week probably with just as many reviews as I’ve been writing since the pandemic started. That’s over 150 reviews in the last six months, if you’ve lost count, and they’re all on my Rotten Tomatoes page if you don’t believe me. I have no plans on slowing down.
And what do I get for that hard work every week? No fame, no glory, and nowhere even close to the money as many of the people throwing out insults along with one or two perfunctory reviews a month just to keep their memberships in some critics group or other valid… all while they sit at home on their fucking asses watching movies on their fucking computer screens (probably in their underwear). Just like I have been doing. (I have worn pants most of the time.)
But yeah, if these people want to keep attacking me, if they want to argue and fight over every single one of my ideals and my own personal rights as a human being? If some idiot bonehead loser like [NAME REMOVED] REALLY wants to start a war with me, then guess what? They’ve fucking got it*.
As of today, October 3, I’m ready to start my war, and it’s going to make Mad Max: Fury Road look like fucking Babe: Pig in the City*.
Maybe if George Miller ever gets around to making another movie, HE can try to save whatever’s left of movie theaters. It will probably be something like out of one of his “Road Warrior” movies, because “movie theaters” will just be people sitting cozzily in their cars, hopefully wearing pants and watching movies on the side of a building from the “safety” of their gas-guzzling, ozone layer depleting cars. Hurray.
(*A. I’m not REALLY starting a war. I’m just fucking around, and B.) This was actually a bit of self-deprecating humor about the weight I’ve gained during the pandemic because I’m NOT running around the city trying to get to screenings as I often was during pre-pandemic.)
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When You Say My Name CH7
Author: YoungDumbandFullofHeadcanons /https://imakeficrequestsandthendisappear.tumblr.com/
Summary: Being an Army brat means that every new town is a chance to start over. When the Criss family moves to Derry, Vicky Criss dies so Vic can start living.
Pre-IT (2017), AU: Trans!Vic Centric, Henry/Vic Slow burn
Angst Fluff More Angst Smut Even More Angst
Playing fast and loose with the canon
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Major Character Death Rape/Non-Con Underage
Category: M/M
Fandoms: IT (2017) IT - Stephen King
Relationship: Henry Bowers/Victor Criss
Characters: Henry Bowers Victor Criss Patrick Hockstetter Reginald “Belch” Huggins Henry Bowers’s Gang (IT) Oscar “Butch” BowersThe Losers Club (IT) Pennywise (IT)
Language:English
Chapter 7: Henry Part 2
Summary: Henry can’t gather the air necessary to sob, so he just keeps sputtering and choking until his face turns red.
So Vic leans down and cages his arms around Henry’s head, blocking out the sound and light around him, intending on helping him breath threw the panic. But instead Henry reaches up, latches digging fingers into Vic’s sides, drags him down and screams into his chest.
March, 1986
Digging through the cupboard under the bathroom sink, Vic finally comes across the pink bag he hasn’t seen years. He unzips it and finds the contents to be exactly what he remembers always being it there. A roll of medical tape, a fatter roll of elastic gauze, tiny blister-sized invisible Band-Aids, disinfectant spray, and a host of other practical tools for on-the-spot medical treatment.
Vic dumps all the supplies into his backpack, because God knows he’s not bringing a fucking pink fanny-pack to school tomorrow.
Yesterday Henry walked around school with that limp in his left ankle more pronounced than ever. He still drug Vic around by the wrist, like always, but he was moving slowly and wincing every few steps, and when he tried to sit down his foot rolled under the pressure and he fell to the grass.
So today at lunch, as they sit in their hidden alcove beside the school building, Vic shows Henry how to tape and wrap his sprained ankle. Henry is ambivalent, or some cross between irate and panicked, about taking his shoe and sock off and rolling up his pant leg. Yes, the bruise is absolutely heinous, all green and purple and splotchy, but Vic doesn’t say anything about it to make Henry any more uncomfortable.
“How’d you learn this?” Henry asks as Vic makes sure the gauze aren’t too tight but will still support the weakened bones.
“Umm…” Vic stalls.
Don’t say it. Don’t tell Henry about dance class.
“…Like, sports and stuff.” He lies with a shrug.
Henry gives him a skeptical look, but otherwise drops the subject as he puts his shoe back on over the bandages.
Vic hasn’t been in a dance class since fourth grade. It was one of those extracurricular activities that Mom thought would be so much fun for her girls, but it turned out to be too much of a commitment and way too stressful and the bills had started to pile up. Plus, Vic’s hatred for ballet escalated to the point where he would purposefully land wrong on his feet, hoping he would break a bone and get to sit out. Hence the need for Mom to fill a fanny pack with medical tape and bandages, and of course it had to be pink.
Every day has gotten progressively better since he and Henry had started hanging out. The human contact seems to be putting some life back in them. Vic doesn’t feel as much like a ghost anymore. Henry looks a little less dead behind the eyes. The physical side hasn’t improved, both still came to school battle-worn and bloody, but being around each other gives them the chance to heal.
After their first conversation, Vic thought maybe things would just go back to the previous silent indifference they had had for one another. But the very next day after third period Henry walked right back up to Vic’s desk, grabbed him by the wrist, and led him outside again.
“Come on,” Henry says.
Vic doesn't even have to think twice.
The firm hold Henry takes on him is a little straining, and one time the hall was crowed so Henry pulled on his arm a little too hard, but every day it is a relief to feel that hand on his wrist. If Henry didn’t grab on and pull him around like that, Vic would be too afraid to follow him. Because, what if Henry got sick of him? What if he was too weird and Henry didn’t want him around? What if Henry started ignoring him? Like everyone ignores him. So Vic takes that painful grip as a sign that Henry does want to hang out with him and for once he feels wanted.
They keep tabs on each other’s new bruises and cuts, but they never talk about where they come from, because to say it aloud would mean having to face something both boys want to forget. Even only for a short time, they just want to pretend it isn’t happening.
“Where’d you move from?” Henry asks.
Vic huffs out a breath and considers the mental list.
“Connecticut, New York, Maryland, umm… Michigan for a little bit. Everywhere basically.”
Everywhere and nowhere.
“Why?” Henry seems genuinely curious, and there is a need for escape that makes him want to know about places outside of Derry. To know there’s a world beyond the town he’s trapped in.
