#has made me very good at online shopping of putting a bunch of shit in my cart and then methodically clearing it out over the next week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

copias-thrall · 3 years

Text

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

#mary goore #longfic #gender neutral insert #aurelio voltaire

47 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

how about billy and steve aren’t able to quarantine together they are at their respective homes. but no neil please he’s dead none of him billy live with his mom and the boys are struggling but they’re trying

so, basically, Billy’s mom took her with him when she left Neil.

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: should we just break up?

The text made Billy’s heart stop.

He knew Steve was being weird on the phone when they talked. Whenever Steve was quiet, it meant bad.

I mean, do you WANT to?

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: like, no, but would it be easier? do YOU want to?

Of COURSE I don’t want to.

Billy sighed, tossing his phone onto the counter, scrubbing his hands down his face.

“What’s going on, Starfish?” He looked up at his mom with one eye.

“Steve’s being insecure.” She raised an eyebrow. “I just talked to him and now he’s texting me and asking if I want to break up.” They had met in college, both joined the LGBT+ club at Chapman University, ended up working at one of the coffee shops on campus together. They had been together for just about a year, spent almost all their time together.

And then global pandemic forced Steve outta the dorms and back to Indiana while Billy packed up and headed down to his mom’s place in San Diego.

“Why do you think he’s thinking that?”

“Steve’s clingy. He likes being around people, and being touched, like just straight cuddled, and his parents are real shitty, and pretty much ignore the fact that he exists, and me not being around to like, help him out is probably really fucking with him.”

She twisted one of his curls around her finger.

“Would his parents let him come here? He could stay with us.”

“I asked him when all this shit first went down, but they’re like, really freaking out about everything and want him home. It’s the first time they’ve been home for longer six days since Steve was fourteen.” Her jaw dropped.

“Oh my God. Poor Stevie. How could a parent just, just treat their child like that?” Billy licked her hand, made her laugh loudly. He checked his phone, finding a bunch of new texts from Steve.

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: i’m sorry. i just feel like a chore.

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: like, i think itd be easier for you

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: if you dont have to deal with me

pwetty boi 🥺👉👈: im sorry im bothering you

Billy sighed.

“I should probably call him. He’s spiraling pretty hard. Twenty bucks says he hasn’t taken his meds in like, a week.” His mom tried to stifle a laugh, flicking a dish towel at him. He grinned at her while he pressed the call button.

“Hi, Bill.”

“Stevie, take your fuckin’ meds.” Steve huffed into the phone. “You can’t hide from me, Pretty Boy. I know how you get.”

“But I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to, to call and check in on me, you could just like, live your life. Date. If you wanted to.”

“We’re in a global pandemic. I’m not gonna go out and date, even if I fuckin’ wanted to break up with you.” He put his face down on the counter. “Now I’m gonna stay right here until you take your fucking meds.”

He could hear Steve stomping around on the line, slamming things around.

“Okay, I fucking took them.”

“Good. Now listen. I love you. I don’t want to break up with you. Even being halfway across the country from you, I’m so fucking happy. And it kills me that I can’t be with you right now, that I can’t hold you and help you, but I’m still here for you.”

“I’m sorry, Bill.” Steve sniffed. “I just, I hate it here. My parents are, are just all up in my shit, and my mom hasn’t let me leave the fucking neighborhood, and I, I’m so stressed out about school, and that I’m bringing you down and I feel like a fucking burden to everyone in my life and I, I” Steve broke down into sobs.

Billy’s heart fucking shattered.

All he wanted was to climb into a shitty dorm bed with Steve, hold him nice and close until he stopped feeling like shit about himself, until he understood that Billy fucking loves him.

“I’m sorry, Honey. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I wish I could do more. I love you. You are not a burden to me. I just, I wanna fucking climb through this phone and drag you home with me.”

“Maybe, maybe I could talk to my mom about, about visiting.” Billy held the phone out to his mom, putting Steve on speaker.

“Mom, tell Steve he can move in with us until it’s safe again.” She laughed lightly, taking the phone.

“Hi, Pumpkin. You are more than welcome here with us. Billy’s has been gardening up a storm. We’ve been giving away tomatoes to all the neighbors.” Steve laughed, it still sounded kinda wet.

“That sounds like heaven, ma’am.” She smiled warmly at Billy.

“Have Starfish send you my phone number, I can speak with your parents if you like. We’ve been very safe here. I’ve been sewing masks and giving them to all our friends as well.”

“I mean, I’ve been so miserable here, maybe, they might let me. I think my dad wouldn’t mind not having to deal with me anymore.” His mom pursed her lips at that. “I asked him for help with one of my classes, because apparently I forgot that he sucks, and he just told me I was an idiot for like, twenty minutes.”

She threw her rag down, her mouth all scrunched up.

“Baby, get the fuck out of that house. Come out here and hang out with me and my mom. We’ll help you with your work and won’t call you shitty names the whole time.”

“I don’t know, I am really fucking stup-”

“If you finish that fucking sentence, I swear to God, Steve.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Have your mom call my mom to set up our play date. We can have you quarantine in the guest room for a while after traveling.”

“Okay. Thank you, Bill.”

“I love you.”

Billy was driving slowly through the pick up line.

They had a whole plan of attack. Steve had put on a pair of latex gloves, and would put his bags in the trunk and then sit in the back seat.

Billy was gonna take him home, and he was gonna shower while Billy tossed his traveled in clothes in the laundry.

He saw Steve standing there, his big duffel bag slumped next to his large suitcase.

He was in a mask, but waved giddily at Billy in his mom’s car.

They executed the plan flawlessly, and before they knew it, they were making out in the guest room of Billy’s little house.

His mom knocked on the door.

Steve rolled off of him sheepishly.

“You can come in.”

“Are you sure?” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure, Mom.” She winked at him when she came in.

She hugged Steve tight, and Billy’s heart fucking soared as Steve melted into the hug.

“I’m so glad you could come out here. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

She smelled like fresh bread and lilies. Steve loved it.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Hargrove.”

“Oh please, call me Beth.” She pulled away from the hug. “Sweet Thing, come help me set the table. Let Steve get his bearings.” Steve was grinning.

“Billy calls me Sweet Thing.”

“Well, he comes from a long line of nicknamers, so you better get used to it, Sugar.” Billy kissed him on the cheek as he followed his mom out.

Steve still has no idea what Beth said to his mother to convince her to send Steve out to San Diego for the foreseeable future.

But somehow, she had made it work, and he wasn’t gonna be alone, or with cold parents that called him names, wasn’t gonna have to cry himself to sleep, not when he could sneak into Billy’s cozy little room.

He could garden with Billy, and Billy said he’d teach him how to skateboard, take him on bike rides around town.

They would cook, and Billy would help him finish the semester online, and the weather was warm and-

And Billy loved him.

Loved him so much he convinced his parents to let him fly across the country to live with him.

Steve had never been loved like this before.

And he was gonna fucking cherish it.

#this was originally much sadder #but 🤷‍♀️#another one from way down the req list #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #yikes writes

174 notes · View notes

veryimportantsparkles · 2 years

Photo

Hey it’s Christmas again. I guess I do these life updates every six months now (I guess it’s just venting but we’ll pretend it’s an update) so here’s some tl;dr about how things are going.

I just finished a Christmas Eve shift at work and once again this year we all decided not to work Christmas. It’s the one day a year we can say no to and my whole department said no. We’re inside a grocery store, and the store is still open, but if people want coffee they can go somewhere else. Or maybe they can’t! Every food place is understaffed and a lot of the coffee chains specifically are closing early or at unpredictable times because they can’t get people to work the full day. Customers can just deal with it, I don’t care.

I can’t tell if work has gotten better or worse lately. We may have reached a point with both staffing and shortages that some of the customers have given up. We don’t seem to be as crazy busy and I think some shoppers have actually learned to do their grocery shopping more than one day before a big holiday. Not all of them, but enough that we weren’t swarmed on Thanksgiving. The few days before Christmas were manageable too. I can’t tell if our staffing is getting better. They’ve hired some new people, we’ll have to wait and see who sticks around.

My weird numb arm situation keeps going through good and bad days. The last few days have been the worst, I haven’t gotten fully numb fingers at work but I’ll have like...tingly biceps. At work I move around enough to stop it from getting worse, but usually it doesn’t happen at work AT ALL. The current theory is that I might be experiencing wild swings in blood pressure. Going really high and really low and that’s why sometimes the numb stops.

I haven’t seen a doctor yet, but I did make sure to go through some paperwork stuff to ensure my insurance is set. It’s been a bad time to plan to see a doctor but I think that’s been true for the last two years now, so I guess I just have to put the effort in. That’s my goal for 2022, figure out the numb arms.

I spent a really stupid amount of time this last year doing shit on petsites. I made a big post about it a while back, it is WAY too many neopets clones and I should stop. In a couple of them I reached some goals I was working towards, and a few I can drop with no issues because they don’t have daily login bonuses or anything like that to try and hook me. I have also made the full commitment to being on Gaia Online again. But since Gaia is a very run-down place right now, that commitment isn’t very big. I mostly just sit there and lurk on discussions about whether or not Gaia is dying. It probably isn’t.

I spent a lot of time trying to play JRPGs but, as is typical for me, I turn every enjoyable thing into a PROJECT and then fail to complete it. Last time I played Final Fantasy VIII, I got to a point where I was ready to try the triple triad sidequests. And then I saved the game, turned it off, and haven’t gone back. In Skyrim I’ve been tying off loose quest threads here and there but haven’t done anything big and important that I can turn into part of the Bitey saga. Once I’ve gotten a bunch of quests and dungeons cleared I’ll probably do the Dawnguard stuff. THEN maybe I’ll play the storyline, or maybe not. I’ve picked up a bunch of other RPGs but haven’t made great progress in any of them, other than YS I&II which I just beat last night. They are very good!

Going into next year I just hope things stabilize. For society and for myself. I do want to get back into Popkas, although I’m still deciding how, and it’s not going to happen if I can’t manage the numb hand stuff. Laserwing continues at it’s really slow pace, it’s the one project I refuse to drop. Josh the Boyfriend has been busy lately doing behind-the-scenes prep for Neon Divide, which used to be Callous Row, which is a thing I’ve posted art for but is complicated to explain here. When season 3 starts (in...February? If everything goes according to plan) I will probably try to hype it up and explain why it’s interesting. But because of this, we haven’t gotten back into LPs and streams. Not sure if/when that will come back but I hope it happens some day!

Have a merry Christmas, or whatever. Hope next year is better.

#gpoy #long rambles #doodles

5 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Visits & Visions

A JSE Fanfic

This story is about a page shorter than my usual stuff, but it’s still a lot of pages. There’s a lot of setup with not as much action this time around. Chase visits more people. We check on Schneep again, finally returning to his POV. And then Anti acts like an evil asshole, because he is an evil asshole. Yeah, not much to say about this one. Hope you guys like it regardless :>

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

Chase opened the curtains on the bedroom, letting in a wash of sunlight. The bright light was quickly absorbed by the dark blue paint on the walls, but still lit up the desk and swivel chair, dresser and closet, shelves with books and knickknacks, and the bed with the nightstand next to it. Marvin, lying in bed, pulled the blanket up over his head and groaned.

“Sit up and absorb the Vitamin D, bro,” Chase said, sitting down in the swivel chair. Marvin’s cat Ragamuffin was lying on the desk nearby. On top of Marvin’s laptop, to be exact. He peeked open his eyes when Chase sat down, then dismissed him and closed them again.

“No,” Marvin said stubbornly. “I’ll eat a lemon or something instead.”

“Well, first of all, that would be really sour so, uh, maybe not,” Chase pointed out. “And second of all, that’s Vitamin C.”

Marvin groaned again, this time clearly putting on an act. He pushed away the blankets and sat up, running fingers through his messy hair in an effort to semi-comb it. “I look like shit,” he muttered.

“Didn’t you have a hairbrush in here somewhere?” Chase asked, looking around. “Oh, there.” He stood up and walked over to the dresser to grab the brush, which he then handed to Marvin.

“Thanks,” Marvin said, accepting the brush and running it through his hair. He managed to untangle some of the worst of it when he stopped and put the brush on his nightstand. His eyes were cloudy, staring out the window with a vague, far-off gaze. Then he lowered his head into his hands. “Fuck this,” he said, a sob catching onto the end of his voice.

“Oh geez.” There was a tissue box on the dresser as well. Chase picked it up, pulled out a tissue, and handed it to Marvin.

Marvin accepted the tissue, mumbling another “thanks” and pressing it to his eyes. He...well, he’d looked better. Chase was pretty sure he’d been in bed for at least a whole day. Which, Chase had to admit, he could relate to. Sometimes it was tough. And having your friend kidnapped wasn’t easy, for obvious reasons. Jameson had been missing for about three weeks now, and Marvin was having trouble with that. True, he hadn’t reacted this strongly when Jackie disappeared, but even then, he’d had to take a week to himself. And Chase knew that Marvin was pretty close with JJ. He hadn’t been crying about it as much lately, but it would still happen, seemingly triggered by him just...thinking about the situation.

“You need to drink some water, bro,” Chase said. “Losing all this, uh...moisture isn’t good.”

“Moisture?” That momentarily distracted Marvin as he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say ‘fluids.’ You probably would’ve called that out, too.”

“Ah, fair, I guess.” Marvin crumpled up the used tissue and dropped it into the trash bin he’d recently moved near the bed. “Anyway. What’s up with you? What’ve you been doing?”

“Hey, I’m serious about that water thing. You want me to go get a glass from the kitchen?”

“I...yeah, sure. I have a hydro flask in one of the cupboards, use that, not a glass. I don’t want to knock anything over.”

“Great. Be right back.” Chase stood up and hurried to the kitchen. He quickly found the water bottle in one of the cabinets, filling it up with tap water and a few ice cubes before heading back to the bedroom. When he returned, Marvin was lying down again, slowly petting Ragamuffin, who was sitting on the pillow nearby with his head on Marvin’s neck. Chase raised an eyebrow. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Shhhh. You don’t know the fluffiness,” Marvin said.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve pet him many many times before.” Chase handed Marvin the water bottle. “Good thing I used the lid with the spout thing. Here. Drink that.”

“Mmm.” Marvin started sipping through the attached straw while Chase retook his usual position. After a while, he said, “Soooo...can I ask you what you’ve been doing now?”

