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copias-thrall · 3 years

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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

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youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Mania.4

[MASTER LIST] [Mania Master list]

Beta: N/A Rating: Mature 18+ Pairing: BTS OT7 Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Omegaverse Words: 1.3k Blood types: Namjoon, Jhope, Jungkook, Yoongi (A) Taehyung (AB) Jin, Jimin and Yoongi (O) (Jimin in real life is an A blood type)

Summary: At eighteen everyone takes a blood test to find out their blood types. A, B, or O. Each blood type represents the person’s secondary gender Alpha, Beta or Omega and can be Dominant (+) or Recessive (-).

When small thin Yoongi receives his letter he doesn’t expect A+. There was no way he was an Alpha especially not a dominant. But as time passes he shows no Alpha nor Omega tendencies and frankly he doesn’t care. Working in his father’s electrical business helps pay the bills but Yoongi’s real passion is music.

One very hot day in the roof space of a luxury apartment that Yoongi is rewiring an intoxicatingly pleasant smell churns his insides and he finds himself in need of something to quench his thirst.

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Yoongi almost felt normal, well his ‘normal’ before everything he knew turned upside and inside out. He was back to working in his father’s business and all he had to do was take one small pill. Pulling on his jumpsuit, he called his father just to confirm, he was perfectly capable of completing the work he missed.

Grabbing the keys, the bottle of pills, he decided against the stronger dose as the mild one worked perfectly fine yesterday. Getting into the van he put the address into his GPS and drove to the gated estate in which the famous band members stayed. It was a long drive but Yoongi couldn’t even bring himself to be tired, he wondered if it was the iced americano that made him happy. He repressed any thoughts that it might have something to do with the fact he was heading back to the apartment filled with the impressive Alphas and beautiful Omegas.

He would be lying if he hadn’t felt his heart flutter when he thought about seeing Seokjin and Jimin again in the flesh and a tiny flutter in his tummy when he thought of the Powerful Alpha’s each with a delicious scent that haunted him.

Yoongi pulled into the driveway and stopped before the Barrier Arm his window in line with the security booth, he leaned over showing his ID and giving his business.

“You aren’t on the list?” Yoongi frowned and called the number Seokjin had given him and it went through on the third call.

“Hello, this is Kim Seokjin,” the omega answered, making Yoongi take a sharp breath, his mouth feeling dry.

“Hey, it’s Min Yoongi, your electrician, I am out the front to finish up the repairs but I can’t get in, I can come back another day if it’s not a convenient time” Yoongi flushed as the security guard watched him, it was awkward.

“I will come down, wait there” the phone line went dead and Yoongi forced a laugh.

“Have you had a long day?” it was such an awkward question on top of an awkward situation, Yoongi wanted to leave quickly. His savior came in the form of Kim Seokjin who slipped into the car and the barrier arm was lifted.

“Why are you so pink?” Seokjin asked, placing the back of his hand on Yoongi’s forehead.

“I just made an absolute fool of myself with the gatekeeper,” Yoongi huffed his lips pursing, “I am never coming back here again,”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Seokjin laughed “I enjoy your company and I wouldn’t mind seeing you again, well that’s it you can never leave, if you see him again you will turn into a tomato”

Yoongi laughed wholeheartedly, something about Seokjin’s expressions was so lively and comical and it made Yoongi feel giddy just seeing it. Like he could play around and not be judged, not that Yoongi had ever really cared what people thought of him. It’s just he usually had a stone-cold exterior and found it awkward to speak about anything outside of a professional setting.

So it was easy to laugh and joke around even embarrass himself in front of the omega when it couldn’t compare to what had happened during his heat, this man had seen him at his worst and yet still wanted to be friends and that's what gave Yoongi the confidence to relax.

“Come on in, let me help carry some things,” Seokjin said, “Oh, I forgot to warn you, Jimin is in heat but he is in his bedroom and that shouldn’t affect anything right?”

Yoongi shrugged unsure if it would affect him or not, he hadn’t been exposed to anyone in a heat, hell he had only had a heat once. “I’m not sure,”

“How did the appointment with the specialist go, you were available, I didn’t know if you were busy on that day so I just guessed, I hoped you could make it, it’s not easy getting into seeing the specialist there as she is very good.” Seokjin said

“She doesn’t take new patients either so I am wondering what strings you pulled to get me an appointment?” Yoongi huffed the stairs and took a lot out of him and the two stopped halfway on a small landing to catch their breath. The two laughed at one another, “I am getting too old for this?”

“Tell me about it, everyone else seems to be spring chickens and I am over here taking afternoon naps,” Seokjin laughed “The only thing that doesn’t age is my pretty face and my attitude.”