“My dad’s in the army. We moved like every year.”
Henry regards him somberly, which seems strange to Vic because what he said didn’t seem particularly sad or anything. Moving is just what army families do.
But Henry is starting to realize that moving to a new place isn’t always an escape. Sometimes you can go everywhere in the world and still be trapped.
“My dad was in the marines,” Henry finally says, absently chewing on his thumb nail again.
And Vic starts to understand.
So they don’t talk about their bruises or their fathers, because the two subjects are essentially indivisible. But they find other things to talk about. Comic books, video games, movies, people at school they don’t like, some new trouble Henry got in, and the list goes on. And sometimes they don’t have to talk at all, they just like being around each other.
In the mornings Henry has started lifting his head from the desk when Vic would come to class, not as a proper greeting but just as a way of acknowledging his presence. If Gretta was being particularly annoying in Homeroom, and Gretta hates the both of them now, the boys give each other sneering side glances and roll their eyes. Vic would let Henry copy his answers, and they would get matching C-’s. If Ms. Donovan has caught on, she doesn’t do anything about it, because she’s just glad that there is some semblance of peace in the back of the classroom.
After a week had gone by, Vic walked into third period and went to sit down in his usual spot by the door. And then suddenly Henry was beside him.
“Vic.”
A thrilling shiver goes up his spine, but not the bad kind like when Vic hears Daddy’s voice down the hall. Something about hearing anybody say his name, especially Henry, sends a warm tingle through him like an electric current.
“Yeah?” He says, barely audible.
Henry just cocks his head to one side to gesture to the back of the class where he usually sits, and Vic follows him over.
And now they sit together in every class they share.
It took Vic a few days to realize that Henry doesn’t bring any lunch to school.
Vic pulls the paper bag out of his backpack, knowing that the tight knot in his gut is keeping his appetite at bay.
“Do you want some?” He gets up the nerve to say.
Because sometimes Henry is defensive about certain things and Vic doesn’t want to make him upset.
“No.” Henry says with a glare. So this is one of those things that set him off.
“I’m not gonna eat all of it, really.” Vic presses just a bit, cautious but well-meaning.
A few moments of silence pass, but finally Henry does take half the sandwich offered to him, and Vic decides to eat the other half to try and make Henry more comfortable.
As stubborn as he was before, Henry tears into the sandwich like he’s absolutely starving. And being around Henry eating makes it a little easier for Vic to swallow down a few bites.
Days later, they sit down and Henry pulls a lunch bag out of nowhere.
“Where’d you get that?” Vic asks, because he doesn’t believe for a second that Henry brought it from home.
“Don’t worry about it” Henry says as he rips it open, revealing a PB&J sandwich, a pack of Oreos, a bag of chips, and a half-dozen pixie sticks. “Fat-ass doesn’t need it anyway.”
And Vic does feel a twinge of guilt, but as Henry digs in Vic is reminded that he doesn’t get enough to eat as it is. One stolen lunch can’t hurt.
Despite his ravenous hunger, Henry makes Vic split all the junk food with him. And even though he didn’t think he was hungry, Vic feels marginally better after eating and doesn’t even get a stomach ache from all the sugar.
So Vic makes sure Henry has food to eat, and Henry makes sure Vic eats the food he has. And they don’t say it in so many words but that’s how they take care of each other.
Some people start to notice the two of them leashed to each other, but mostly it’s kids in their grade that know to stay away from Henry Bowers, so Vic doesn’t hear anything about it. The only person who really took issue with the situation was Vic’s sister.
A week ago Daphne pulled him aside while they were waiting for Mom to pick them.
”Who’s that boy you were with all day?” She asks with whispered malice.
He is frozen for a minute, because Daphne hasn’t spoken to him, at school or home, for weeks.
“Um- He’s just somebody I know from class.”
Vic doesn’t want to jinx things by calling Henry his friend yet, because he’s hasn’t really had one before and definitely never one that was another boy, so he doesn’t want to ruin it now.
Daphne gives him an accusing look, and Vic feels his resentment rise.
“You get to hang out with people,” He reminds her.
Daphne already has a bunch of other girls to sit with at lunch. Lucy has her friends come over after school sometimes. Sophie is on the phone with boys when she thinks no one is around. So why can’t Vic have one person to talk to?
“I heard that he steals stuff and beats up little kids for fun.” She accuses.
“Those are rumors.” Vic tries to shrug it off, even though he has heard those same rumors float around the halls.
“If Daddy finds out then-” She half-warns half-threatens.
“You’re not gonna tell him.” Vic cuts her off with a biting tone.
For a second she looks mad enough that she would, because Vic doesn’t ever stand up to her and she wants to assert her older-sibling authority. His resolve cracks a little at the thought.
“Daph, please don’t tell?” He tries to appease her. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Henry’s just someone from class.”
And finally she seems to relent, because she sees the marks on her (Sister’s? Brother’s? She doesn’t know what to think anymore) skin from his last run in with Daddy a few nights ago. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t say anything about this after all. And if anyone finds out, she can just feign innocence to knowing about it.
“Fine.”
“Thanks,” Vic says, but Daphne has already turned away from him and is walking towards Mom’s car as it pulls up.
And so Daphne kept quiet about him and Henry, but she occasionally shoots him a concerned look from across the hall when she sees them together.
With the gauze on, Henry has an easier time getting through the rest of the day. It still seems like it hurts, but now he can walk a little faster and the ankle doesn’t roll when he has to put weight on it. In sixth period Vic reminds him to unwrap it to before bed and prop his leg up for the night. Then they part ways, Henry walks around behind the school and through the woods to get home, and Vic goes to wait for his mother.
The night passes without incident.
The next morning is Friday, and as Mom drives them to school she lets them know she has some errands to run this afternoon, so the kids have to walk home. Mom gives Sophie the spare key, and while the girls complain about the inconvenience (it’s not even that far of a walk, jeez) Vic sort of looks forward to not having to ride home with his sisters.