“Well I mean...a lot,” Chase said. “I’ve been visiting Schneep and Jack. Both of them are looking a lot better. You should really come with one time, they’d both love to see you, probably Jack especially. Though I mean, talking might be a bit awkward at first. You ever heard of a communication board?”

“Of course. Is Jack using one of those?”

“Yeah, exactly. Cause his, uh, talking and moving isn’t up to par yet.” Chase rubbed the back of his head. “Also, uh...I’m trying to find out more about...Anti.”

“Wh...” Marvin stared at him. He set the water bottle down on the nightstand next to him. “Why?”

“I don’t know, man, I’m ju—I’m tired of not doing anything,” Chase said. “I thought, hey, maybe if I can find something out, I can...I dunno, really. Just help a bit.” He sighed. “I mean, it’s not exactly easy.”

“Oh I can imagine,” Marvin mumbled, reaching up to scratch Ragamuffin’s ears.

“Yeah, he’s a criminal, you know? And a good one. We didn’t even know he existed until Dr. Laurens escaped and confirmed that he did.” Chase made a frustrated noise. “So I mean, looking up news sources is hard. I’ve been trying to find mysterious deaths in the area, going back a few years, but that’s still a lot. And like, he’s gotta have a base somewhere, right? Where he’s keepin—where he has supplies and shit. But how do you find that? God, how did Jackie do this? Seriously, how do you be a detective?”

“Well Jackie, like, went to school for this,” Marvin reasoned. “He knew—knows tricks. What do you mean by news sources? Like, online?”

“Yeah. Why, do you think I should go to the library? Check out old newspapers?”

“I mean...if you’re looking online, maybe he has a website.”

Chase stared at Marvin for a solid thirty seconds. “I’m sorry. A website? A website...for a guy who kills people?”

“They exist,” Marvin said casually. “You remember how I got almost killed back in March?”

“How could I forget that?” The whole story was still pretty unbelievable to him. Marvin had been working for a seemingly normal clothing shop, but because of suspicious activity, decided to look into it. And he’d soon found out that the shop was a front for some sort of smuggling operation, with firearms involved. Not long after that, he’d been attacked on his way home from work, and very nearly died. It hadn’t taken too much thought to realize the shady people behind the operation were behind the attack. “That’s the whole reason you left suddenly.”

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded a bit. “Well, I got curious. I was like, how exactly do you hire someone to kill someone else? So I took my old laptop that I left at my grandma’s house, because like, whatever, it probably should’ve been e-recycled a while ago, or whatever they do. So it didn’t matter what I searched up there, cause I was gonna get rid of it after. And I searched up stuff. And long story short, there is...totally an online market for stuff like that.”

“I...you’re serious?” Chase asked, gaping at him.

“I wouldn’t mess with you about this.”

“It just...seems unbelievable. If there were websites like this, couldn’t the police find them?”

“Sometimes they do.” Marvin’s eyes darkened. “But...there’s a whole...section of the Internet that...isn’t...good. It’s like...for that exact stuff. And if Anti was hired to kill me, he has to have some way for people to...to contact him for stuff like that. A website would be good for that.”

“Oh,” Chase said softly, looking away as he contemplated this new information. It made sense, really. It was more that he didn’t want to believe there was something like that out there. But he had to. So he took a deep breath. “You, uh...know how I’d go about finding something like that?”

Marvin nodded slowly. He gently pushed Ragamuffin away, who didn’t seem to mind and just rolled over, and then sat up. “Hand me that spiral book and one of the pencils from the desk,” he said, pointing. Chase did so, and he started writing down a few things. It took a while, since he would occasionally stop, think about something, and erase and rewrite, but eventually he tore the page out and showed it to Chase. “Here. These are some of the websites I remember, mostly because of the, uh...memorable URLs. Don’t—don’t use a computer you want to keep or have a bunch of information on.”

Chase took the page, scanning the URLs Marvin had written down. There were five of them, and...yeah, he could see why these stuck with him. “Are you gonna do some searching, too? It’d probably go faster with two of us.”

“No.” Marvin immediately shook his head. “I only have my laptop right now, and I really don’t want to compromise that with viruses or anything. That model was expensive, and it’s so much trouble to replace.”

“Oh. Yeah, good point.” Chase hesitated. “Do you...I mean, if you wanted to help me look for Anti, that would be...good. Too. In whatever way.”

Marvin hesitated. Chase could see the battle going on mentally, his usual fiery nature contrasting with the lack of energy he’d clearly been having lately. “I mean...I guess I’ll help you if you need anything,” he finally said after a while.

“That’d be great, bro. I can talk about it when I come over,” Chase said. God, he’d been doing so much visiting lately. Going everywhere, all over the place. It was...tiring. And that wasn’t even including the weekends when he had the kids over at his house. Another reason he hadn’t been able to find much on Anti was because he just didn’t have the time to do any thorough searching. But this website thing seemed easy. He could do it when he got home. “Anyway, keep drinking water. You, like, really need it. And you don’t really get it until you don’t have it.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Marvin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chase laughed. “Ah, you caught me. But seriously.”

“Alright, Chase, I understand.” Marvin picked up the water bottle again and started to sip.

——————

As it turned out, searching for illegal websites was not easy.

Chase had an old computer that he’d been keeping in his closet for ages, ever since he got a new, better one for playing and recording games. He dragged it out, booted it up, and set it through a factory restart, since Marvin had advised against having much personal information. From there, it was a bit of...a shot in the dark, really.

The search took a while. Chase was sure that looking at these websites was putting him on some sort of watchlist somewhere, and he couldn’t help but glance around the room every few minutes. Wasn’t there a video game like this, once? Jack had played it on his YouTube channel. Some game where you searched the messed-up dark side of the Internet. Yeah, that was the one where Jackie showed up in the second episode to help him with the puzzles and stuff. But that was just a game. This was real, and he was paranoid that someone would pop up in the window, staring at him.

By the time he found what he was looking for, it was well into the night, and Chase was positive that his browser had logged this worrying activity and possibly sent it to some agencies somewhere. But the search was a success. He’d clicked on a link reading ‘Antiseptic: For Taking Care of Infections.’ Harmless-sounding, if it hadn’t been on a website that listed several other websites, all somehow involving hiring someone to do shady shit for you.

The website from the link was, admittedly, pretty professional-looking. It could have been for a proper business. But it wasn’t. This was a website where you hired a hitman. And that hitman was Anti. Chase unconsciously leaned back from the screen as he clicked around the webpages. Something about rules, something about rates, something about reviews from customers (all anonymous, of course.) And an About page. Chase hesitated, then clicked on that.

The page that popped up had a bright red banner plastered across the top, reading: ‘IMPORTANT: I am not taking any new jobs for the time being. How long, you ask? Until further notice. Why, you ask? Something needs to be taken care of. Wait for your killing. Or go hire someone else.’ Blunt and to the point, while still being vague. Chase didn’t like the sound of ‘something needs to be taken care of.’ He had the strong suspicion that ‘something’ involved Jameson, and possibly Jackie.

He should tell the police about this website, right? It could be an important lead, not only in finding Jameson and Jackie, but in catching Anti altogether. Chase thought about it, and decided he would. But just in case, he’d keep the computer around and remember this URL. So he could search through this website on his own time.

It was late. He really should go to bed. Well, he might be too anxious to, after spending so much time looking at stuff like this, but he should try. But before he shut down the computer, he decided to check out the reviews section. What sort of reviews would a mercenary have?

He glanced at a couple of them, not wanting too many details, but suddenly stopped. The lowest rated review on the front page—god, killings had ratings, that was messed up—read: ‘Left a complimentary review in March when I thought he efficiently killed the target. But now, turns out the bitch is alive, and this bastard made me pay just for the CHANCE of going after him again. And he hasn’t even done it yet! Hurry up, you’—Chase winced at the word used—‘that Irish fucker could tell anyone by now!’

It was probably just a coincidence, but...the attack on Marvin’s life had happened back in March. And Marvin was Irish. And it had happened because some criminals thought he would tell...no, it was probably just a coincidence. It was a big world, after all.

Chase quickly wrote down the website’s URL and, just in case, the path he went through to get to it. He then closed the browser and shut down the computer. This was intriguing, but he’d have to look it over more later. He had to go tell the police about this the next day. It would have to be early in the morning. He had plans. More visiting to do.

——————

By now, Chase was pretty familiar with the visiting room at Silver Hills, as well as the visiting procedure. Enter, sign in who you were and who you were there to see, go wait in the visiting room, and after a while, the patient you were there to see would show up, along with a doctor in tow. Or, well, maybe the doctor was just for a few patients, to keep an eye on the ones who were somehow risky. Either way, the procedure hadn’t changed at all. He breezed right past it today, as always, and didn’t even have time to sit down before the other door in the room opened.

“Chase, my friend!” Schneep gave Chase a quick hug. “It is good to see you again so soon.”

“So soon? It’s been a week, like always.” Chase patted Schneep on the back before pulling away. “But it’s always nice to see you. You look good.”

“Ah, thank you.” Schneep smiled, a bit nervously, twisting his medical bracelet around his wrist.

“I’m serious, Doc.” And it was true; Schneep looked better than he had in a while. His skin had more color, and he’d gained a bit of weight. He was still pretty pale and thin, but it was a welcome, and noticeable, improvement. “Like, your hands aren’t shaking anymore.”

“Hmm?” Schneep looked down at his own hands, holding them still for a moment. “Oh yes. I hadn’t even noticed.”

“Well that’s good,” Chase said encouragingly. “I mean, it’s gotta mean that they’ve figured out, like, medication and stuff.”

“Yes, I think so,” Schneep said, glancing over to the corner of the room where Laurens was sitting, working on something on a clipboard. “Things have stopped changing.”

“Great.” Chase sat down on one of the couches, patting the cushion next to him so Schneep would sit down, which he did. “Anyway, you said last week they’d be moving you back to your first room. Have they done that yet?”

Schneep’s expression brightened. “Yes, they have! Chase, it is so much improved. Even just looking through the window at the ground—well, the window does not open, which I understand, but even just that is so much better. I do wish they would let me wear my own clothes again, but I think that is happening soon.”

“Well it should.” Chase folded his arms, eyeing the plain white shirt and pants Schneep was wearing. “I don’t even understand. Is it that much of a risk?”

“Ah...” Schneep reached up to rub his neck. “Well, not for everyone. You say you do not understand, but I do.”

“If you’re okay with it, then,” Chase said slowly. “Oh, by the way, I brought you something.” He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders, pulling it around to hold in his lap while Schneep watched quizzically. “Stacy and the kids were baking, and they decided to drop some off, and I-I thought, well, I don’t know if there are like sweets in the hospital cafeteria or something, so...” After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a plastic ziploc bag with a pair of chocolate chip cookies inside. “Here.”

“Oh really?!” Schneep gasped, immediately taking the bag.

“Yeah, really.”

“Thank you!” He wasted no time in opening the bag and taking out one of the cookies, biting into it.

Chase laughed. “I was right, huh? No sweets in the cafeteria?”

Schneep swallowed so he wouldn’t answer with his mouth full. “Well, there are sometimes. I think there is a schedule, maybe for every other day, I do not know. I only started going into the cafeteria...well, I did at the start, but then there was an incident, and—anyway, the point is, I have not been...attending, is that the word? For long enough to learn a schedule. I have only been allowed in the cafeteria and the, ah, rec room recently.”

“Really?” Chase kept a positive note in his voice. “That’s good, right? People say you need a change of environment.”

“Yes.” Again, Schneep glanced over at Laurens. “I hear it is advised. Which is one of the reasons why that—that other doctor was not good at her job.”

“Boy, you are so salty,” Chase said. “But you know what? Go ahead. She was an asshole.”

Schneep laughed.

Chase smiled. “Go ahead and be saltier than those, uh, fucking salt flats in America, or whatever.”

“S-salt flats?” Schneep was laughing so hard that it devolved into coughing. He had to take deep breaths to calm down.

“Yeah, they like, test the speeds of cars out in this spot in the middle of nowhere because it’s so flat. And it’s, like, made of salt, I think.”

“Is that a fact?” Schneep asked, amused.

Chase pulled out his phone. “Well I’m about to check if it is.”

The rest of the visit flew by. They talked about nothing, which was a welcome change of pace. Briefly, Chase considered telling Schneep about Jameson’s disappearance, as he had for the past two visits. But, just like those previous times, he decided against it. It would probably just upset him. And he didn’t even really know who Jameson was, apart from that one time he freaked out after seeing him. And that encounter certainly didn’t leave a good impression. So they talked about little things. Music, and movies, and what was happening with Chase’s kids. Small talk, yes, but it was the only chance they got to have this small talk each week.

Eventually, the time was up. Chase said goodbye and good luck, which Schneep returned, and left, heading back towards the front desk so he could check out.

Shortly after signing out on the visitor’s sheet, he heard footsteps. Chase looked up to see Dr. Laurens had followed him out. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Chase nodded in greeting. “Uh...everything okay?”

“Yes. Why, are you expecting it to not be?”

“I dunno, it’s just that usually when a doctor talks to you after you finished visiting someone, it’s usually with some sort of news.”

Laurens laughed. “No, it’s all fine. Schneep is doing really well, you know, making a lot of progress. Obviously, it really helps that, ah...the head doctor is no longer holding me so tightly to regulations.” She said it delicately. “So he can actually get the help he needs.”

“Yeah, a doctor with a revenge plot isn’t exactly helpful,” Chase commented. “He wasn’t even the right person for that plot in the first place,” he added, muttering.

“Well I-I guess if you want to be blunt about it,” Laurens said. Clearly, that had never been her style. “Anyway, yes, everything’s going great. I just wanted to ask, I was going through his files recently and I noticed you were down as an emergency contact. Are you still okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure. He doesn’t really have any family who’d respond,” Chase said. “Am I the only one?”

“No, your friend Marvin is there, too,” Laurens said. “We, um, tried to contact his wife—or, uh, separated wife—Mina. She hasn’t responded, so I just thought I’d confirm.”

“Really? Did you, like, call her or mail her or something?” Chase asked, intrigued. Mina had sort of been a distant figure for a while. And even before she and Schneep separated, he hadn’t been too familiar with her. A bit odd, really.

“Yes, Schneep gave us her number and mailing address,” Laurens confirmed. “I guess he could have misremembered it, or she could have changed those. But the point is, no response. So you and Marvin are the only contacts.”

“Got it.”

“Great.” Laurens paused. “Um...do you need anything? I-I understand your other friend woke up, Jack. You’ve got to be pretty busy.”

