The Outsiders Memes Novels & Stories

#BlackwoodMeltdown was number five. The videos were everywhere. Dozens of angles of my screaming, my collapse, my desperate pleas to be left alone. And the comments... God, the comments were vicious. "She's literally insane lol" "Someone needs to get this girl some serious help" "When you're so desperate for attention you fake a breakdown " "Maya Blackwood is the poster child for what happens when you give damaged girls too much attention" The memes had already started. Screenshots of my face mid-scream with captions like "When you realize you have to take responsibility for your actions" and "POV: You're not the main character anymore."

"The Event of the Year! Sky-Bound Action Scene!" I looked like a puppet on strings in the video, with my limbs stretched out and suspended in midair. I was grimacing terribly as the shot zoomed in on my face. I scrolled down and noticed a sea of mocking laughter below the video. "Dominic's expression is so meme-worthy!" "Lisa is so impressive for putting in so much effort just to make the school heartthrob happy!" "Dominic actually pissed himself! Does anyone want a close-up shot of that?" "I'll pay good money for it as long as you send it to me!"

Mentions, messages, tags. My stomach tightened as I opened one. It was a meme caricature of my old picture. There was a poop emoji on top of my head, my brown eyes were replaced with a red laser, and a boldly written text on the picture said ‘SLUT’. I groaned and locked my phone immediately. But it was too late. I’d already seen it. Another buzz. Then another. Curiosity got the better of me again. I saw a particular message from a private page in my DM.

I muttered. On looking at the notification, I could see 99+ notifications. “LET THE LGBTQ COMMUNITY BREATHE!” “LAURA'S KARMA HAD JUST MET HER NIGHTMARE” #JUSTICE FOR ERIC SLOAN# #SANCTION TO LORA KARMA# #THE WICKED MUST NOT GO UNPUNISHED# All the notifications read. The one that got my attention was an anonymous poster that made a meme video clip of me with ruined makeup and some captions that struck me hard. This particular caption was directed to my last post Eric had forced me to make.

The backlash began, but not in the direction anyone had predicted. It started, as all modern revolutions do, online. Not with reasoned op-eds, but with a meme. A young graphic designer in Austin, Texas, took a still from Davidson’s “Lion’s Roar” speech—his face, scarred and defiant—and superimposed two lines of text in clean, bold font over his heart: LOVE IS NOT TREASON. POWER IS NOT SHAME. It was shared. Then it was remixed, translated, animated. It became a banner, a badge, a declaration.

[What kind of trash bag are you, holding so much garbage?] [Peacocks flaunt their tails to attract mates. What's your excuse for parading your ass online?] [Patricia Harris, why don't you just die?] [Slut, you're probably wild in private, right? That video's gone viral.] [Heard you're diseased. Stay home! Don't infect us!] I stared at my phone screen, the barrage of insults washing over me. Doctored memorial photos and grotesque AI-generated images assaulted my eyes.

SHAMELESS PDA! Will_the_devil I DIDN'T NEED TO SEE THAT I_pooped OH, PLEASE, YOU JUST JEALOUS OF THEIR LOVE. Will_the_devil YOU GUYS ARE IMPOSSEIBLE. I AM OUT TOO. BYE. I_pooped TSK, TSK. WE DON'T SAY BYE HERE. Will_the_devil OH, REALLY?! I_pooped MHM. DON'T DO THAT AGAIN. Will_the_devil WATCH ME. BYE. BYE. BYE.

~ Hailey ~ The storm begins before the sky even realizes it’s supposed to rain. By the time Ethan and I step out of the boardroom hand-in-hand, with our relationship declared, half the company already has it posted, reposted, filtered, captioned, and turned into memes. Kevin meets us outside the elevator looking like a man who has aged ten years in ten minutes. “Hailey… Ethan… the internet is— I don’t know how to say this but— the memes are disrespectful. Hilarious, but disrespectful.”

It was everywhere at once. In classrooms, students exchanged glances, some trying to act normal, others unable to hide the smirks or frowns that betrayed their curiosity. Ethan sat outside the law building, hunched over his phone. His fingers swiped automatically, scrolling through the endless notifications that kept flooding in. Every new message seemed louder than the last, piling on a pressure he couldn’t escape. Support messages offered encouragement, but hate messages cut sharper than knives. Memes of every possible kind circulated, mocking, exaggerating, and twisting the truth. Rumors multiplied faster than he could read them.

Someone shouted directly at me, voice dripping with mockery, “Hey, Harper! How’s that loose, smelly pussy feeling today? Still wide enough to drive a truck through?” Laughter exploded everywhere—loud, vicious, echoing off the lockers. A group of cheerleaders pointed and cackled, one of them dramatically plugging her nose as if she could smell me from across the hall. Guys high-fived each other, repeating the insults louder and adding their own disgusting twists: “Fish market Harper!” “Loose lips sink ships—and pussies!” “Virgin my ass, she’s probably been gangbanged by the whole senior class!”