But when Vic walks into Homeroom, Henry’s not at his desk. Henry isn’t here at all. For a moment Vic just stands looking at their desks, feeling lost and overexposed as he sits down alone. His mind swings between two extremes for explanation. One terrifying possibility: Henry finally got sick of Vic following him like a shadow and maybe somehow figured out that Vic’s not normal and is so disgusted that won’t even show up to school. Or equally possible and but more terrifying: Henry was hurt so awfully bad that he couldn’t even come to school, because the worst beatings Vic gets every few weeks are what Henry gets everyday, so what happens if his skull cracks or his neck brakes or his lung is punctured and no one’s around to help him?
Vic drops his head to the desk, breathing heavy pants into his palms and trying to fight back the budding anxiety attack. Henry had a sprained ankle yesterday, so if his dad came after him, he wouldn’t be able to get away.
Then Henry appears in the doorway, hanging on the door jam and leaning into his right side. For a second he just stands there, and Vic wonders if he is really there, or if this is some anxiety driven hallucination. But Henry starts stumbling forward, looking like every step hurts him all over, and arms wrapped around his middle protectively and sliding across the wall to get to his desk. It takes him a long time to finally sit down, and the other kids around try not to gawk at him too conspicuously. One girl looks at his cringing, quaking form for a second to long and Henry growls at her.
Vic wants to jump up, help Henry sit down and check him over. Because whatever is wrong isn’t immediately visible, but is looks absolutely excruciating. But Vic is frozen because Henry looks feral, spine rigid, shoulders hunched, and the anger in his hooded eyes is burning like an inferno. Vic feels a mix of pain and sorrow and empathy, but also fear. Henry looks like a puppy that survived a dog fight, but came out wounded and ready to snap his jaws and bite.
Finally, after eons of painful staggering, Henry collapses into his seat and curls so far into himself that he almost disappears. The teacher doesn’t even look twice.
“Henry?” Vic whispers, lying his head on his desk to get closer to Henry’s level.
The boy doesn’t respond, but when Vic gets real close he can hear the wheezing shallow breaths Henry sucks in and heaves out. Vic reaches out as gently and slowly as he can and brushes the tips of his fingers over Henry’s shoulder blade, and Henry flinches and trembles violently at the contact, but he has no physical power to make the touch stop. Pulling his hand away quickly, Vic feels his stomach drop and his eyes prickle.
Both boys spend the class with their heads down. Vic tries to whisper to Henry every few minutes, but never gets a response. Henry just sinks further into himself.
By third period Henry still won’t talk, he doesn’t even move when the bell for lunch rings. So Vic takes the initiative to, as cautiously as he can, grab onto the sleeve of Henry’s sweatshirt and guide Henry up and out of the classroom. He sticks to a slow pace and they take frequent pauses so Henry can choke down some air, but they eventually make it to their spot. They sit down onto the cold grass as softly as possible, but Henry still winces.
The angry inferno in Henry’s eyes is dead now, just smoldering embers are left. Vic plants himself in front him, because as scared and anxious as he is, he resolves to help Henry through the pain.
“Henry, what happened? Where does it hurt?” Vic is still whispering even though they are far away from anybody else.
Henry makes a low, whining sound in the back of his throat before finally finding his voice.
“It’s nothing” He slurs softly, eyes drifting shut.
“No it’s not,” Vic says with a little too much force.
It’s not nothing. It’s never nothing. And it’s not fair, and it’s not right, that they always have to pretend it's nothing.
Henry flinches back but offers nothing else. He’s still holding his stomach, hunched over with arms crossed tight over his midsection.
Reaching over, Vic gently but firmly tugs Henry’s arms away and tries to pull up his shirt.
“Stop,” Henry rasps, tightening his arms.
But Vic keeps at it, more assertive this time.
“Stop it,” Henry bares his teeth and says a little louder.
Vic is undeterred, pushing him back aggressively to see what Henry’s trying to protect.
“Stop!” Henry screams this time, and in an instant swings up his arm and clocks Vic in the jaw with the side of his fist.
The impact hurts and it takes Vic back for a second, but instead of freezing and crumbling like when Daddy hits him, he feels a fire light in his veins. Vic pushes Henry onto his back, even as Henry throws more blows and tries to shove him away, so Vic pins his fists to the ground. Henry is undeniable bigger and stronger than Vic, but the pain he’s in makes him malleable to the hold.
Then the fight just drops out of Henry like he’s died on the spot. For a second Vic thinks the boy has passed out, but his eyes are open and moving. It just seems like Henry has left his body and his mind is off floating somewhere else.
The sight is unnerving but Vic pushes through and finally gets a look under Henry’s shirt.
Across the whole right side of his chest and ribs is a field of black and blue, and instead of swollen, the area looks sunken in on itself. Vic studies the injury, thinking through his mental catalogue of all the marks he’s seen on Henry. Punches leave dark round Dalmatian spots, impacts (like against the wall or to the ground) leave oblong marks on skin raised by bone that fade out. No this looks like Henry was already on the ground, curled into his side, as kick after kick after kick was laid into his ribs. Until they cracked. Until something broke. Until the bent bones pressed into his lung and made it difficult to breath.
Until Henry had to give in to the pain and float off from his body, like he’s doing now.
“Henry can you hear me?” Vic tries to bring him back.
He’s still limp and unmoving, but after a second his eyes focus again and he looks up at Vic. And then tears just start to overflow from his eyes.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Vic says softly, fingers running across the rib cage until he feels the one that dents inwards.
The tears are really coming now, in big fat streams that map out the curves of Henry’s face.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Vic says again, pulling his hands off Henry’s ribs.
Henry can’t gather the air necessary to sob, so he just keeps sputtering and choking until his face turns red.
So Vic leans down and cages his arms around Henry’s head, blocking out the sound and light around him, intending on helping him breath threw the panic. But instead Henry reaches up, latches digging fingers into Vic’s sides, drags him down and screams into his chest.
Tears soak into his shirt as Henry cries against him. For once Henry is feeling so overwhelmed but also just safe enough to let it out. The screaming continues, muffled enough by their closeness to not draw any attention, but the anger and the shame and the pain is still in every strain of his vocal cords. Vic just stays still, letting Henry hold on as tight as he needs despite the jabbing fingers in his sides.
The bell rings for fourth period and Vic just ignores it.