“Yeah, really.” She didn’t know the half of it. It was...actually really tiring. But he refused to let this stop him anymore. But...Chase considered something, then leaned closer, and quietly said, “Hey, uh, you’re a therapist. Do you know any, like...other therapists? Not here, like, more casual places. That you go visit.”

“Oh yeah! Hang on a second.” Laurens flipped through the pages of her clipboard, unclipping a blank sheet at the back. She took her pen out from behind her ear and wrote something down. “Here. This is the agency I worked for before here. Well...I mean I worked here before. But then I quit and worked there, and came back here—you get the picture.” She laughed awkwardly. “Anyway, there’s a website I’ve written down there. They have listings for different therapists, sorted by specialties and methods, and including, uh, short biographies so you can get to know them a bit before you actually make a booking. So you can know what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks.” Chase took the piece of paper and looked it over. “That was...more information than I thought, really.”

“Well I wasn’t about to just recommend someone,” Laurens said. “That’s for you—or, uh, anyone who’s therapist-shopping.”

That got a laugh out of Chase. “Alright. Anyway, thanks again.” He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. “I’ll see you next week.”

“See you,” Laurens waved as Chase left.

Yes, next week. Assuming nothing went wrong and she had to contact him beforehand. But it probably wouldn’t.

——————

The recreation room of Silver Hills was a large, wide room on the second floor. Schneep hadn’t been in there much. Of course, for a long time Dr. Newson hadn’t allowed it, on the basis of it being dangerous. But even when he first checked in, he didn’t go down to this room that often. Maybe once, to see what it looked like. He hadn’t exactly been in the right mental space for recreation at the time. Too...well, he supposed ‘paranoid’ might be the right word. He didn’t want to get too attached to the space in case this whole thing turned out to be a trick.

But now, he thought he should give it a try. Maybe it would be helpful, to have more to do. He might be able to take his mind off things.

The room had a wall with windows overlooking the front of the hospital, and two doors on the walls to either side. Because of safety concerns, the entertainment was a bit limited. For example, some rec rooms might have a pool table. Not here. Some might have cabinets with board games. Not here. But there was still several playing card games, some pinball machines, and a TV with access to television channels and able to stream movies. There were three tables, each with a cluster of chairs, a couple sofas and armchairs near the TV, and paintings on the wall as decoration.

There were several people already in the room when Schneep peeked in. Mostly patients, with a few orderlies sitting around, identifiable by their uniforms. A group was sitting at one of the tables playing a card game, a couple were at a different table talking to each other and drawing with crayons—maybe a bit childish, but Laurens had stated that colored pencils weren’t allowed—and a few more were sitting around the TV, watching. A few of them had paused whatever they were doing to look over towards the door when it opened, and Schneep immediately froze.

“You okay?” Oliver, the usual orderly, was accompanying him to the room. They still hadn’t lightened up the rule about him being able to walk around on his own, though Laurens had said she was working on it. “Do you want to go back?”

“Nein, no no, I am fine,” Schneep muttered, stepping further into the room and looking around. He couldn’t help but notice he was the only one wearing the standard-issue white shirt and pants. Was that why some of them were staring at him? Or did they just like staring at people?

“Alright, just tell me if there’s anything wrong,” Oliver said, walking in behind him and keeping to the edges of the room, as he usually did.

Schneep nodded vaguely, glancing around to give everyone in the room a second look. Unfamiliar, all of them. There was one, part of the group playing cards, who was really staring at him, but everyone else had turned away, so that was probably her problem more than anything. Folding his arms—well, it wasn’t technically folding his arms, he just sort of grabbed each elbow with a hand—Schneep walked over to the seats by the TV and sat down in the nearest empty armchair. This was fine. That one other patient had stopped staring by now and looked back at the card game, which meant that nobody was looking at him. And that was good. Well, Oliver was there, keeping an eye on things. But nobody was watching him. Really. Nobody was. He didn’t see anyone looking. Everything was fine.

Okay, time to see if he could distract himself. What was on the TV? Schneep took a deep breath as he checked it out. It was definitely a movie of some kind, live-action, but not one that was familiar to him. It had that appearance of an older movie, something in the grain of the film or the delivery of the lines giving away that it was at least a couple decades old. Huh. That was...interesting.

“Hey.”

Schneep jumped, looking to the side. A man was looking at him. Sitting on one of the sofas, near the end closest to his own chair. “Ja? Um, yes?”

“Are you new here?” The man didn’t look too intimidating. Sandy blonde hair and freckles, wearing a blue t-shirt. He had a medical bracelet on his wrist, too.

“No, not at all,” Schneep said. “Why?”

“I just didn’t recognize you. I’ve been here a couple months, I think I recognize the usual crowd in the room. How long’ve you been?”

“Um...” Schneep paused for a second to do the math. It was now November, so that was...“A half a year.”

“Oh.” The man’s eyebrows shot upward.

“Yes, I, um, have not been in this room much. I was not—things were not...not good,” Schneep said awkwardly.

“Ohhhh.” The man nodded in understanding. “I see. I’m Finn, by the way.”

“Henrik.”

“Henrik? Are you—I mean, I don’t want to assume, but your accent, uh, are you German?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you. The same.” This was starting to feel a bit awkward. Or maybe it was just him, Finn seemed perfectly comfortable. Schneep turned away, looking back at the TV. “What...is this?”

“The movie? Uh...I don’t know.” Finn shrugged. “I came in when it was already playing. I think Kellie chose it. But it’s, like, something about cars? And this family where the dad’s an inventor? I don’t know. It’s a musical.”

“Hm.” Schneep glanced around the room again. Was there anything else to do? The card game group was starting something new, one of them shuffling the deck. No, no. He didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe he could ask for some drawing supplies from the two who were coloring. Laurens did a drawing exercise with him once, and it had actually been kind of fun. Oh, wait, was there someone new here? There was something moving in the corner of his vision. It could just be in his head, but he turned to look anyway—

The moment he caught full sight of the movement, he cried out, jumping backwards and awkwardly falling out of the chair. He landed on his back, legs still up in the air, but quickly scrambled to his feet, looking back towards what he’d seen.

No. Nobody was there. But it was near one of the room’s doors, what if he left? What if he was—everyone was staring at him. They all were, they all had to be.

“Are you alright?” Finn asked, a concerned expression on his face.

“I-I-I—” Schneep backed up, once again assuming the folded arms position from before. “Don’t—look at me.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Finn looked away.

Schneep shuddered a bit, eyes fixed on the point where he saw—he couldn’t really have been there, it must have been in his head. It’s happened before. He’s seen him before...in his head. It. It was the same now. Had to be. Just. Just in his head. Not real.

But he couldn’t fully convince himself. Slowly, he backed up until he hit the nearest wall. Oliver, who’d been sitting nearby, stood up and walked over. “Do you need anything?” he asked quietly.

“I-I—am—will go back to safe—to my room,” Schneep stammered.

“Alright, let’s go then.” Oliver gestured to the door. Not the one that was close to...what he’d seen. Schneep nodded vaguely, and walked over to the door and out, with the orderly trailing behind him. Once they were out of the room, Oliver asked, “Anything else?”

Schneep took a deep breath in, then out. In, then out. It was a relaxation technique, and concentrating on that helped. Gave his brain something to do. “I...the hospital is—is very secure, yes? You cannot break in?”

“It’d be very difficult,” Oliver agreed. “You’d need a key card. And we do have security cameras. Someone would notice.”

“Good. Very good.” In. Out. In. Out. Laurens had reassured him many times before. Anti couldn’t get in here. So what he saw...it must have been...not real.

I’m real as ever, Henrik.

Schneep almost responded, but then firmly shut his mouth. It didn’t help to acknowledge the voices. It didn’t help to acknowledge any of them, even if he wanted to. Everything was going to be okay. This was a safe place. He didn’t have to worry about anything.

He kept reminding himself of these facts even hours after the incident. Anti couldn’t get in here. It wasn’t possible. This was a safe place. Everything was going to be okay.

——————

Well that was a failed test run.

Anti flipped the keycard between his fingers, watching it twirl through the air as he leaned back in his desk chair. He hadn’t been expecting to be spotted. They didn’t know what he looked like, and he had a small disguise, just in case. He thought that hiding his scars and darkening his hair would be enough to prevent him from being noticed. But apparently, he’d left quite an impression on the good doctor.

No one would believe him, of course. Judging by that psychiatrist’s notes, the one in the turquoise notebook, spotting Anti was a common hallucination of Schneep’s. No one would know that it was real, this time. But still. It was the principle.

Sitting up straight, Anti swiveled in his chair to face a computer monitor. The screen was divided into four sections, each showing a different angle of a single room with pale yellow walls and a pair of bunk beds. Maybe four cameras was overkill, but better safe than sorry. It looked like the two people in the room were having a conversation. He turned on the audio so he could listen in.

“—never had any siblings,” Jackie was saying, slowly swaying from side to side where he was sitting in one of the chairs. “Mom wasn’t very, uh—I-I was a miracle baby. Though sometimes I joke that I had a sister, but really it was me before I transitioned.”

So I’m the only one in the group, JJ signed. He was sitting in the other chair at the table, across from Jackie. Each of them had a plate in front of them with a sandwich and a bottle of juice.

“Yeah. Unless you count Chase’s sister-in-law, but eh. None of us do.” Jackie shrugged.

JJ laughed a bit, which soon faded. I should have asked about your family sooner, Jackie. Even before...all of this happened. I’m sorry.

“No, it’s fine,” Jackie reassured him. “I mean, family was probably a thing for you, right? Considering...this whole situation.”

Jameson nodded, looking a bit paler.

Watching the conversation, Anti frowned. That was hardly fair.

Anyway, I’d much rather talk about other people’s families, for obvious reasons, JJ continued. Like...for example, your friend Henrik. He doesn’t have any siblings either?

“No. And, uh, before you can ask about his parents...they’re assholes.” Jackie’s voice turned bitter. “They don’t live here, they’re back in Germany, and he’s very glad for that.”

Ah. Sorry for asking.

“No, it’s fine. Really.” Jackie frowned, and sat up straight. “You, uh...I-I don’t remember you apologizing as much before,” he said slowly. “Are you...okay?”

Jameson started to sign sorry, but then caught himself. He leaned over onto the table, briefly hiding his head in his arms before signing, I was working on that with my therapist. But now, it’s just all...He couldn’t even find the words and just threw his hands up in the air before hiding his head in his arms again.

Jackie leaned forward and placed his hand on Jameson’s arm. “It’s fine. We’re, uh...under a lot of stress. It makes sense that you’d, uh...things would happen again. It’s not wrong or anything. I think you’re doing great.”

Anti switched off the audio and looked away. Nothing was wrong with apologizing. It certainly wasn’t something you needed to talk to a therapist about. In fact, why did Jameson even need a therapist? He was fine.

Well...no, he wasn’t. Because he was different. Anti had backed off for a bit, giving him space to adjust, and then started talking with him again. Not for very long, but he’d come into the room, Jackie would back off and stay quiet, and he’d talk to Jameson. The goal was to regain trust, but it just wasn’t working. Jameson was anywhere from unresponsive to aggressive towards him. He didn’t get it. Yes, the initial approach wasn’t good, he’ll admit that. But what else was he supposed to do? He was trying to make up for it. The room was starting to get a bit crowded with all the things he’d given him. Books, a music player, even a beanbag chair. Anything he wanted.

Well, almost anything. He couldn’t give him everything right away, otherwise there would be nothing left for good behavior.

Anti sighed. And once again, he twirled the keycard through his fingers. And it gave him an idea. What if...one of those rewards...yes, that might work.

That might work indeed.

Anti slowly grinned, and opened up his calendar to figure out when would be the best time to enact the plan that was forming in his mind.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #dr schneeplestein #jackieboy man #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

15 notes · View notes

slashscowboyboots · 3 years

Text

The Blackboard Jungle: All I Want For Christmas Is You (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Izzy tweeted! And in celebration, here’s the final part of this fic

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket @no-stone-no-bone @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands @smokeandmirrorz @sodalitefully @roger-taylors-car @harley-m-rose @whisperess33 @shawolat @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: the f-bomb, total holiday fluff

You wound your way through the department store, dodging people and wanting to puke from all the Christmas music as you searched for your mother a nice gift. She was the last one you had to buy for, and you wanted to get her just the perfect thing this year.

I think she has plenty of snow globes, you thought, absentmindedly turning one upside down and watching the glitter float down, then heard someone call your name.

You turned and looked into the grinning face of Miss Peterson, Patti’s third-grade teaching cohort.

“Hiiiii, doll,” she chirped.

“Hello, Cindy, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m just great. Are you shopping for your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend? I don’t-”

“Patti told me all about it. I mean, well she made a long post on Instagram, how the two of you had been friends for so long, good friends, at least she was to you, and you chose that Jeff Isbell over the happiest day of her life-”

“Did she really?” you snapped. “Well, since the two of you are so close, please tell her I said, ‘Merry Christmas.’” And go fuck yourselves, you thought, deciding your mother would enjoy a very nice pair of diamond earrings.

It was unbelievable to you, how you and Jeff were the names on everyone’s lips anymore, especially since it was all so mistaken. It was heartbreaking how everyone thought you were a couple, when you were simply coworkers who were also close friends.

Of course, you were never able to get him out of your head, especially since the Thanksgiving program. Your combined classes had first traced their hands and colored their drawings in, decorating their turkey pictures with feathers and googly eyes (you stifled a laugh watching the Harrison twins hungrily eyeing the paste, and snorted when you saw Jeff leaping over a chair with his gangly legs to glue their turkey eyes down himself) and enjoying their lunches together.

He had excused himself during the break, and you paused while eating your sandwich, thinking about how really good he was as a teacher, how he never once talked down to the kids or lost his patience with them. He always had time to listen to them, hanging onto their every word.

And they loved him in return, every single one of them showing them their turkeys the second they finished them, and the amount of praise he heaped on their artwork made you smile.

Putting away your lunch bag with a sigh, you looked up just in time to see a six foot tall turkey, complete with wattles, standing in the doorway of your classroom. His tail feathers were so impressive he had to turn sideways just to make it through the doorway.

The children erupted in cheers, and Mr. Isbell strode in and fanned his plumage to their great delight, then announced that if they all quieted down, he would read to them, “Bear Gives Thanks.” After he closed the book, he asked them what they all were thankful for.

