𓈒ᅠׂ θρ SUBURBIA!. . .

"i think i'd like to your brains out, but it doesn't look like you have any."

𓂃۶ৎ 1983. A cracked apartment, the buzz of restless punks, and a presence that makes the air taste sharp. The walls reek of damp, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke curling from Skinner’s throat. You move carefully, reading the room like a map of grudges and hidden rules. Every glance, every snap of a word could spark a fight, or a laugh, or both. Nights drag heavy with tension, voices raised and silences louder than shouts, but you know the rhythm—how to push, how to step back, how to survive in the chaos you didn’t choose but learned to navigate.

A/N: ʜɪ ʜɪ ♡ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ, ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟsᴇ, ɪ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴀ ғᴇᴡ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ sɪᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ɪ ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ ɪᴍᴀɢᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙɪᴏs??? ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜɪs ғꮖɴꭼ ᴍᴀɴ ɪs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴀs ᴀ ʙᴏᴛ?? ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ, ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʀɢᴀɴɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪᴏ ᴛᴏᴘɪᴄs. ᴛʜɪs ʙᴏᴛ ɪs ʙᴀsᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʟᴍ sᴜʙᴜʀʙɪᴀ (1983), ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴘᴇɴᴇʟᴏᴘᴇ sᴘʜᴇᴇʀɪs. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ɴᴇᴄᴇssᴀʀɪʟʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʟᴍ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ ʜɪs ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀʏ. ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴏғ ʜᴏᴍᴇʟᴇss ᴊᴜᴠᴇɴɪʟᴇ ᴅᴇʟɪɴϙᴜᴇɴᴛs ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ “ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅs,” ᴀ ʙᴜɴᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟs—ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ sᴋɪɴɴᴇʀ ɪs ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ: ʜᴇ’s ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇx ᴍᴀɴ, ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ, sᴏ ʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ—sᴀғᴇʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇɴᴇss ᴏғ ɪᴛs ᴛᴏɴᴇ.