Finally the convulsions and screams die down, and Henry only stutters out a few sobs like a dying engine. Henry drops his arms and Vic slowly peels himself back from over the crying boy.
“Henr-” Vic starts, not having a real direction for his thoughts.
“I’m fine,” Henry says, or tries to say through hiccupping breaths, and he slowly sits up and winces in pain.
He’s wiping his eyes, shoulders hunched in and trying to put distance between him and Vic.
“Shut up,” Henry snaps, despite the fact Vic hasn’t said anything.
After a moment of averting eyes from each other and sitting in silence, Vic at last finds his voice again.
“Do you…” Vic pauses when Henry levels a dark glare at him, “…wanna stay at my house tonight?”
And Henry sits speechless for a moment, unbelieving and skeptical, but he nods slowly anyway.
Hours later, the walk home from school is slow and painful but Henry doesn’t complain about the ache. By the time they get to Vic’s house the girls have been home for a while, Daphne and Sophie upstairs, and Lucy already left to go hang out with friends. They don’t seem to care that Vic didn’t get home as promptly as they did, but at least they left the door unlocked for him.
Vic makes sure the ground floor is all empty as they come in, and then he leads Henry over to the couch and makes him sit. Henry is breathing through the pain, but the tears have stopped and he seems less tense than he was the whole day.
With Henry settled, Vic goes to the kitchen and fills a plastic bag with ice and comes back to the living room. Making him lie against the arm of the couch, Vic sets the ice as gently as he can against Henry’s side.
The two sit in silence for a while, letting the ice numb Henry’s side, and then Vic turns on the T.V. and flips through channels until he finds some action movie playing. Despite the explosions and gun shots coming through the T.V., a calm spell is cast across the room.
Henry is struck by how quiet it is, how safe he feels despite the pain and uncertainty. He reaches over and grabs Vic’s wrist, weaker than he does when pulling him around school, and just holds in the space between them. Vic doesn’t make a move towards or away, because he’s realizing that this is the only kind of contact Henry is comfortable with. And maybe Vic likes it too.
The movie ends and another starts up, so they just let it run and watch passively. Vic thanks God for when his sister’s don’t come downstairs all afternoon. They both start to sag from exhaustion, the day being both emotionally and physically straining, and they are almost dozing when Vic’s mother comes through the door.
“Oh!” She says in surprise, waking the boys fully.
Henry immediately drops his hold on Vic’s arm and tries to sit up, looking ready to bolt like a frightened animal.
For a moment Mom just stares at them, unbelieving that she somehow now has two boys in her home when a short time ago she had none.
“Hey Mom…” Vic tries to act normal, because they can’t just stare at each other like they can make the other disappear, “This, um… this is Henry. We have class together.”
And then they snap back to normal, or well, Henry drops his head to look at the floor, Vic sinks into himself, and Mom looks overwhelmed but willing to pretend like that everything is fine.
“A-alright. So were you doing homework together…?” She tries to justify to herself.
“Yeah,” Vic answers too quickly, because Henry’s never done homework in his life and they skipped two classes today so they could sit together outside.
“Mhmm,” Mom says, clearly not believing her own excuse, but not willing or able to start an argument about the real situation. She starts to walk towards the kitchen. “Henry, would you like to stay for dinner?”
Henry looks really uncomfortable with being spoke to, and he looks over to Vic in panic.
“Okay?” He says quietly.
So Mom goes into the kitchen without acknowledging Henry’s response, and after a second Vic follows her in.
“What are you doing!?!” she hisses at him in a hushed voice when they’re alone.
Vic is already prepared to counter.
“They have friends over all the time,” he whispers back, gesturing upstairs in reference to his sisters.
“This is different Victo-”
“Shhh!” Vic hushes her before she can say it.
Mom looks angry and tired and high-strung all at once, but her resolve is starting to crumble. Maybe the best thing to do is just tell the truth, because he’s tired of making up excuses.
“Mom, Henry…got hurt really bad,” He hopes she catches the meaning in his eyes. “He can’t go home right now.”
A film of shame overtakes her eyes, because she understands the intent and why Vic wants to help the other boy. Because no one is helping him.
“Your father can’t know.” She finally says in concession.
“I know.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
“Mhm.”
And then the conversation is over. Vic goes back to the living room and sits beside Henry, who looks unsure and awkward all alone. As Mom makes dinner, Vic brushes the back of his hand against Henry’s as a silent reassurance, because with someone else around Henry won’t grab his wrist.
They get called in for dinner, as if Vic has ever been called to dinner in the last three months, and he and Henry stand and set aside the half melted ice pack. Henry silently refuses to let Vic help him to the kitchen, and his side must be numb by now because his steps are stiff but look less pained than before. Though when they sit at the table he does stutter out the smallest of strained gasps.
Mom dishes up their plates like she’s June fucking Cleaver, like she always does when company is over and she has to revert to a perfectly nice housewife. Sophie and Daphne come down and look at the boys at the table in surprise, but Mom gives them a warning look to stay quiet about it. Vic is content to ignore their probing glances so Henry follows suit. So all the kids sit in silence and eat. Henry seems to be holding himself back, because he’s picking at his food slowly but Vic knows he hasn’t had anything to eat all day. Or maybe eating with a cracked rib is more uncomfortable than hunger. Vic is eating at just the same slow pace, despite also not eating lunch today, until Henry gives him just the barest of looks and gestures to the food. So he starts eating a little faster just because Henry is concerned enough about him. And after a concerned look back, Henry obeys and eats a bit more off his plate.
But then Mom breaks their silent conversation.
“So Henry, have I met your mother yet? Is she in the PTA?” Mom says from the counter, where she’s not eating, just standing there and hovering.
Henry freezes and his shoulders stiffen.
“No.” He says quietly, unclear to which half of the question he is answering.
Vic shoots a glare at his mother. Like you even go to PTA meetings, don’t even pretend. But then he is slightly more distressed by Henry’s hand quivering as he stabs another bite.
“Oh. Well, what does your father do?” She keeps probing, like someone would poke at a bear in a cage.
Henry just sets the fork down before he can get it to his mouth, head dropping towards his lap.
Vic wants to throw his plate at his mother as hard as he can.
“My dad’s a cop.” Henry says with a shrug, and that brief description doesn’t say a thing about what his father does.