He got various answers, from “my new puppy” to “my dad got a new job.” But the one that stood out the most was from Cicely Brown. She raised her hand and said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Isbell, I’m thankful for a teacher like you.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, and you heard a catch in his voice when he whispered, “Thank you.” He turned around (well, awkwardly walked in a circle to turn around) to you and asked, “Miss Y/L/N, what are you thankful for?”

“Hmmm. I’m thankful for friends. And I’m thankful for every person that’s in this room.”

His eyes met yours, his smoldering gaze still able to buckle your knees. “Me too.”

“But I don’t want to be an elf.”

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N, I went and got an elf costume just for you. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

You put your hands on your hips and pouted. “I have plenty of Christmas spirit. Why can’t I be Mrs. Claus?”

“Because she doesn’t hand out candy canes. She stays home and entertains strange men while Santa works all night.”

“Oh, she does not!” You smacked Jeff’s arm, shaking your head. He really was going to talk you into this getup, wasn’t he?”

You took it from him and he said, “Hurry up and get changed. I need you to help me put on the Santa suit.”

“Why do you need help?” you called from the coatroom, pulling your green and red striped tights on.

“Because I make a skinny Santa, and I have to hold the belly while you button the jacket.”

When you came out, he had already changed into his Santa pants and boots and was sitting at your desk expectantly holding a pillow over his chest and stomach.

“Jeff, you really should eat more if you want to wear this suit,” you laughed, buttoning the buttons over his padded belly.

He made a face, and you said, “What?”

“Nobody calls me Jeff except for my mom.”

“What do they call you?” you asked, puzzled.

“Izzy. Or Iz, if you’re into the whole brevity thing.” He buckled his belt as all the wind left you, then he slapped your elf hat onto your head. Flicking the bell to make it jingle, he said, “C’mon, Sugar Cookie, let’s make a bunch of little people happy.”

It was entirely possible that you wished all the students a Joyous Holiday and handed them a candy cane after they visited with Santa. You had no idea if you actually did, the earth had screamed to a halt after you’d heard Jef-uh, Izzy’s admission.

After all the pupils had left, he shot you a delighted grin, then furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Hey, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “I’m….hot.”

“Me too. Let’s get changed and go back to the party.”

Although you were dazed, you flung your elf costume off in record time, exiting the coatroom in time to see Izzy unbutton his Santa jacket and toss aside his pillow. He slumped in your chair clad in a white undershirt, slinging an arm against his forehead to wipe off the sweat, and when he dropped it down beside him you could see a tattoo just below his elbow.

Without thinking, you walked over to him and picked up his wrist. Written in delicate script high on his inner forearm was desperadosdreams.

He tried to pull away from you, then he noticed you gasping for air with tears in your eyes. “Does that make sense to you?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, then pressed your lips to his, leaning down and throwing your arms around his neck. When you pulled away for a breath, you looked into his eyes, then pushed the sleeve of your shirt up and extended your arm.

“Does that say IZ?” he asked in a halting voice, and you nodded again, then climbed onto his lap for another passionate kiss. You carded your fingers through his hair as his lips traveled down the front of your throat, then he rubbed his nose against yours as you heard PJ Jones say, “I saw Miss Teacher kissing Santa Claus. And he liked it!”

“Hi, Ian!” you smiled, holding up your ring finger.

“Hi!” he grinned. “Ooh, that’s nice! Congratulations!”

You held your phone toward Izzy. “Ian, this is Izzy.”

“Oh, shit, he’s cute,” Sia said. “Hi, Sexy!”

“Izzy, this is Sia. She’s Ian’s fiancee.”

“Well……” she said, then they both held up their ring fingers.

“Omigosh! You guys got married?!” you exclaimed.

“Yes! I had to promote ‘Sharknado’ at the MGM Grand, and well, since we were in Vegas, we-”

Sia interrupted, “We found this Elvis impersonator, and it was so tacky and cool, I couldn’t have asked for a better wedding.”

“Congratulations! Can you guys come to ours?”

“When is it?” Ian asked, with Sia hollering “Hell yeah!” in the background.

“Next spring. We don’t want to wait that long.” You leaned over and pecked Izzy on the lips. “We’ve waited our whole lives to find each other, we want our married life to begin as soon as possible.”

Thank you so much for being a part of this fic! Because of wedding plans and moving and all that good jazz, I won’t be writing fics online anymore, but I will never forget how wonderful it was to have all your support. Love you always, desperadosdreams

“I do,” you said.

“You bet I do,” Blaze said, sliding your beautiful wedding band on your finger.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Blaze, kiss your bride,”

He swept you in his strong arms, spinning you around, then dipped you and kissed you hard, the first kiss of the rest of your lives, as the fiery red sun sank in the horizon behind the two of you.

Now it was time for the two of you to begin your lives together, and dream as one. And as he kissed you again, you knew you’d found forever, and he had been worth waiting for.

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

36 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 5 years

Note

After reading your "ultra-long postivity post", now I have kind of a weird feeling because i relate a lot to pretty much everything you said, but i ended up approaching the "not everyone can x" from the opposite side, being the "gifted kid" teachers used to hold everyone to unrealistic standards (that i knew most couldnt achieve in the given timeframes), and now i get frustrated when i dont develop skills immediately, because i have done it before and feel like i should be able to and aaaaaaaaaa

Funny story: when I was a kid my parents had both my sister and I tested for learning and developmental disabilities. This testing included IQ testing.

It identified that we were both “gifted” kids* and that I’m dyslexic.

It totally missed my ADHD, though!

The problem with that is that my parents. Hm.

Okay my parents both grew up in very poor families. VERY poor. And they both wanted to go to college and knew the only way that they could was through scholarships. So they became debaters. They met at a tournament in high school.

Debaters are weird. You need an efficient working memory and strong recall and the ability to think quickly on your feet. Being witty and kind of an asshole are also good traits for debaters. Basically you’ve either gotta be really fuck-off smart to be a competitive debater or you’ve gotta at least *seem* really fuck-off smart.

And my parents were champion debaters at a national level. The Whittier College debate trophy has my mom’s name written directly under Richard goddamn Nixon. My dad was on the USC debate team and competed against Harvard and won. Not only that but he ended up coaching debate for USC and Cal Tech.

So as kids who grew up in extremely poor families and were able to go to college and get middle-class jobs and buy a house because of intellectual ability my parents placed A LOT of importance on intellectual ability.

So that IQ score became a large part of my life.

First we attacked the dyslexia. The approach was basically teaching me a bunch of sight words because sounding out phonics doesn’t work when the letters get screwed up. And because I was *gifted* we did a lot of really BIG sight words.

It took about six months to get me up to speed from “memorizing the pages of a story to match the pictures because I couldn’t read along in class” to “the first book I read on my own was The Hobbit.” I guess that counted as “cured” because that was the last time I got any kind of educational assistance.

At that time I was at a gifted school, a really tiny private school that was also an after-school daycare where we did full-day classes and then did gymnastics and swim from 3-6pm. I also was there over the summer because my parents worked.

So going from “tiny private school where the teacher has you stand up in class to read your failing grade in front of everyone so that she could shame you into performing better” to “fine public school in a suburb wealthy enough to have arts programs” was a major, major change. They did an aptitude test because I was transferring in from a different district and there was much discussion about whether or not to move me directly from the second to the sixth grade.

The district refused, thank fuck.

The public elementary school didn’t *have* a gifted program so it took very little time for me to become the Certified Weird Kid. My third grade teacher had me read aloud to our class for twenty minutes a day. I taught the class the multiplication table.

When it got to be time to go to the junior high school my mom went to a meeting for the school’s gifted kids program. APPARENTLY one of the kid’s dad’s basically said “I don’t understand why you’re wasting school funds on field trips for the stupid kids, the school should spend more of its resources on kids who have a chance of actually meaning something to the world” and my mom decided that while being gifted was important it was less important than making sure I wasn’t exposed to assholes of that caliber on a regular basis.

(thanks mom, I actually do really appreciate that reprieve)

Several teachers pushed me into advanced classes - my math teacher insisted that I take the advanced algebra classes in the seventh and eighth grade.

The GATE kids *WERE* assholes and were extra bonus special assholes to me because math was the only advanced class that I was in. (At my junior high school you had to pick your elective based on what level of classes you were in - to take the GATE classes you HAD to take a music elective; if you took art, drama, shop, or home ec you couldn’t take the smart kid classes. The algebra class was a new, separate addition to the program so *some* of the kids in the “electives for dropouts” program could take algebra. Schools are really fucked up, guys, in case you didn’t know schools are really fucked up and that was BEFORE No Child Left Behind).

I got a C in that algebra class and sat in my room for literally an hour screaming at myself for being such a selfish, distracted idiot that I let myself read my books instead of studying harder for the class. (clearly very healthy, normal twelve-year-old behavior)

When it was time to go to high school my teachers made a united plea to the district to transfer me into honors/IB/AP classes.

The kids in the honors/IB/AP classes continued to be kind of awful to me. I got extremely depressed and basically started doing the lazy-but-brilliant thing of completely ignoring homework or in-class work but performing spectacularly well on tests or essays in the classes that I wasn’t catastrophically failing

I was the only person at the school who got a perfect score on the vocab part of my SAT. I was the only honors kid who hadn’t been in SAT prep classes. There was only one other kid who graduated with the same number of units as I had, we’d outstripped the valedictorian and salutatorian but three classes each. I only applied to one college - I got accepted for painting but my interviewer urged me to move to the writing program and I got accepted for that too.

My financial aid didn’t come through and my dad wasn’t willing to cosign for loans on “an art program at a trade school.”

I got accepted to Pratt Institute on their Writing for Publication track which included an internship with the New York Times for third-year students in the program.

At that point I had a Columbia Scholastic Press award for my work on my high school yearbook.

Let me tell you, the community college that I went to and spent five years variously failing and succeeding at had a fucking *killer* newspaper and magazine when I was there. The local community newspaper that hired me when I was 21 was also much better designed and edited than it had any right to be for the three years I worked there (getting paid a whole eight dollars an hour and sometimes working 20 hours straight to get it in to the printer on time).

When I transferred to the state school I got perfect grades and worked full time and won every contest offered by the school’s English Honors society (which I couldn’t join because I was a transfer student and hadn’t done honors classes my freshman and sophomore years). I started a literary magazine with some friends when I graduated; we published four full issues online before it fell apart.

You know what’s also funny?

Even the food-service job I had to pay my way though the community college I felt terrible about attending was a skills test. I was a barista, so of course for a while I was a competitive barista.

I disappointed my parents a lot. I heard a lot of “we know you’re better than this.” I got told I was too smart to be screwing up this bad. I mentioned it a couple weeks ago but my results from that IQ test got compared to my sister’s and that was the justification for holding me to a higher standard. “You’re measurably brilliant, why aren’t you acting like it?”

Here lies the corpse of a gifted kid. Look on my works ye might and despair.

I am the perfect picture of a twice exceptional gifted kid and the reason I wrote all of this out is to tell you one thing:

“Gifted Kid” is a label that someone applied to you, it has nothing to do with who and what you ARE.

It’s very, very unfair that the adults in your life used you that way. I have an exceptionally terrible memory of being singled out as the only one who passed the first test in my IB World History class; “Why is Alli the only one of all of you who is writing at grade level? You’re supposed to be the smartest kids in the school, why did you all fail?”

That’s awful for the kids around you, that’s awful for you. It doesn’t do anybody any favors if people around you are being informed that you’re setting the curve they’ll be judged against. And it really, really doesn’t do YOU any favors because it doesn’t take long *at all* for your brain to learn that that’s all you’re good for. If you aren’t the best at a thing then what’s the point, you HAVE to be best because they already SAID you were best and if you aren’t then all these other people hate you for setting a standard that even you can’t keep up with.

You end up competing with past versions of yourself and focusing on those things that make the grownups in your life praise you because the grownups in your life has praised you in such a way that it’s turned all the other kids against you.

You know who bullied the fuck out of me? The kids I taught the times tables to, the kids I read to for half an hour a day.

Those kids were MEAN to me but the teacher who told me to read Boxcar Kids to the class after lunch everyday was NICE and she told me not to worry, they were just jealous and I should be proud of my gifts.

“Anon did this in three minutes. What’s taking the rest of you so long?” - what a terrible weight to put on a child. You’re right. Not everyone can do everything.

Fucking hell.

Adults what the everloving shit is wrong with us? Please don’t treat kids like that.

Okay.

But here’s the other thing:

If there’s any time in your life that it’s easy to acquire skills with no apparent effort it’s when you’re a child surrounded by a support system that is engaged in making sure that you can acquire those skills.

It took three adults, two dictionaries, and several hours a day to teach me enough sight-words to throw me into “look at baby genius*” territory but from my perspective as a little kid I was just reading cool stories.

I spent four hours a day in the yearbook room and ditched and failed other classes so that I could work on the yearbook. I collected hundreds of magazines to get an eye for layout. But from my perspective as a teenager it was a fun activity that I did with the closest thing I had to friends.

I’m sure that there are some skills that you had a natural aptitude for, some things that came naturally. But I’m also sure that you didn’t learn those skills with no effort, it’s just that now as an adult with a life and other shit going on it takes more effort to learn to do things.

In all likelihood you weren’t a savant who did everything perfectly the first time you tried. It just seems that way because even really smart kids don’t know when they’re bad at things and are mostly being compared against other kids (with the few rare exceptions of music prodigies or math prodigies or those kids who end up in science grad programs at 12 and boy howdy do I think there’s a whole other can of worms when it comes to the way child prodigies* interact with the world).

You wanna know what probably saved my life in the last few years?

That “anti-capitalist love notes” tumblr post.

You are worth more than your productivity.

I was actually kind of offended the first time I saw that post on my dash. “No I’m not,” I thought. “You’re only worth what you can do, everyone knows that. People care about what you do for them.”

And why the hell would I think anything else? That’s what I’d learned for pretty much my whole life.

It took me a really long time to understand that I was wrong. I matter outside of what I can do for people or how well I perform. I matter more than being able to perfectly recite poetry from memory or do calculations on command or sit down at a piano and play a piece I’ve never played by sight-reading it.

And you matter outside of that too. You’re more than your performance, you’re better than being gifted. There are people who love you for the way you make them laugh and how you listen to their stories and for the simple joy of your presence.

It’s nice to be clever, it’s handy in a lot of situations even if it does come with a lot of baggage for some people.

But god damn, it’s important to be kind.

* Personally I have issues with the way that society constructs the concepts of giftedness, genius, and prodigies. There are a lot of “gifted” kids who were the kids who scored in the top 5% of their class in school but there are also gifted kids who were doing high-level math or reading novels as toddlers; there are prodigies who showed an aptitude for music young and who were then schooled in that instrument to the exclusion of all other activities (and I bet there are a fair number of kids who might be considered prodigies if they were trained to play flute for nine hours a day and didn’t have friends but thankfully we don’t *do* that to very many people - side note, ask me my opinion about olympic athletes some time). Words like “genius” and “gifted” are very nearly meaningless and almost *never* accurately reflect skills proficiency or long-term success or are reflected in income or respect. People think that geniuses are hypercompetent robots with their shit together but literally every adult I know with a genius-level IQ is some variety or other of total fucking tire fire.

#congratulations you have unlocked level two of my tragic backstory #long post

553 notes · View notes

quantumlasange · 4 years

Photo

A more refined and accurate version of my top 50 Albums of all time in no real order. This time I’m gonna go into some more detail for my choices. So if you wanna read that it’ll be after the line break.

1. Graceland - Paul Simon. This is the only album I have on CD, Cassette and Vinyl. It’s honestly a perfect album. I don’t really like ‘That Was Your Mother’ on it’s own but when hearing it as part of the album it’s great.

2. Abbey Road - The Beatles. My favorite Beatles album and I love how the B-side is knows as The Abbey Road Medley. It also has Ringo’s only Drum Solo in the entire Beatles catalog and we all know Ringo is the best Beatle. I have it on Vinyl.

3. In Step - Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble. Stevie Ray Vaughan is by far my favorite guitarist of all time. Every track on this album kicks ass and he put his heart and soul into every note he played. I have it on Vinyl.

4. Brothers In Arms - Dire Straits. Over all a great little rock album. I find a lot of the songs to be comforting in their own way, like “So Far Away” and “Brothers In Arms” are very comforting to me. I have it on Vinyl.

5. Winelight - Grover Washington Jr. By God this album is fucking Sexy, like holy shit. This is a more recent listen but I was missing out just listening to “Just the Two of Us” (Featuring Vocals by Bill Withers).

6. Watching You Watching Me - Bill Withers. Nelson George said that this album was I quote "full of little pleasures" and he’s damned right. There is not a single song on this album I don’t like, by far my favorite R&B album of all time. I have it on Vinyl.

7. Future Development - Del the Funky Homosapien. My favorite Hip Hop/Rap album ever. Del’s flows and rhymes are on point throughout the whole album.

8. Spontaneous Inventions - Bobby McFerrin. A live album that you wouldn’t think was live since there’s little to no crowd noise. A great Vocal Jazz album showcasing how Bobby McFerrin can use his voice as an instrument all it’s own. I have it on Vinyl.

9. Squeeze Box: The Complete Works of "Weird Al" Yankovic. This is kinda cheating since it’s a Box Set of every album Weird Al made and an extra album with unreleased stuff. But I can’t choose just one Weird Al album so this will have to do.

10. The Wall - Pink Floyd. This whole Album really resonates with me and helped me understand my depression after I dropped out of college. It really has a place in my life. I have it on Vinyl.

11. Kilimanjaro - The Rippingtons. A fantastic Smooth Jazz / Jazz Fusion album. I really like Jazz Fusion and this is a great example of it. I have it on Vinyl.

12. Dreamland - Black Box. An Italo house/Eurodance album that’s my favorite in the whole house genre. Some great dance tracks on this. I have it on Vinyl.

13. Tourist in Paradise - The Rippingtons. This album came out right after Kilimanjaro and is another great example of Smooth Jazz Fusion. I have it on Vinyl.

14. Teddy Pendergrass - Teddy Pendergrass. His debut solo album and a fantastic piece of R&B. It also has the greatest break-up song ever “I Don’t Love You Anymore”. I have it on Vinyl.

15. S.O.S - The S.O.S Band. Their first album, a disco album that came out in 1980 after disco died in the USA. Was really big in Nighclubs and is a good album aside from "S.O.S. (Reprise)" which just sucks. I have it on Vinyl.

16. Purple Rain - Prince. This album is great. The guitar solo on “Purple Rain” is so good it could bring peace to the world. I have it on Vinyl.

17. Feels So Good - Chuck Mangione. A fantastic Smooth Jazz / Easy Listning. album "Hide and Seek (Ready or Not Here I Come)", “Feels So Good” and "The XIth Commandment" are just outstanding. I have it on Vinyl.

18. Elementary - Wah Wah Watson. Melvin M. Ragin’s only solo album. This is pure Jazz Funk at it’s best. I’ve used this album cover as an Icon online for years, I love it. I have it on Vinyl.

19. Rumours - Feetwood Mac. There’s only one track on this album that I don’t like and it’s "Oh Daddy”. I feel like that song just brings the whole album down emotionally. Other wise this albums pretty damn good. I have it on Vinyl.

20. Deltron 3030 - Deltron 3030. Del the Funky Homosapien, producer Dan the Automator, and DJ Kid Koala made a fantastic Hip-Hop/Rap opera Concept album. The story of a city in the dystopian year of 3030.

21. Kisses on The Bottom - Paul McCartney. I caught this at like 2am on PBS' Great Performances one night in like 2013 maybe 2014 and fell in love with it. It’s mainly songs Paul McCartney grew up listening to and he wrote 2 songs in that style and it’s great.

22. Listen to the Scatman - “Scatman” John Larkin. Did you know that Scatman John was a legit Jazz Piano player? This album is just full of fantastic jazz and one kinda out of place dance song.

23. Loop Daddy II - Marc Rebillet. Sure this is more of an EP but I put a whole Box Set on the list so shut up. Every song is a pure sexy dance groove. I love it.

24. Places and Spaces - Donald Byrd. This is 100% Pure Trumpet Jazz-Funk. This album fucking slaps hardcore. The way Donald Byrd plays the trumpet and flugelhorn is magical.

25. Whenever You Need Somebody - Rick Astley. Not only does this album have the Meme hit "Never Gonna Give You Up" it has a very heartfelt version of "When I Fall in Love". Every song is a mad banger. I have it on Vinyl.

26. Mint Jams - Casiopea. Casiopea makes some great Japanese Jazz Funk Fusion and this is by far their best album. I love me some Jazz Funk Fusion and some of the best stuff came out of Japan in the 80′s.

27. Hi-Five Soup - The Aquabats. A great New Wave album that kids will enjoy. The Aquabats got more child friendly since they got a kids TV show but this album does have my boy Strong Bad on it. I have it on CD

28. Myths, Legends and Other Amazing Adventures, Vol. 2 - The Aquabats. An earlier Aquabats album since it’s a bunch of unreleased stuff and B-sides. “Pizza Day” speaks to my soul. I have it on CD

29. The Dance - Dave Koz. One of the first Smooth Jazz albums I ever listened to, it really helped me get into Smooth Jazz which lead me to my love of the Smooth Jazz and Jazz-Fusion. I have it on CD

30. The Corner Grocery Store - Raffi. This is an album form my childhood. I still have my VHS bootleg of Raffi on Broadway from when I was a kid. This album has my favorite song sung by Raffi, “Anansi”.

31. Led Zeppelin 2 - Led Zeppelin. My favorite Zepplin album. “Moby Dick” is my favorite song off the album even if it’s just a big ass drum solo. I have it on Vinyl.

32. Darkside of The Moon - Pink Floyd. This is what I consider to be Pink Floyd’s most Jazz-Rock-Fusion oriented album. The whole albums flows together into a great soundscape. I have is on Vinyl.

33. Random Access Memories - Daft Punk. I find this to be a concept album about how Daft Punk is a pair of Robots. Part of it seems like that with the album title being a close reference to Random Access Memory aka RAM and the song title "Motherboard". A lot of the lyrics in the album make me think it has some kind of concept but that’s just me. I have this on CD

34. Thriller 25 Super Deluxe Edition - Michael Jackson. This was the first CD I remember buying with my own money I got it at FYE. I only really listened to the songs that originally came on Thriller and not the new 2008 versions of the songs.

35. Can’t Get Enough - Barry White. This album is sexy as fuck, god be damned if you listen to this and not get turned on even slightly.

36. Larry Carlton Plays the Sound of Philadelphia. This is a great full of classic Philadelphia R&B as preformed by legendary session guitarist Larry Carton. He plays all the songs in a very Jazz like style that I just love.

37. Pure Pure - Moe Shop. A fantastic little Dance/Electronic EP. I like to call it a Future Funk EP but it’s in that vain of Vaporwave and Future Funk which are both good genres.

38. The Soundtrack to Mulan. Mulan is my favorite Disney animated movie so of course the soundtrack is on my list. I have this on cassette and it’s one of the two tapes I always listen to on long walks.

39. Every Breath You Take: The Singles - The Police. This is my other go-to cassette to listen to on long walks. This is basically the greatest hits of The Police but it’s fantastic.

40. Head Hunters - Herbie Hancock. I told you I liked Jazz-Funk Fusion right? This is perfect example of the genre made by the fantastic Jazz pianist and composer Herbie Hancock.

41. Marcos Valle - Marcos Valle (1983) Marcos Valle released a self titled album in 1970 according to Wikipedia, but I’m talking about the one from 1983. A great Brazilian Disco/Dance Bossa Nova Samba mix album with some great dance-able tunes.

42. Homestar Runner Original Soundtrack Volume 1 (Songs, Background Music, Jingles, and Worse).

43. Homestar Runner Original Soundtrack Volume 2 (Songs, Background Music, Jingles, and Worse) .

44. Homestar Runner Original Soundtrack Volume 3 (Songs, Background Music, Jingles, and Worse) . If I could have all 3 volumes in the "HSR OST Full-On!" playlist from they would all be one entry leaving me a bit more room to play with. Plus the fact that Volume 4, a Limozeen album, a Sloshy album and a Videlectrix album are all planed for release it would help to just bundle all the Homestar Runner music together.

45. Strong Bad Sings (and Other Type Hits). This is the more “Legit” Homestar Runner Music. I love Homestar Runner and was even featured in the 2018 Fan Costumes video so technically in a way I’m part of the Homestar Runner Cannon.

46. Fallout: New Vegas OST. My favorite Fallout game and I’d be amiss if I didn’t add the soundtrack to my list. One of my favorite games of all time even if I rarely play it.

47. Dinosaur Dracula’s Halloween & Christmas Jukebox. This is another one of those kinda cheating options since it’s two mix-tape type things. If I want to get in the Halloween or Christmas Spirit I can turn one of these Jukebox’s on and not have to worry about searching for mood music. With 100+ songs on each Jukebox I’m guaranteed good music.

48. 3 Hours of Relaxing Super Nintendo Music 1 & 2 - SNES Drunk. This is the music I turn on if I need some chill background noise or need something to fall asleep to. With a total of 6 hours of relaxing music I’m sure to fall asleep or just relax.

49. Xerf's Jazz/Fusion Mixes. So far there are 5 volumes of Japanese Jazz Fusion and like I said I like Jazz Fusion, espicaly Japanese Jazz Fusion.

50. Xerf's Jpop/AOR Mixes. There are thechinly 8 Volumes but volume 3 is just not there probbably due to copywrite. These mixes are more City Pop and older Japanese Pop, Adult-oriented rock, Funk that kinda stuff.

#top 50 #this time it's better #read more #Long Read #music

8 notes · View notes

peace-coast-island · 3 years

Text

Diary of a Junebug

Down by the fishing hole

The guys from Airy are back for a fishing tourney and more musical fun times! Joining them are Franny and little Ellie May, both who are enjoying the camp very much. It's been forever since I've seen the two so it's been great catching up with them.

Ellie May's full of spirit, she's a lot like her dad and aunt. I'm surprised that she kinda remembered me a little from when I last visited Airy, which was maybe four or five years ago - not too long before I came to the camp so around that time period. She was probably around two as she was walking and talking by then.

Sam says that Ellie May couldn't wait to come to the camp so she's been marking down the days until the tourney on the calendar. It's no surprise that she's into the great outdoors like her parents. At home she would tag along with Sam, Buddy, and Storm on their fishing trips at Sawyer Lake right outside town. And like the guys, Ellie May has a knack for fishing.

Franny's a bit of an outlier as she's not an avid fisher, but she does like hanging out with the guys. Though it's more so she can keep an eye on them. Buddy and Storm have a way of attracting trouble while Ellie May has Sam wrapped around her finger so it's up to Franny to be a couple steps ahead when their antics drive them up a wall.

What I love about Franny is that on the outside she looks like the kind of person who's got her shit together - the sole braincell of the gang. Independent, intelligent, creative, badass - there's a reason why she's a force to be reckoned with. Though on the inside she's just as crazy and eccentric as the others - and that's why everyone looks up to her.

While fishing, we got to talking about what's been going on in Airy. Ellie May's on the soccer team at school and taking piano lessons with a neighbor. Sam and Franny's dad is semi-retiring from the Airy Gazette, which is slowly phasing out newspapers to go completely online by next year. The community choir album is progressing while In Hopes and Dreams is a hit, prompting Storm to work on recording more music. Buddy's running the gas station/auto shop as usual. Franny is filling prescriptions and keeping up with current events. Sam's balancing town council and home life as well as dabbling as a songwriter.

Airy's one of those small towns that has adapted and changed over years while still retaining its heart. People like Franny, Sam, Ellie May, and Buddy are rooted firmly to their town, their families having been there for generations. Franny and Sam's grandpa, Andy Beryl, was a well known townfolk. He was the good samaritan, the kind of guy who takes the time to help others and actively worked to make the town a better place. There's a plaque in the courthouse dedicated to him in the office where he worked - it was brand new when I last visited.

We also got to talking about Andy Beryl a bit as it's been almost ten years since his passing. Imagine if he had lived a few more years he would've gotten to know Ellie May. Sam and Franny speak highly of him, talking about fond memories of him telling stories of the shenanigans he and his friends got up to in town. Among his friends included Buddy and Storm's grandpa, who was also known for getting into sticky situations that involved Andy stepping in to save the day.

Being part of the town council, Sam and Franny feel a sense of responsibility for the town. Since taking on the role of head council, Sam has kinda followed in his grandpa's footsteps - even mirroring his life in a way. Along with being the go-to person in town, Sam, like Andy, is also a single parent who's trying their best. The Beryls hold pride in their family name but at the same time avoid putting it up on a pedestal. After all, they're regular folks just like everyone else - something that seems to get muddled over the years but the message's clear enough. They have a legacy that they're proud of and want to keep it up, to make things even better for the next generation.