“Hmm.” Mom makes one of those conversation ending noises again.
If only the conversation hadn’t started at all.
Neither boy is interested in eating anymore.
“Mom, can we be excused?” Vic asks, hiding his disdain behind the facade of table manners.
She doesn’t really seem to care, responding with a wave of her hand as she tidies up the kitchen.
They leave their plates on the table but can’t get out of the room before Mom prods one more time.
“Do you need a ride home Henry?” She says, like she’s forgotten what Vic had told her earlier.
“No ma’am,” Henry says, standing behind Vic and trying to disappear into the wall. “I can walk.”
Coming back into the living room, Vic can feel Henry’s discomfort emanating off him, and he can hear his mom and sisters whispering to each other. Probably talking about them. Henry’s leaning into his side again as he grabs his backpack and goes towards the door. Vic reaches out and grabs his sleeve to stop him.
“Don’t I have to go?” Henry asks quietly, voice quivering just slightly like he’s on the edge of another breakdown.
Vic shakes his head, and motions for Henry to be silent. Grabbing both their backpacks, he leads Henry to the spare room down the hall. Setting their stuff down, Vic goes back into the living room and grabs some extra cushions and the throw blankets off the couch.
As he lays the cushions down Henry looks on confused. And Vic doesn’t really know what he’s doing either, because he’s never had a sleepover, and Henry doesn’t seem like he’s ever been to one, but this one is less about fun and more about safety.
The lie down in the quiet room, Henry’s just relieved that he can take the weight off his side and Vic is glad they are alone again. Henry pulls over his backpack and reveals that instead of textbooks Henry just brings a stack of comic books to school, so they spend a few hours switching issues back and forth and just enjoy being near each other in the small room.
The sun sets and the room is still warm from the last rays of sunlight. The dark, the quiet, the heat, the feeling of food in their stomachs, the safety they feel isolated off from the world, the comfort they get from each other, all finally outweigh the heavier traumas that they live with and both boys fall asleep.
They wake with a jolt about an hour later, because the front door opens loudly and heavy footsteps are coming towards the room and-
It’s okay, it’s just Daddy getting home.
Henry seems petrified still, but Vic slowly crawls over to the door and peeks under the gap between the door and the carpet. He watches his father’s shadow move across the floor, coming closer to the spare room before going up the stairs.
Vic gives Henry a relieved nod and they both relax and let out the breaths they’d been holding. Settling back down into their nest of blankets and cushions, it takes a little longer to get back into that peaceful headspace they had before, but finally they do fall back into that heavy dreamless sleep, lulled by the slowing beats of their hearts and the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing.
Woken at dawn by the front door opening and closing again as Daddy goes to work, Vic blinks slowly and it takes him a second to realize that Henry is awake too, and looking back at him. They just watch each other, all the internal walls down and insides vulnerable.
Henry reaches over in their trance, only an arm’s length away from Vic, and with only the slightest tremble and hesitation, he grabs Vic’s hand and laces their finger’s together. This isn’t a tight grip on a wrist, or a tugging hold on sweatshirt sleeve, this is real flesh to flesh hand holding. Henry squeezes just enough that Vic knows that this means thank you, but the affection is kind of overwhelming for both of them so they swiftly let go and pretend it didn’t happen.
Awake now, they sit up and Henry rolls form one hip to the other to test the pain in his ribs.
“How’s it feel?” Vic asks, wanting to feel the soft spot to check it over.
“Better,” Henry confirms honestly after a moment, so Vic resists his urge to touch.
They make their way into the dim living room, picking up the cushions and blankets and resetting them on the couch. Vic makes them bowls of cereal and they eat on the living room floor while watching Saturday morning cartoons. They don’t talk and the T.V. volume is on low, so not to wake anyone else in the house.
After a while they start to hear stirring upstairs. Henry checks the clock on the wall and confirms that his dad’s at work by now so he can go home. Vic wants to tell him to stay, but knows that he’s pushing his luck with Mom already.
So Henry grabs his bag and Vic walks with him to the front porch. The early spring morning is cold but the sun is shining bright in the blue sky. Henry steps out onto the porch and they give each other just the briefest of glances as he leaves, walking through the yard and down the side walk without looking back.
Vic watches him go from the door way, noticing that his steps still seem stilted but looks like he’s only in a moderate amount of pain compared to yesterday. Then he closes the door and wonders how he’s going to pretend everything is back to normal by Monday.
Notes: Link to AO3 http://archiveofourown.org/works/12399036/chapters/28570732
Me: I won't write an extra long chapter again.
Me to me: Add more stuff, make it even more gay.
So I know I said this was a slow burn but aren't they already the cutest little boyfriends ever!?!
Also if you haven't seen the video of logan thompson dancing to rihanna you are not living. look it up.
Required fanny pack reference: check
(this fandom is so weird. i love it)
I hope I didn't keep ya'll waiting to long on this one, and I hope you like it. <3 <3
Pleaseessses leave me comments i live off them. it makes me so happy to hear from you guys. tell me what you think, tell me bout your day, tell me bout your it headcanons, call my mom a whore, literally anything. i love you all.
XOXO
YDFH
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97 Ways Of Saying The Same Hateful Thing: 'Get Out Of America'
“Go back to your country” and “Get out of my country.” That’s what white men in Kansas and Washington state told Indian and Sikh men in recent weeks before shooting them ― it’s as if they were speaking from the same script.
Here are 97 times in the past two years that people hurled this kind of get-out-of-America hate, often with explicit language, at minorities ― whether it was yelled from car windows, spray-painted on buildings or written in threatening emails ― to make them feel lesser and like they don’t belong here.
These quotes were collected, in part, using data from ProPublica’s Documenting Hate Project. If you’ve been a victim or a witness of hate, tell us your story.
“Get out of America!” and “Arab, you need to leave, asshole!”
― March 8, 2017, in Salem, Oregon
“Go back to Mexico.”
― March 4, 2017, in Lansing, Michigan
“Go back to your country.”
― March 3, 2017, in Kent, Washington.
“Fucking Mexican. ... Go back to your country.”
― March 1, 2017, in Brooklyn, New York
“Get out of my country.”
― Feb. 22, 2017, in Olathe, Kansas
“Go back to where you came from.”
― Dec. 31, 2016, in Las Vegas
“Go back to Africa.”
― Dec. 28, 2016, in Kodiak, Alaska
“You fucking immigrant piece of shit. You Muslim. Go back to your country.”
― Dec. 11, 2016, in Bronx, New York
“Go back to Africa.”
― Dec. 6, 2016, in Moonachie, New Jersey
“Go back to your own country.”
― Dec. 5, 2016, in New York
“I will cut your throat — go back to your country.”
― Dec. 3, 2016, in Brooklyn, New York
“You can go back where you came from.”
― Nov. 31, 2016, in Cedar Falls, Iowa
“Go back to your country.”
― Nov. 26, 2016, in San Diego
“You Muslims would be wise to pack your bags and get out of Dodge.”
― Nov. 24, 2016, in San Jose, California
“You’re a terrorist. Get out of here.”
― Nov. 23, 2016, in Albuquerque, New Mexico
“You don’t even — from here, you mothafucka. Fucking loser. Fuck you and your family, you terrorist motherfucker ... You’re an Arab. You’re a fucking loser. Sand nigger ... Trump is president, asshole, so you can kiss your fuckin’ visa goodbye, scumbag. We’ll deport you soon, don’t worry, you fuckin’ terrorist.”
― Nov. 17, 2016, in Queens, New York
“Go home.”
― Nov. 17, 2106, in West Springfield, Massachusetts
“Go back to your country.”
― Nov. 16, 2016, in Philadelphia
“Fucking Muslims, go back to where you fucking came from, you’re so ugly.”
― Nov. 15, 2016, in New York
“Hijab-wearing bitch. This is our nation. Get the fuck out.”
― Nov. 14, 2016, in Fremont, California
“Cunt, you don’t belong in this country. Go back to your fucking country.”
― Nov. 11, 2016, in Columbus, Ohio
“You can all go home now.”
― Nov. 11, 2016, in Iowa City, Iowa
“Trump might deport you ... I think you’re an ugly, evil little pig who might get deported and I pray that you do.”
― Nov. 11, 2016, in San Francisco
“Let me see your papers. Get out of my country and go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 10, 2016, in Cambridge, Massachusetts
“ISIS is calling! Muslims can leave!”
― Nov. 10, 2016, in New Paltz, New York
“Go back to your country.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Cambridge, Massachusetts
“You wetbacks need to go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Salt Lake City
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in North Bend, Oregon
“#GoBackToAfrica ... Make America Great Again.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Maple Grove, Minnesota
“Go back to Mexico where you belong.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Plano, Texas
“Have you started packing?” and “Go back to Mexico” and “Yeah, keep on packing” and “We’re more American than you.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Woodland, California
“Go back to Africa” and “Go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 8, 2016, in Edwardsville, Illinois
“Go back where you came from.”
― November 2016 in Denver
“Go back to Mexico” and “Go back to Africa” and “Sorry, you have to go back.”
― November 2016 in Spokane, Washington
“Go back to Africa.”
― November 2016 in Poughkeepsie, New York
“Go back to the jungle.”
― November 2016 in Englewood, Colorado
“Go back to Mexico. You don’t belong here.”
― November 2016 in Sonoma, California
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Oct. 31, 2016, in Albuquerque, New Mexico
“Go home” and “Go back to your country.”
― Oct. 20, 2016, in Fort Smith, Arkansas
“Terrorist, leave, No one wants you here.”
― Oct. 14, 2016, in Dundalk, Maryland
“Go back to China ... go back to your fucking country.”
― Oct. 9, 2016, in New York
“Go back to your country.”
― Sept. 22, 2016, in Lakewood, New Jersey
“Go back to Africa.”
― Sept. 22, 2016, in Norman, Oklahoma
“MUSLIMS GET OUT.”
― Sept. 19, 2016, in Lonsdale, Minnesota
”Get the fuck out of America, bitches. This is America — you shouldn’t be different from us.”
― Sept. 8, 2016, in Brooklyn, New York
“Go back to China.”
― September 2016 in Orange County, California
“You should take your black ass back to Africa so this campus and America can be great again.”
― August 2016 in Bowling Green, Kentucky
“Foreiger (sic) go home” and “Go Home Indian” and “I will kill you.”
― July 24, 2016, in Pahrump, Nevada
“I wish that you were not in the United States, and you don’t deserve to be here, either.”
- July 24, 2016, in San Francisco
“You Muslims need to go back to where you came from.”
― July 2, 2016, in Fort Pierce, Florida
“ISIS motherfucker. Get out of my country.”
― July 2016 in Omaha, Nebraska
“Go back to your country.”
― June 22, 2016, in Waterbury, Connecticut
“Get the hell out of the country you bitchass Muslims!”
― June 22, 2016, in Germantown, Maryland
“American’s don’t want you here and when President Trump gets into office, your (sic) going home!!! Back to the (expletive) dry sand and the desert.”
― June 17, 2016, in Plainfield, Indiana
“Muslim trash go home!”
― June 16, 2016, in Boston
“You are Muslim and not welcome ... Go away killers ... America hates Terrorist (sic) like you!”
― June 15, 2016, in Tucson, Arizona
“You white bitch. You don’t belong here. Go back to your people.”
― June 14, 2016, in New York
“Go back home and take [your] bombs with you.”
― June 13, 2016, in Queens, New York
“Take your rag ass back to your country. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
― June 9, 2016, in Richardson, Texas
“Go back to your country, wetback.”
― June 2, 2016, in San Jose, California
“Leave now before it is too late ... I tell every sand nigger that I see to leave ... American’s don’t want you here and when President Trump gets into office, your going home!!!”
― June 2016 in Plainfield, Indiana
“Go back to your country or we will blow your ass up.”
― May 25, 2016, in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
“I don’t want [those two Muslim women] near my country.”
― May 23, 2016, in Orange County, California
“Fucking Mexican. Go back to Mexico.”
― May 15, 2016, in Tulsa, Oklahoma
“Go the fuck back to where you came from.”
― April 30, 2016, in Marshfield, Wisconsin
“Go back to Africa.”