Speaking of generations, what's interesting about Airy is how different things were thirty years ago. During Andy's time, the town was mostly white - English, Irish, Scottish, German - most who have been living there for generations. Now most of the people in Airy are mixed, mainly white and Asian like the present company. Sam and Franny's father, Andy's son, married his college sweetheart, a Cambodian immigrant. As a result, Sam and Franny grew up with a mix of both cultures and know how to speak Khmer. It's fun seeing them bickering in their second language, because even if you don't understand what they're saying, at least you get what's going on.

(Also I'm lowkey jealous of how well they speak Khmer. I can barely hold a basic conversation, plus my pronunciation totally butchers the language. They say theirs isn't that great either but compared to mine, it's nothing. Sorry Mom, I'm trying but Khmer is hard.)

And as for Ellie May, her mom, Ellie, was born from Mexican immigrants. Ellie's parents visit often so Ellie May's picked up Spanish from them, making her trilingual. It seems early, but her grandparents want Ellie May to have a quinceañera, though before we know it, that day will come soon! It's good to see Ellie May proud of her heritages as well as showing off her impressive language skills!

Again, I find it interesting how much the demographic? culture? of Airy has shifted so much over the past 30-40 years, which is basically Sam, Franny, Buddy, and Storm's generation. Pretty much everyone around their age is born from a longtime Airy townfolk and an immigrant. I wonder how much more Airy will change with Ellie May's generation.

In between fishing sessions, we did a bunch of fun activities. Buddy was in his element at OK Motors tinkering with engines. He's a bit unconventional when it comes to fixing cars but he's got his ways. Storm messed around with engines too while looking for songwriting inspiration. He and Sam have written a couple songs over the past few weeks so they'll be dropping by the island in the near future to record. I'm happy that Storm's getting back into writing music, especially now that things are finally working out in his favor in terms of creative control.

Franny and Ellie May enjoy hiking and foraging, they've gathered a lot of berries so we're gonna be making something with them. We're debating on whether to make a pie or a bunch of little tarts - either one sounds good. Sam brought his guitar, prompting spontaneous jam sessions throughout the camp. Like Storm, he's been getting into music too, especially since discovering his talent as a lyricist. We've heard live performances of the new songs - Out of Reach, Dandelions, and Where the Ferns Grow - all which sounded fantastic. Hopefully there's more where that came from.

Since working on In Hopes and Dreams, Sam has also been seeing a counselor. With the song being about grief and loss and now that Ellie May's become more curious about her mom, Sam finally realized that he needed help. Talking about Ellie has been difficult but he knew that he can't keep avoiding it forever, especially for Ellie May's sake. I haven't known Ellie for long but her absence is felt, which I think says a lot about her.

While the others fished, Franny collected seashells and took a bunch of pics. Sam managed to catch a lot of doubles as well as a shark during the off hours. Despite almost getting yeeted in the middle of the ocean, he managed to drag the shark to shore - with our help, of course. Ellie May drew a cute sticker for him that says "I fought a shark and won!" with a funny doodle to go with it, which he stuck on his jacket for all to see. The two have such a sweet bond, it's fun seeing Sam carry Ellie May up on his shoulders as they laugh and run around the camp.

Earlier today we took a short hike along the thornberry trail behind the camp. That probably wasn't the best idea as the path's kinda narrow and we had to watch out for thorns. Sam had to go after Ellie May, who was running around, and both ended up stuck in a bramble bush. Thankfully their injuries are nothing serious, but they looked painful. As soon as they took off, Franny knew that something like that was gonna happen as both have a tendency to be too curious while easily distracted. It doesn't matter how grown up you are, the older sibling never stops being the caretaker for the younger one.

Just for the record, Ellie May was a lot braver than Sam - and she has more scrapes and bumps than him. Though for him, it's less the pain and more that the sight of blood puts him off. There's a reason why Franny followed their mom's footsteps to study medicine and he didn't.

Aside from that little mishap, everything else has been going well. Franny, Daisy Jane and Norma made fish pies that turned out great. They're basically like seafood chowders with a puff pastry layer on top. Stu and Buddy helped Reese and Cyrus build a gazebo that's ready to paint so that's what we're gonna do tomorrow. Storm, Candi, and Tipper hung out at Sunbust Island and harvested coconuts to make smoothies. Sam and Ellie May helped me run errands while sightseeing and stocking up on supplies. Just another fun and busy day at the camp!

In between those activities, we met up at the beach for another round of fishing. The tourney fish seem to gravitate towards the area near the cliff so we called that spot the fishing hole. It's a nice area to be situated in, kind of like our own little nook in the ocean.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

1 note · View note

rxsie-the-demon · 4 years

Text

Brooklyn Baby | JJ Maybank

SERIES MASTERLIST | chapter one

chapter summary: Nikki goes out of her comfort zone and bonds with Kie, while still remaining curious about what happened last summer. At a party, Topper gets a little too touchy, and Nikki (surprisingly) befriends Rafe and Wheezie.

warnings: drinking, smoking, HARD DRUGS, swearing (oops), HARRASSMENT (topper gets VERY touchy) so if that makes u uncomfy just skim over that, and a conversation about addiction/rehab and therapy

word count: 5029

Chapter 2: Cinnamon Girl

If I had to choose, B Days would be my least favorite. On B days, I have no classes with anyone I know, except English with Kelce at the end of the day.

And no one to sit with at lunch.

On my second day of school, when I realized I had no one to sit with, I ate in the library. You’re allowed to, so long as you clean up after yourself and stuff.

Walking into the huge cafeteria, with clean white titles and those long foldable school tables, I decided to do the same thing today; just sit in the library by myself, and maybe read or shop online, The tall walls of the cafeteria were decorated with motivational quotes and the school’s athletic accomplishments.

But when I was walking towards the lunch line, I saw Kiara sitting by herself out of the corner of my eye, head down on the table. Which made me feel really, really sad for her.

I stood in line quietly, AirPods in my ears, scrolling through Instagram when I found Kiara’s page. I didn’t want to seem like a stalker, but my curiosity got the best of me and I clicked on it.

Her page reminded me of this social activist that I follow that of a social activist I follow, the difference being that Kiara’s page was mostly environment-focused, with the occasional selfie and pics of her friends.

Clicking on one of her them, a selfie with her and her four friends on a boat during sunset, I saw a slightly sunburned brunet with his arm wrapped around one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. She’s probably a TikToker, I thought. Sunburn had a dark blue bandana wrapped around his neck and had his shirt unbuttoned. Major surfer boy vibes.

Next to Tiktok, was Kiara, with bright eyes and a bright smile. Completely different from the girl who sits behind me in APUSH. The boy next to Kiara had dark skin and curly hair. He was wearing a hat, like Sunburn and the other boy next to him. And judging from the way his arm was around her waist, Hat totally had a thing for Kiara.

But the last boy, holy shit, if I thought Sunburn was cute, Hot Blonde Boy was another level. He was the one taking the picture, with one arm stretched out to hold the phone and the other one, covered shiny rings, was posing with, like, the rock hand sign? I think that’s what it’s called: with his index and pink fingers up, and the rest like they’d be balled in a fist. His messy blonde hair was being held together by a red snapback, and he was shirtless except for his shark tooth necklace. His tan went well with his bright, energetic eyes and big smile but...oh my gosh. His hands. They were big, with long fingers, and his arms were a little veiny and-

I put my phone away. Nuh-uh, I’m not going to be thirsting over a random guy’s hands, especially when that guy could literally be dead, or worse, the crazy dude who tried to shoot Topper.

Not that I don’t understand why someone would want to shoot Topper.

I grabbed my tray, putting a Chicken Caesar salad bowl (yum), a bowl of grapes (double yum), and a water bottle onto my tray. Remembering that Kiara didn’t have any food with her, I grabbed a hamburger, too.

I paid for my food and walked towards the utensil holder, debating whether or not I should just go to the library or sit with Kiara. I mean, I should sit with her, she’s by herself and is going through a hard time, but then again, I hardly know her. Besides exchanging numbers with her yesterday and not even texting her, I never interacted with the girl. She’ll probably think I’m just talking to her to get tea for Topper and Scarlet.

But then again, I already bought her a hamburger.

I walked over to her table. She was wearing a similar outfit as she was yesterday, the only difference being she was wearing light blue jeans. So, yay? A bit of color?

I sat down across from her and put my tray down quietly, not wanting to scare her. “Hey.”

Her head shot up immediately. Her soft brown eyes looked so tired, her light brown skin looking ashy and dull. Her dark brown hair, with it’s nice, defined beach wave curls, was tied back in a bun in her hood. When she saw who it was, her face softened. “Oh, hi.”

“I hope it’s ok I’m sitting with you, I don’t know anyone else in this lunch and I thought it’d be good to discuss our project.” I waved my hands around a bit before opening the plastic lid of my salad.

She nodded, eyeing my food for a second.

My heart hurt. Of course, she has the money to buy food, that’s not the issue. She probably hasn’t been eating out of grief.

“So I’m Indian, duh,” I waved my hand in front of my face and she smiled softly, “and I thought this was a chicken burger, but it’s beef. And I can’t eat beef, because, ya know, Hindus don’t eat beef. So, like, could you do me a solid and eat this for me? I hate wasting food and I’d feel awful if I threw it out.” I slid the burger towards her.

She nodded, pulling it towards her and taking a small bite.

I poured my croutons into my salad and started quietly eating when I heard Kiara mumble, “Thank you.”

I glanced up at her for a second, only to look back down. “Don’t thank me. I bought that on accident.”

“I saw you staring at me in line. And...I haven’t eaten in the past two days.”

I looked back at Kiara, who was looking everywhere but me. I decided to just ask.

“It’s because of what happened to your friends, right? You’re mourning?”

She nodded, still not looking at me.

“I understand. Grief isn’t something that has, like, a definitive answer. You just gotta let it run its course,” I said, putting my hand in front of my mouth because I was chewing.

Kiara nodded again and took another bite, a bigger one this time. I mentally high-fived myself for getting her to eat. I didn’t think it’d work.

“So, what do you want to do for the project?” I asked.

Kiara shrugged. “We could do current events. Maybe something environment related?”

“Like, an advertisement? We make a video talking about pollution or something?”

“Yeah! Or maybe we could organize something and get a bunch of people to come together and, like, clean up the beach?”

“Or we could go out on boats and find trash in the ocean?”

“That too!” Kiara’s eyes were shining now, and she was smiling. Wide. Much like the girl whose Instagram I was stalking.

“Sweet. Ok, so, the environment is one thing, do we have any other ideas? Like, isn’t the Outer Banks also famous for shipwrecks or something? I heard The Royal Merchant sank here. Maybe we could do a project on that?”

Kiara stiffened up when I mentioned shipwrecks. Did I say something wrong?

Shit. Her friends died at sea, how could I be so stupid?

“That’s...not a bad idea, actually. I happen to know a lot about The Royal Merchant. More than I want to know, actually,” She chuckled. She looked down at her hands, and then looked back up. “John B, my friend who died at sea over the summer, he and his dad were obsessed with finding it. We actually-,” she leaned closer to me. “We actually found it. But, uh, the gold isn’t there.”

My eyes went wide. I leaned forward, too. “Well, where is the gold then? Do you know?”

Kiara nodded. “In the Bahamas.”

“How the f- How did it get there, if the shipwreck happened here and no one knew where it was until you and your Pogue friends found it?”

She sighed. “Long story. I’ll tell you another day.”

“Wait-”

The lunch bell rang. I sighed as we stood up and grabbed our bags, walking towards the doors to leave for class. I really want to know how the gold ended up in the Bahamas.

“Well, thanks for lunch, Nikki!”

“Of course, Kiara, that’s what friends are for,” I smiled.

Kiara beamed. “Call me Kie.”

I was overjoyed. A friend. A real, actual friend. “Kie. Fantastic. Hey, Kie, do you know anyone named Rafe by any chance?”

Kie narrowed her eyes. “Yea, why?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just invited to his birthday party this Saturday.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Be careful around him, ok? Talk to you later!”

“Uh, bye!”

************************************************

Yellow, or blue?

I held both dresses up to myself, looking in the mirror.

Saturday came, and it was time for Rafe’s party.

The party starts at 9 and was gonna last all night, but Topper wanted to take me out to eat, so at 7:30, I’m still deciding which dress to wear.

Both dresses are sundresses, short, flowy with shirred backs and knotted straps. They are literally the same dress, down to the little polka dots, just in different colors. I could wear either one, because I kept my makeup simple: concealer, nude eye shadow, mascara, and clear lip gloss.

I texted Kiara, asking her to choose a color, to which she responded yellow. We managed to get really close in just three days, which made me happy, because I felt that she was my only real friend at school, and, well, I was her only friend there.

I slipped the dress on and matched it with my white Birkenstocks. I went over to my dresser table (yes I have two mirrors in my room, sue me) and put on my white tassel fringe earrings. I kept my ‘Om’ necklace on.

I admired myself. My light brown skin looks good with the yellow and white, and my jet black hair, which I decided to not straighten, had slight waves, and reached my shoulders. I look like a rich, beach girl. A Kook, I suppose.

I grabbed my phone, taking a quick mirror selfie and snapping it to Topper, captioned ‘i’m readyyy’. He opened it immediately.

‘Damnn u look hot,’ he typed out. Ew.

‘aw ty,’ I typed back. ‘where r u?’

‘I’m omw. U have ur bag? The party’s on a yacht and there’ll be a pool.’

‘swim suit’s packed’

‘Fantastic. I’ll be there soon.’

I locked my phone, putting it into my purple and black NYU drawstring bag that also held my black bikini and a towel. I grabbed the bag hopped down the stairs.

Mallory and Krish, my sister-in-law and brother, were sitting on the couch, watching TV.

“Hey losers. My friend’s gonna be here any minute to pick me up.”

Mallory turned to face me, smiling. “Aw, you look cute! Have fun, and be safe, ok?”

“If you’re gonna be coming in, like, super late,” Krish added, not taking his eyes off the TV, “try to be as quiet as possible. Diya is a really light sleeper.”

Diya, my 5-month-old niece, made baby sounds. I took a couple steps forward and saw she was spread out on the floor, in her fluffy pink blanket, chewing on her gloved hands. I waved at her.