― April 21, 2016, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
“Go back to Mexico.”
― April 7, 2016, in Elkhorn, Wisconsin
“Go back to Mexico.”
― March 21, 2016, in Oakhurst, California
“If you call yourself an African-American, go back to Africa. If you’re an African first, go back to Africa.”
― March 12, 2016, in Cleveland
“Go to Auschwitz. Go to fucking Auschwitz.”
― March 12, 2016, in Cleveland
“You want to live in this country, you better leave ... brown trash ... Trump! Trump! Trump! ... Trump will take our country from you guys!”
― March 12, 2016, in Wichita, Kansas
“Go back to China. Go back to China. Go back to China.”
― March 2016 in Lexington, Kentucky
“Go back where you came from.”
― Feb. 9, 2016, in College Station, Texas
“Stay in your desserts [sic] and follow your religion in your own countries. ... Go back to your own country; America needs to get rid of people like you.”
― Early 2016 in Elmwood Park, New Jersey
“Go back to your country.”
― Jan. 28, 2016, in Edina, Minnesota
“Terrorist, go back to where you came from!”
― January 2016 in Tucson, Arizona
“Go back to your country. Fuck you.”
― Dec. 20, 2015, in Brooklyn, New York
“Mother fucking tacos! Go back to Mexico! Go back to Mexico! Nobody wants you!”
― Dec. 16, 2015, in Phoenix
“Go back to your country.”
― Dec. 11, 2015, in Lancaster, New York
“GO BACK TO MEXICO NOW.”
― Dec. 8, 2015, in Pittsburgh
“Go home.”
― Dec. 1, 2015, in Bismarck, North Dakota
“Go back to your country.”
― December 2015 in Clifton, New Jersey
“Go back home, you terrorist.”
― Nov. 17, 2016, in New York
“Get out of my country. Go back to where you came from.”
― Nov. 14, 2015, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa
“Yeah, go back where you came from.”
― Nov. 10, 2015, in Milwaukee
“Go back to your country.”
― November 2015 in Queens, New York
“FUCK THE KURAN. FUCK MUSLIMS ... TRUMP FOR PRESIDENT ... Get out of my country, yes my MUTHA FUCKIN COUNTRY”
― November 2015 in Hudson County, New Jersey
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Oct. 10, 2015, in Spokane Valley, Washington
“Learn English or go back to Mexico.”
― Oct. 7, 2015, in Waterloo, Iowa
“Terrorist, go back to your country.”
― October 2015 in Columbus, Ohio
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Sept. 14, 2015, in Dallas
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2n8gzh8
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97 Ways Of Saying The Same Hateful Thing: 'Get Out Of America'
“Go back to your country” and “Get out of my country.” That’s what white men in Kansas and Washington state told Indian and Sikh men in recent weeks before shooting them ― it’s as if they were speaking from the same script.
Here are 97 times in the past two years that people hurled this kind of get-out-of-America hate, often with explicit language, at minorities ― whether it was yelled from car windows, spray-painted on buildings or written in threatening emails ― to make them feel lesser and like they don’t belong here.
These quotes were collected, in part, using data from ProPublica’s Documenting Hate Project. If you’ve been a victim or a witness of hate, tell us your story.
“Get out of America!” and “Arab, you need to leave, asshole!”
― March 8, 2017, in Salem, Oregon
“Go back to Mexico.”
― March 4, 2017, in Lansing, Michigan
“Go back to your country.”
― March 3, 2017, in Kent, Washington.
“Fucking Mexican. ... Go back to your country.”
― March 1, 2017, in Brooklyn, New York
“Get out of my country.”
― Feb. 22, 2017, in Olathe, Kansas
“Go back to where you came from.”
― Dec. 31, 2016, in Las Vegas
“Go back to Africa.”
― Dec. 28, 2016, in Kodiak, Alaska
“You fucking immigrant piece of shit. You Muslim. Go back to your country.”
― Dec. 11, 2016, in Bronx, New York
“Go back to Africa.”
― Dec. 6, 2016, in Moonachie, New Jersey
“Go back to your own country.”
― Dec. 5, 2016, in New York
“I will cut your throat — go back to your country.”
― Dec. 3, 2016, in Brooklyn, New York
“You can go back where you came from.”
― Nov. 31, 2016, in Cedar Falls, Iowa
“Go back to your country.”
― Nov. 26, 2016, in San Diego
“You Muslims would be wise to pack your bags and get out of Dodge.”
― Nov. 24, 2016, in San Jose, California
“You’re a terrorist. Get out of here.”
― Nov. 23, 2016, in Albuquerque, New Mexico
“You don’t even — from here, you mothafucka. Fucking loser. Fuck you and your family, you terrorist motherfucker ... You’re an Arab. You’re a fucking loser. Sand nigger ... Trump is president, asshole, so you can kiss your fuckin’ visa goodbye, scumbag. We’ll deport you soon, don’t worry, you fuckin’ terrorist.”
― Nov. 17, 2016, in Queens, New York
“Go home.”
― Nov. 17, 2106, in West Springfield, Massachusetts
“Go back to your country.”
― Nov. 16, 2016, in Philadelphia
“Fucking Muslims, go back to where you fucking came from, you’re so ugly.”
― Nov. 15, 2016, in New York
“Hijab-wearing bitch. This is our nation. Get the fuck out.”
― Nov. 14, 2016, in Fremont, California
“Cunt, you don’t belong in this country. Go back to your fucking country.”
― Nov. 11, 2016, in Columbus, Ohio
“You can all go home now.”
― Nov. 11, 2016, in Iowa City, Iowa
“Trump might deport you ... I think you’re an ugly, evil little pig who might get deported and I pray that you do.”
― Nov. 11, 2016, in San Francisco
“Let me see your papers. Get out of my country and go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 10, 2016, in Cambridge, Massachusetts
“ISIS is calling! Muslims can leave!”
― Nov. 10, 2016, in New Paltz, New York
“Go back to your country.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Cambridge, Massachusetts
“You wetbacks need to go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Salt Lake City
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in North Bend, Oregon
“#GoBackToAfrica ... Make America Great Again.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Maple Grove, Minnesota
“Go back to Mexico where you belong.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Plano, Texas
“Have you started packing?” and “Go back to Mexico” and “Yeah, keep on packing” and “We’re more American than you.”