“Don’t worry, if I wake her up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t plan on drinking or smoking or anything tonight. Well, maybe drinking, but that’s it.”

They laughed. “Ok, ok, just have fun,” Mal said.

I sat on the floor, playing with Diya, until 7:50, when the doorbell rang, revealing Topper, wearing a black button-down shirt that was rolled up to his elbows (bless), Air Force 1s, ripped jeans, and a Gucci belt.

He smiled. “Ready to go?”

I smiled back. “Yep.” I turned to face Krish and Mal. “Bye Mom, bye Dad!”

“Bye, hun!” Mallory called out. They smiled and Top, too, and waved.

I closed the door and left, and Topper grabbed my hand to lead me to the car. “Sorry, I’d have introduced you to my parents, but they were too busy, like, ogling at my baby sister,” I half lied.

Topper laughed, “No worries. I’ll have plenty of chances to meet them, I hope?”

I smiled. “Yep, I hope so too.”

A complete lie.

******************************************

Dinner with Topper was...interesting. Instead of taking me to some fancy restaurant or whatever, he took me to this cute little diner closer to the beach, but not close to The Cut, according to him. “There are a bunch of restaurants here in the Banks,” he had said. “But not a lot of people know about this one. That’s why it’s my favorite.” He winked, and I nearly vomited in my mouth.

The place was real old-timey, with the little booths and a jukebox. We had burgers and shared a plate of fries and a milkshake. And honestly? It would’ve been really romantic if I actually liked Topper like that.

Don’t get me wrong, Topper is hot. He’s sweet to me, like cotton candy sweet, and really affectionate. I love touchy boys (consensual, of course, or they get their shit rocked), but he’s always grabbing my hand and playing with my hair. Which would be fine, but I barely know him.

And ever since he admitted to drowning that John B kid, whatever potential feelings I had just...disappeared. That paired with his Holier-than-thou attitude and his blatant classism makes him everything I would hate in a person, let alone a potential boyfriend.

Besides, I know the real reason he’s flirting with me. The Kook King of High School needs a Queen, and with his ex gone, everyone wants me to step into that role. Any other time, I’d be happy to be That Girl. But something just feels wrong about this.

Lots of people have told me I remind them of Sarah, apparently because she, too, was a bit of a social activist and an environmental freak (no wonder her and Kie were friends) which just confirms the fact that I’m just a replacement.

But, besides Kie, I have no other friends at OBX High. I have no choice but to go with it.

Driving close to the dock, I could hear loud music playing from somewhere. Leaning forward, I saw the yachts, one of them in particular already pretty full of people and neon lights.

“Yeah, Rafe tends to go all out on parties,” Topper remarked, gesturing towards the boats as he parked. “But they’re always fun.”

I nodded, plastering on a smile. I grabbed his hand. “Fantastic. Lead the way.”

**********************************************

Ok, I have to hand it to OBX kids. They know how to get turnt.

At 9:30, the yacht left the dock and headed towards the sea. By 10, the party was in full form, with kids dancing, singing, swimming, smoking, drinking, everything!

It was a glorious mess.

Right now it’s 10:30, and I’d been dancing with Top when we decided to go get something to drink.

We went to the bar and I told Topper to just one of whatever he was drinking for me, so he got two Mai Tais. The bartender looked really worried, because, you know, more than half the kids at this party are underaged, so I slipped him a 50 for his troubles.

Top and I walked away, laughing at the bartender’s confused face. The familiar feeling of alcohol started to wash

We walked around and talked about life and the universe, and when we finished our drinks, we went to the deck.

I leaned onto the railing, staring into the ocean.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked softly. Growing up in Brooklyn Heights, I was never one for the ocean. I mean, sure, there were beaches an hour or two away from my old home that I visited often, but I was always a city girl. But this, this was something else entirely. The way the pale, white moonlight shined on the dark blue ocean, it was comforting, almost.

“Yeah,” Topper whispered back, wrapping his arm around my cold body, “really is beautiful.” I turned and saw him staring at me, smiling just a tiny bit. I shoved him lightly.

“You’re so corny,” I laughed.

“Maybe, but I made you smile, didn’t I?”

“...Shut up.”

We laughed, and he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me close to him. I stiffened a bit. Calm down, Nikki. It’s not that big a deal. But it is. I hate leading people on and I hated that he was always touching me.

I snuck my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest. I’m short, I’ll admit it, standing at a towering five foot four with my two-inch platforms. Topper, on the other hand, is six feet tall, so my head tucked in just underneath his.

We stayed like that for a bit, swaying softly to some pop song. I felt myself relaxing, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Hey, Nikki?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I really like you.”

I pulled back and looked at Topper, who was fidgeting with my hair, and I narrowed my eyes “Wait, actually?”.

I hope he’s joking. He’s known me for less than a week! I mean, sure, you can have an instinct attraction to someone, yadda yadda, and maybe he wants to get to know me better, or whatever. Fine.

Maybe it’s because I don’t like him that, but I find his declaration of feelings a little ridiculous.

“Yea, I do. I know we just met, but I really want to get to know you more. No, I’m not asking you out...unless you want to date, that is, but I feel insanely attracted to you.” He brushed his hair back nervously.

I could reject Topper, and risk my popularity and social standing. It could end up well, it could end up terribly. But if I say I like him back, which is a lie, I guarantee my place as the most popular girl in the Outer Banks.

I place my right hand on his shoulder and my left hand on his cheek. Standing on my toes, I gently guide his face to mine.

As I close my eyes, I imagine that I’m not about to kiss Topper, but Hot Blonde Boy from Kie’s Instagram.

His lips are soft, really soft, and Top’s hands drop to my waist to pull me closer to him.

After we pull away, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and gently kisses my forehead.

“I like you too, Top,” I lied, “but I don’t want to rush into anything. We just met, and I’ve rushed into things before, and they never ended well, and-”

“Hey, hey, I get it,” he takes his hand to my chin and lifts it up so that I’m looking at him instead of the floor. “We can go as slow as you like, all right?”

I smile and nod. Top cups my face in his hands, and right before he can kiss me, I pull away and say, “Let’s go swimming! I’m going to go change, ok?”

He nods, ruffling his hair. I turn, pulling my phone out from my duffel bag and sending a text to Kie.

‘sos i just kissed topper.’

I walk into one of the changing rooms and change into my bikini. As I’m stuffing my dress into my bag, I see I get a text back.

‘dumbass!!’

**********************************************

Apparently, when I said I wanted to go swimming, it translated to yeeting me into the pool and then jumping in after, and then us splashing each other, non-stop. I mean, I guess that is what you do at a pool party, but I have no idea. Usually, I just stand around and eat food and, you know, don’t actually go into the water.

It was fun and all, yea, but I was uncomfortable the entire time because he couldn’t- no, wouldn’t- keep his hands off of me.

After it became too much, I jumped out of the pool and sat down on one of the chairs, wrapped my towel around myself and feeling really uncomfortable. Topper climbed out after me and sat down at my feet. “Did I, uh, do something?”

Yeah, you won’t stop touching me, bro.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just got a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.” I checked the time on my phone. I had an idea. “Hey, I’m going to go find Kelce and Scarlet, ok?”

“Uh, sure, do you want me to come with you?”

Not really, no. “Uh, if you want, but I was just gonna have, like, a girl’s talk with Scarlet?”

Topper nodded and smiled. I stood up, shoved my towel into my bag, slipped my shoes on, and ran off.

I felt a little weird just walking around in a bikini, especially since I don’t know anyone here, but remembering that everyone else was just as scantily clad as I was made me feel a little better.

I went to the highest deck, where the eldest kids (and by kids I mean like seniors and 20-year-olds), hoping to find Kelce or Scarlet there because I hadn’t seen them anywhere else. But I couldn’t see them on the deck.

I walked around a bit and then decided to text Scarlet.

‘where are you?’

I got a text back immediately. ‘Top deck, near the front. I’m with the little kid.’

Little kid? I walked towards the front side of the ship and indeed saw Scarlet, wearing a dark red colored bikini, sitting in a lounging chair with a girl who looks like she’s in middle school. The kid was pale, with freckles, dark hair, and glasses. She was the only one at this point not wearing a bathing suit.

Why is there a kid here?

I sat down in the seat next to Scarlet and gave her a hug. “Hey!” I slipped my bag off my shoulders and leaned forward to face the young girl. “Hi. What’s your name?”

She smiled. “I’m Wheezie. My brother’s the birthday boy.”

“Wheezie?”

“It’s a nickname, my real name is- Oh, hey, Topper!”

I spun around. Topper was standing in front of me, arms angrily crossed over his bare chest. “Hey, Wheezie. Nikki, can I talk to you?”

“I’m enjoying the company of my new friend.” I gestured over to Wheezie.

“Yeah, well, I want to talk.” He roughly grabbed my wrist and yanked me up.

“Ok, jeez, lemme grab my bag.” I pulled myself from his grasp and turned around to grab my bag. Scarlet mouthed the words be careful, to me. I nodded.

“Bye, Nikki, it was nice to meet you!” Wheezie called out. I shouted pleasantries back. Topper grabbed my wrist again.

After dragging me halfway across the deck, he let go of me and turned around. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You’re the one who, one, won’t stop touching even though we’re not dating and we barely know each other, and two, literally dragged me away from my friends when I was having a conversation with them! Are you like this with all the girls you like? Huh? Maybe that’s why your girlfriend left you for some Pogue, not because Pogues steal things, but because you-” I stepped forward and shoved Topper, “-don’t know how to treat a girl, no, a person, with respect!”

I stopped talking and realized that a lot of people had gone quiet. My face flushed with embarrassment until I heard someone shout.

“WOO! You tell him, Nikki!”

I turned and saw Scarlet and Wheezie jumping up and down and clapping. Soon, all the girls (and some of the boys) around me were clapping and cheering for me, congratulating me and telling Topper that he’s a dick.

I stepped towards Topper. “You and me, whatever thing you think we had going on, it’s done.”

I turned around and beckoned Wheezie and Scarlet to sit back down with me on the deck. The partying resumed, and I went off chatting with the two girls, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that Topper was getting all huffy and puffy.

I pointed that out to the girls. “Should I be worried?”

Wheezie wheezed laughed. “He’s probably just going to call Rafe and get him to tell you off.”

“...He’s gonna get the host of the party, who I don’t know and never met, to yell at me? Fantastic. Good thing he’s your brother.”

“Technically half brother, but yes, a good thing. Oh look, there he is right now!”

I turned around and saw Topper marching towards me with another equally tall, equally blonde boy right behind him. The difference is, this boy didn’t have as much of a hostile aura as Topper has right now.

“So, which one of you embarrassed my boy Top?”

************************************************

The boy, who introduced himself as Rafe, the host, beckoned Scarlet, Topper, and I inside of his suite. He closed the door on Wheezie, though. Bummer. I liked her.

Inside his suite were a bunch of twenty-year-olds, drinking hard liquor, dancing, and sitting around this big table. Rafe took his seat in the middle, told everyone else around him to fuck off, and had us, except Topper, sit across from him. Topper took the seat to his right.

He offered us a bag of white powder, to which Scarlet and I declined. Topper took it, though, and started setting it up to use.

“You use coke?” I asked Topper in disgust. I have nothing against most drugs, like weed or psychedelics, which can be fun to use sparingly at parties or whatever, but not hard drugs like opioids.

Topper shrugged at my question. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. What the fuck is wrong with y-?!”

“Ok, no fighting at my party, please?” Rafe sighed, rubbing his temples. “I brought you guys inside so that everyone else can enjoy the party while you guys have your little marital dispute-”

“WE’RE NOT DATING!” I shouted.

“Whatever,” Rafe sighed.

I stood up. “I’m gonna go hang with Wheezie. Scarlet, you coming?”

She was about to respond when Rafe stood up and said, “I’ll join you.”

I shot a confused look at Scarlet, who just shrugged.

I slipped my bag over my shoulder and walked towards the door, which Rafe held open for me, and we stepped outside, the air making me shiver.

Rafe pulled a pack of Dunhill cigarettes out of his pocket, put one to his mouth, and lights it. He gestured the box towards me and I take one, leaning forward a bit so that he could light it for me.

I rest my arms on the railing and close my eyes, breathing in the burning smoke and exhaling it slowly, being submerged in the light-headed haze of nicotine.

“How old are you?” Rafe’s voice interrupts my zen. I open my eyes and look at the boy, who’s very obviously checking out my bikini covered body.

I laughed and took another drag. “Sixteen,” I exhaled the smoke from my mouth.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and he turned back to the sea. “Oh shit. My bad. Uh...how’re you liking the party?”

“It’s pretty good. Besides, you know, Topper being Topper, and you forcing me to talk to him.”

Rafe laughed. “Yea, I didn’t mean anything by it. I have a reputation of being a prick, and I’m trying to be better but, you know, not a lot of people respect you when you go from being a douche to a nice guy.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant by that. “Reputation with friends?”

He laughed. “Just,” he waved his hand free hand around, “Everyone. I wasn’t a good person. I’m trying to be better, but it’s hard when everyone already expects me to act a certain way and don’t give me a chance to change.”

I noticed the rings on his hands, like that boy from Kie’s Instagram. But unlike Hot Blondie, Rafe’s too old for me.

Which leads me to wonder…

“Did you know Sarah Cameron, by any chance?” I asked.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and then he started coughing up smoke.

“W-Why do you ask?” He stammers, still coughing.

I gave him a weird look and just shrugged. “Curious, I guess.” I looked back at the ocean. “I’m the new girl, and everyone keeps telling me about all this stuff, but won’t tell me what actually happened, and I dunno, I’m just so confused.”

I turned to face Rafe, who was looking away, and I think I saw tears forming in his eyes. “Yea, Sarah’s my sister.”

Now it was my turn to cough up smoke. “W-”-cough cough- “Wait”-cough cough- “a minute.” I gasp for air and continue coughing. And after I finally manage to get some oxygen into my lungs, I say, “Sarah Cameron’s your sister? Shit, I’m so sorry, Topper never told me.”

Rafe shrugged, fiddling around with his rings. “It’s alright, I was just...surprised. No one asks me about Sarah or the Pogues anymore. After I came back from rehab-” He stopped, probably because he didn’t mean to say that, but he continued, “After I came back from rehab, I just...stopped beefing with the Pogues, especially JJ, Kie, and Pope. You know them?”

I nodded. “I know Kie, we’re friends. But not JJ and Pope. Never met ‘em, don’t even know what they look like, yet I’ve heard so many things about them.”