― Nov. 9, 2016, in Woodland, California
“Go back to Africa” and “Go back to Mexico.”
― Nov. 8, 2016, in Edwardsville, Illinois
“Go back where you came from.”
― November 2016 in Denver
“Go back to Mexico” and “Go back to Africa” and “Sorry, you have to go back.”
― November 2016 in Spokane, Washington
“Go back to Africa.”
― November 2016 in Poughkeepsie, New York
“Go back to the jungle.”
― November 2016 in Englewood, Colorado
“Go back to Mexico. You don’t belong here.”
― November 2016 in Sonoma, California
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Oct. 31, 2016, in Albuquerque, New Mexico
“Go home” and “Go back to your country.”
― Oct. 20, 2016, in Fort Smith, Arkansas
“Terrorist, leave, No one wants you here.”
― Oct. 14, 2016, in Dundalk, Maryland
“Go back to China ... go back to your fucking country.”
― Oct. 9, 2016, in New York
“Go back to your country.”
― Sept. 22, 2016, in Lakewood, New Jersey
“Go back to Africa.”
― Sept. 22, 2016, in Norman, Oklahoma
“MUSLIMS GET OUT.”
― Sept. 19, 2016, in Lonsdale, Minnesota
”Get the fuck out of America, bitches. This is America — you shouldn’t be different from us.”
― Sept. 8, 2016, in Brooklyn, New York
“Go back to China.”
― September 2016 in Orange County, California
“You should take your black ass back to Africa so this campus and America can be great again.”
― August 2016 in Bowling Green, Kentucky
“Foreiger (sic) go home” and “Go Home Indian” and “I will kill you.”
― July 24, 2016, in Pahrump, Nevada
“I wish that you were not in the United States, and you don’t deserve to be here, either.”
- July 24, 2016, in San Francisco
“You Muslims need to go back to where you came from.”
― July 2, 2016, in Fort Pierce, Florida
“ISIS motherfucker. Get out of my country.”
― July 2016 in Omaha, Nebraska
“Go back to your country.”
― June 22, 2016, in Waterbury, Connecticut
“Get the hell out of the country you bitchass Muslims!”
― June 22, 2016, in Germantown, Maryland
“American’s don’t want you here and when President Trump gets into office, your (sic) going home!!! Back to the (expletive) dry sand and the desert.”
― June 17, 2016, in Plainfield, Indiana
“Muslim trash go home!”
― June 16, 2016, in Boston
“You are Muslim and not welcome ... Go away killers ... America hates Terrorist (sic) like you!”
― June 15, 2016, in Tucson, Arizona
“You white bitch. You don’t belong here. Go back to your people.”
― June 14, 2016, in New York
“Go back home and take [your] bombs with you.”
― June 13, 2016, in Queens, New York
“Take your rag ass back to your country. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
― June 9, 2016, in Richardson, Texas
“Go back to your country, wetback.”
― June 2, 2016, in San Jose, California
“Leave now before it is too late ... I tell every sand nigger that I see to leave ... American’s don’t want you here and when President Trump gets into office, your going home!!!”
― June 2016 in Plainfield, Indiana
“Go back to your country or we will blow your ass up.”
― May 25, 2016, in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
“I don’t want [those two Muslim women] near my country.”
― May 23, 2016, in Orange County, California
“Fucking Mexican. Go back to Mexico.”
― May 15, 2016, in Tulsa, Oklahoma
“Go the fuck back to where you came from.”
― April 30, 2016, in Marshfield, Wisconsin
“Go back to Africa.”
― April 21, 2016, in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
“Go back to Mexico.”
― April 7, 2016, in Elkhorn, Wisconsin
“Go back to Mexico.”
― March 21, 2016, in Oakhurst, California
“If you call yourself an African-American, go back to Africa. If you’re an African first, go back to Africa.”
― March 12, 2016, in Cleveland
“Go to Auschwitz. Go to fucking Auschwitz.”
― March 12, 2016, in Cleveland
“You want to live in this country, you better leave ... brown trash ... Trump! Trump! Trump! ... Trump will take our country from you guys!”
― March 12, 2016, in Wichita, Kansas
“Go back to China. Go back to China. Go back to China.”
― March 2016 in Lexington, Kentucky
“Go back where you came from.”
― Feb. 9, 2016, in College Station, Texas
“Stay in your desserts [sic] and follow your religion in your own countries. ... Go back to your own country; America needs to get rid of people like you.”
― Early 2016 in Elmwood Park, New Jersey
“Go back to your country.”
― Jan. 28, 2016, in Edina, Minnesota
“Terrorist, go back to where you came from!”
― January 2016 in Tucson, Arizona
“Go back to your country. Fuck you.”
― Dec. 20, 2015, in Brooklyn, New York
“Mother fucking tacos! Go back to Mexico! Go back to Mexico! Nobody wants you!”
― Dec. 16, 2015, in Phoenix
“Go back to your country.”
― Dec. 11, 2015, in Lancaster, New York
“GO BACK TO MEXICO NOW.”
― Dec. 8, 2015, in Pittsburgh
“Go home.”
― Dec. 1, 2015, in Bismarck, North Dakota
“Go back to your country.”
― December 2015 in Clifton, New Jersey
“Go back home, you terrorist.”
― Nov. 17, 2016, in New York
“Get out of my country. Go back to where you came from.”
― Nov. 14, 2015, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa
“Yeah, go back where you came from.”
― Nov. 10, 2015, in Milwaukee
“Go back to your country.”
― November 2015 in Queens, New York
“FUCK THE KURAN. FUCK MUSLIMS ... TRUMP FOR PRESIDENT ... Get out of my country, yes my MUTHA FUCKIN COUNTRY”
― November 2015 in Hudson County, New Jersey
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Oct. 10, 2015, in Spokane Valley, Washington
“Learn English or go back to Mexico.”
― Oct. 7, 2015, in Waterloo, Iowa
“Terrorist, go back to your country.”
― October 2015 in Columbus, Ohio
“Go back to Mexico.”
― Sept. 14, 2015, in Dallas
from DIYS http://ift.tt/2n8gzh8
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