Rafe nodded. “They’re not bad kids, really. My time away made me realize how much of a prick I’ve been to them. Like, I caused them a lot of pain, and for what? For nothing. Literally just because I thought that, because they were poorer than us, they weren’t as good as us.”

I nodded. Then I turned and smiled, and stretched out my hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Rafe Cameron.”

He smiled and shook back.

_______________________________

chapter three

#obx fic #obx #obx fanfic #outerbanks #jj maybank #jj fluff #jj angst #jj x reader #john b #john b x sarah #obx kiara #obx pope #rafe cameron #topper obx

20 notes · View notes

fungusqueen · 4 years

Text

Here it is! The promised car-buying tips from my amateur and frugal experience! My general tips are to be prepared, do your homework, and don’t get caught off guard by not doing research and agreeing to things/paying for things you didn’t plan on.

Car salesmen are not your friends and they’re trying to lead you down the path that’s most profitable for them, which is never going to be the best situation for you. It’s their job to try to sell you on a bunch of stuff you don’t need, so be prepared for their tricks and understand the process so you’re not blindsided. Something specific to the coronavirus pandemic is that dealerships will be very desperate to sell (because no one is buying cars right now) and dealerships are willing to take a loss on a sale! BUT! If you go unprepared, it may also leave you vulnerable to dealerships attempting to do unethical shit BECAUSE they are so desperate to sell. They might try to make profits in places you may not suspect. A lot of aspects of buying a car (especially in financing car) sound good up front, but you might find out you’re getting screwed over.

I’m not going to discuss what makes a good car, or what you should buy etc. because I really don’t know and that’s your business! I’m mainly going to talk about the steps before and during the car-buying process (inside of a dealership and over the phone inquiring prices etc). I did my car search and car-buying alone (due to the global pandemic and my own desire to have minimal contact with others) and for my first time ever! So I’m only going to share my experience and offer resources.

I recommend this podcast episode from NPR’s Life Kit, “How to Buy a Car Without Being Taken for a Ride” as a simple starting point for car buying advice. It’s 23 min long. I know not everyone will listen to the podcast episode (and you don’t have to) so I summarized some of those episode tips below and elaborated on certain points.

1) Don’t appear too excited (at the dealership); they will try to build your excitement as high as possible. Playing on your emotions and creating a fantasy of a new life in a new car puts you in a position to make irrational decisions. When I was in the dealership, they actually asked me “Are you excited?” and I said “No.” I was also wearing a face mask, so with half my face covered, concealing my excitement was pretty easy! Their attempts may also appear as them trying to get you to talk shit about your old car to get you complaining, and further idealizing your future car. Overall, appearing too eager will not make them fight over you to get a sale. Make them beg!

2) Get pre-approved for a loan before going to a dealership. Know what kind of interest rate you can get and what kind of monthly payment you can afford. Your credit score will inform this; the better your score, the better your rate will be (so if you have time to improve your score, try to build it as high as possible). Your bank/credit union should have rates listed easily online. You don’t have to be a member of a credit union to get a loan with them, but there may be a discounts if you’re already a member. PLEASE KNOW that after applying for a loan, your bank/credit union will give you a time limit on how long you have to find a car/use the loan. My credit union gave me 20 days from the time I applied, but it can vary. You can also call to increase or decrease the loan if the car you initially wanted is no longer available or you choose a different one. When you apply for a loan, you have to supply the VIN (Vehicle Identification Number), but obviously car shopping can change so make sure you supply your bank/credit union with the new VIN number of the car you decide to go with. Your bank/credit union may not approve you for a car that is too old. This happened to me (I first applied for a 2013 car in my budget) and they let me know they typically dont approve loans for cars older than 2014, which was a blessing in disguise because I found a newer model of the same car for around the same price. I ended up changing the car VIN/loan amount 3 times overall from the time I first got pre-approved for my car loan. Just keep your bank/credit union updated. Also! It’s not necessary but it helps if they can send a written (emailed) confirmation of the loan amount with APR listed, as the dealership will need it later in the finance office.

3) Definitely TEST DRIVE a car you see online before considering purchasing it. It might feel different than you thought! I test drove an older model of the car I wanted before test driving a slightly newer model and I’m really glad I test drove the older one so I had something to compare it too. There was only a two year difference between the models but the upgrades made a difference in ways I wouldn’t have thought before sitting in the driver’s seat!

4) Beware the 7 year car loan. It’s probably not the right car for you if you need 84 months to pay off. Car loans are not like home loans; cars are always depreciating in value. Interest on car loans is also always front-loaded, so the money you put in your first few years will mostly go towards your interest, not the principal of your car loan, and you could be spending way more than you thought. If the car does not last you 7 years, you may owe more than the car ends up being worth if you want to or have to sell it. At this point, it might be a smarter decision to lease a car, if for whatever reason, you insist on getting a specific car.

4.5) To add to this last point, you’ve probably seen dealership ads on TV or in print that say “0% APR for 84 months!” This is kind of a scam (at least imo) because it’s very seductive in a way that can distract you from other ways you can save. These advertisements serve the purpose of getting people into showrooms. This is because interest rate is only ONE SMALL FACTOR into finding what’s right for your budget. An APR offer is minimal compared to your monthly payment...if the monthly payment is too high (overall car price too high), are you really saving $$? These offers might even be for a shorter payment term, (ex. 36 month instead of 60 month), your monthly payment could be too high for your budget because you didn’t have the flexibility outside of this offer! If your term payment is longer (ex. 84 months), while your car depreciates in value, you may end up owing more than it’s worth by time you pay it off. 7 years is a long time! As well, these offers are usually only for NEW cars (again, more expensive than necessary) and buying used might be a better option. As well, they are not transparent about the minimum credit score required to qualify for 0% APR, so you may not even qualify...even with great credit! The 0% offer is also usually offered along with other incentives, like a manufacturer rebate (thousand $ and above). You’ll often have to chose between one incentive or the other...you could be turning down a multi-thousand dollar rebate because that 0% is very seductive...but if you did the math, it might not be the best option for your budget. ALSO! If you’re going to buy new anyway, banks/credit unions offer better APR rates for new cars rather than used so compare. If you can get a super low APR from your credit union on a new car, why get stuck with a higher monthly payment on a too long/too short loan term you otherwise wouldn’t have chosen just to get that 0%?

5) To continue with the point above ^^ When you are with the salesman, start with price of the car and don’t talk about ANYTHING else until later. THIS IS WHERE THEY GET YOU! They will try to get you to talk about financing, how much money you want to put down etc. BEFORE promising you a juicy competitive price on the car. SO! APR rates shouldn’t even be discussed until you can agree to the price of the car! Sort of another way they GET YA! So distracting! Can prevent you from getting your lowest overall price possible!

6) IT IS SO FRICKEN IMPORTANT AND I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, BECAUSE THIS HAS HELPED ME THE MOST OF ANY TIP I’VE HEARD FROM FRIENDS: ASK FOR OTD (Out the door) price. The prices you see listed online or on a sticker on the car window are not the prices you’ll end up paying. OTD price includes everything, tax, fees etc. A few dealerships nearby had the same car I wanted (only varying slightly in color, mileage etc. but exact same year and model) so I called a few and said “HI I saw your car online, could you give me the OTD (out the door) price?” Ask them to break it down for you, what’s the price of the car, what’s tax, document fee, dmv fee, etc. If the OTD price is very high above the car price plus tax, beware! You should not be paying thousands of dollars in additional mystery fees. If a handful of dealerships have basically the same car, see which one can give you the best price. If a dealership cannot be up-front about their OTD price, and break it down for you so you know how all the money is adding up, RUN AWAY! You can ask for this information over the phone, some fees are often not necessary and are negotiable.

With this coronavirus pandemic, you should not be paying this full OTD price on the car, ask for at least 10% off and see what they say. In my situation, I called, got the OTD price at two different dealerships, one dealership asked me what they could do to get my business and I said, “I might come in today if you can give me 10% off the OTD price.” (I was cackling behind my phone tbh! it seemed ridiculous to me but whatevs). The salesman I was speaking to calculated it, said he’d call me back after asking his manager. When he called me back, they offered me just under 10% off...which sounded pretty sweet to me because the car was already being sold below it’s Kelly Blue Book value and that was the dealership I eventually went with. So u never know if you don’t ask! I asked the same of another dealership and they basically said no. So call around! This guy, Kevin Hunter, on youtube, gave me this idea! His channel is full of car buying wisdom so I highly recommend!

He has a great recent video specifically about the car buying market in during this coronavirus pandemic. He has videos on topics like, honest car salesman techniques, are certified preowned vehicles worth it, fake fees you shouldn’t pay for, etc.

7) Something I experienced that Kevin Hunter ^ also explains, (in this video titled, CAR SALESMAN TRICKS YOU into buying a car! DEALERSHIP Rip off: The SET UP) is this weird 4 square setup they did to me...and they do to everyone at a dealership. It’s another distraction tactic, that they will use to distract you from getting a good price on the car. It will look like this:

So the salesman will bring this informal piece of paper out. It’s not a contract, it’s not official, but they’re going to use this paper to pull information from you THAT YOU SHOULD NEVER GIVE THEM! At the point they bring this out, you should only be talking about car sales price. So this piece of paper has spaces to write trade in value (if you’re bringing in your old car to trade in), down payment, monthly payment, and car price. Anything that is not the car sales price will be used against you to try and get you to pay more. They’re trying to create the best profit for the dealership.

When I was at the dealership, the salesman kept pushing me to say how much cash I wanted to put down, what kind of monthly payment I wanted (ie. how much money can I spend), (and in my situation, I didn’t have a trade-in car, so discussion about that wasn’t brought up). Practice refusing to answer these questions...I kept saying I did not want to discuss financing or cash down until we could agree to the price of the car. You can also say you prefer to discuss this with the finance manager. He tried to get me to sign this 4-Square paper with a higher price on it than I was given on the phone. Do not sign this, it’s weird. I brought out a paper with a much lower price and asked him to sign off on that price instead. Bring the focus back to the car price. Be prepared to walk out and TELL THEM you will leave if you don’t get the price you want!

which leads me to my next point...

8) DO NOT SAY YOU ARE PAYING CASH. Do not say how much cash you have, do not discuss HOW you are paying at any point with the salesman. After you can agree to a favorable price on the car, you’ll be handed to a finance manager in another room. The salesman is NOT the finance officer. You should not tell your salesman your financial details. If anything, you only have to give the salesman VERY BASIC details so they can run a credit check before handing you to the finance manager.

and below....here is a WHY YOU SHOULDN’T DISCUSS HOW YOU’RE PAYING WITH THE SALESMAN.

9) Dealers can make a lot of money off a car loan...if you finance through them. Make them believe in the possibility that you might finance through them. They might give you a lower price on the car because they might assume they can get ya with a high APR or long term payment...which will bring them money in the long term. Don’t tell them you’re financing through your bank/credit union before you settle on the car price! In some cases though, a dealership might be able to give you a better deal thank your bank. You can say, “Why don’t you run my credit and see what you can offer me” and then see if it’s better than what your bank/credit union can give you. They also might test you with a high APR, even if you qualify for a lower APR (just to see if you’ll take it), and might even use details of your credit report against you...

10) If you have a trade in, they will also try to make a profit from not giving you enough $$ for your old car. Get a price quote from Carmax and check the Kelly Blue Book value beforehand to see if they’re giving you a good price. If it’s not good enough, you might want to consider walking away from the dealership and just selling to Carmax. Because of online transparency and easy access to prices of cars, they will try to make money in other areas OTHER THAN the car price, and this is one of them.

11) After you’ve settled on the price of the car and they’ve run your credit, you’ll be moved from the salesman to the finance office...where you’ll be signing contracts and discussing other add-ons, (warranties, insurances, protections etc.) When you’re in the finance office, DONT BUY ANY ADD ONS THE DAY YOU BUY YOUR CAR. If you decide to, research a good price for what they offer you. You can call the dealership and ask to speak to the finance manager ahead of time and ask what additional items you may be offered. These might be paint protection, tire protection, extended warranties, gap insurance etc. When they offer these things to you, they are often overpriced. You can also get these later, or get these elsewhere for a better price. Research ahead of time to see what’s right for you and don’t try to figure it out unprepared because they will try to convince you.

That concludes my numbered dealership tips! I probably left some stuff out, so please continue to do your research.

This podcast episode from This American Life, 129 Cars, illustrates the importance of using timing and desperation on the part of salespeople to your advantage. This is a longer listen, over an hour long, but it follows salespeople during their work day as they try to meet their monthly quota in order to reach their sales bonus. Towards the end of the month can be an ideal buying time because dealerships may be willing to take a loss or make no commission from a sale because if they’re able to reach their quota, they will either...not be fired, or they may receive a sizeable bonus. Overall, TIMING can be key in getting a good deal. Dealerships also have yearly sales quotas, so if you can wait, you may be able to get a better deal on a car towards the end of the year.

As well, I recommend a Monday/weekday since dealerships are least busy during this time. AND! If you need to contact your bank, it might be impossible on the weekend. Because of coronavirus, operating hours for banks/credit unions have been shortened so if you need to finalize some financing details or ask your bank/credit union questions, make sure you’re able to do so when needed! I ran into this problem and was delayed because my credit union was closing early.

One last tip! You also will also need to insure this new car so call your car insurance carrier and let them know you’re car shopping and they can help you add the new car to your current policy, or change your current insurance. You car insurance might increase or decrease with the addition of a new car. And if you’re getting a car with a higher value, you might want to consider adding more coverage to your current coverage. The dealership might give you free temporary insurance so you can drive the car off the lot with coverage. When I called my insurance carrier to add this new car onto my policy, it didn’t take effect until midnight that night so the dealership gave me temporary insurance just in case something happened on the drive home. You legally do need insurance to drive it off the lot or if you’ve never been insured before. So if you’re currently on somebody else’s policy, get some quotes from different insurance carriers and try to get an idea of the future cost.

Those are all my tips! This took a lot longer than I thought, heh heh, but I seriously hope this helps someone because buying a car is a HUGE DEAL and there’s so much potential to get taken advantage of due to the lack of transparency!!! There’s a lot more I could have covered so I encourage you to take more time to do more research! And good luck if you plan on buying a car soon!

#tips #life advice #car advice #car buying advice #car shopping #advice #buying a car #life hack #amateur tips #car shopping advice #resources #adulting #budget

57 notes · View notes