“I want a nap,” Yoongi mumbled, getting to the top of the staircase and walking down the hall until they reached a familiar door.

Seokjin opened the door, with a cheeky grin, “You can take a nap and finish the work in an hour if you want?”

The house was as luxurious as Yoongi remembered, he declined the offer to rest wanting to get his work finished. He stepped in hesitantly and the scents lingered in the walls carpet and floated in the air like pollen. It was captivating and safe and for the first time since he left he relaxed.

Taking out the clip board, Yoongi went over the details of where he was adding new powerpoints and light switches that he had run through the roof the last time he was here. He switched off the power as he always did for his own safety and got to work. It was easy and with every breath he felt his body relax calmer and calmer until his eyes shut for a moment.

“Jin, the air conditioner isn’t working,” Yoongi caught the most delicious scent drifting down the hallway and when he turned he saw a very naked and extremely sweaty Hoseok in his boxes.

“Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t know we had guests?” Hoseok said, Yoongi didn’t want to admit it but the band members had left a strong impression on him and he spent his time researching their music and finding out about each member's personality.

Yoongi was captivated by Jimin his singing and dancing, the way he moved was honestly so captivating that Yoongi could admit he had fallen in love with Jimin when he performed. But, his eyes were often stolen by Hoseok, in interviews he stole the spotlight and made Yoongi laugh, and in his dance he could be a total wild card. Was he sweet, sexy, tough, romantic, bouncy and light, or soft and passionate?

Hoseok seemed the total opposite of Yoongi, Hoseok was outgoing and loud by nature, and well that intrigued Yoongi a lot more than he wanted to admit.

“The power is out, because Yoongi is finishing up the electrical work,” Seokjin said exasperated, “maybe try not to…”

Seokjin dropped his voice and Hoseok giggled, “You know Jimin whines if I don’t give him what he wants.”

Moving to the fridge which was right beside Yoongi. Yoongi tried to focus on his work as he leant over the counter to reach the back wall where he was attaching wires for a powerpoint.

Hoseok moving closer pushed his scent in Yoongi’s direction making his stomach churn and his knees weaken. He reached into his pocket and took the mild pill and he sighed in relief, knowing he was safe.

What he didn’t expect was for Hoseok to slide past him, he put a hand on Yoongi’s waist as a preemptive warning that he was stepping behind him, and he reached up trying to grab a glass from the cupboard above Yoongi’s head.

Yoongi felt the churn in his stomach again, this time heavier, his legs shook and he gripped the counter a small whimper falling past his lips. Yoongi tried to lift his chest from the counter but it was a form of submission and his body automatically doubled over the bench for the dominant Alpha behind him. His earthy scent was intoxicating, grapefruit, pepper and cedar. He was fresh, spicy, and warm.

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kusagrasskusa · 3 years

Text

Light X Detective! Reader - "I am Kira"

Summery- Y/N is a teenager given the honor of working for the task force and is with the few who agreed to work in the Kira case. Both while discussing L and on her way to go to the hotel to meet L, she bumps into Light. They get along and have a two minute conversation before she's pulled away by Aizawa. Her biggest flaw is her incapability to shut up, so she sorta explains how she (rather than Pember's fiance) believes Kira can in many ways...

Sorry for the "read more" being so high up lol. When I look through hashtags, I hate it when there's an entire story I already read to scroll past before I can see new ones :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I just don't understand," Y/N huffed as she pushed her hair behind her ear. She clinched the papers in her hand and furrowed her eyebrows together while rereading all the reports that were concluded to be caused by Kira. She sat in a cold room, in a chair that wouldn't warm up, with a bunch of officers who were equally as ignorant and annoyingly loud as the next. A lot of them distrust L as well, creating an unwanted tension that bothers everyone.

"Excuse me, sir," called a brunette boy to another brunette. Okay, maybe not everyone is annoying and ignorant; Matsuda and the Cheif were alright. Y/N smiled to herself as she looked at the two congregating. It's nice to see these two making the atmosphere brighter, she thought. There's been a lot of stress since no one can even began to image how Kira is even existing right now. Whether it's a single person or a group, how can they kill someone from anywhere? Alchemy isn't even real, so how?

And before she knew it, two hours of nothing went by. That is, until, three officers went up to the Cheif and set stuff down on the table. "Sir, we're resigning from the Kira investigation."

The cheif stood up, wide eyed, "why!"

"Because we value our lives! Kira has made it clear that he'll stop whoever gets in his way! We have a family at home and we aren't going to give it up!" One explained, taking deep breaths. The Cheif was silent for a moment before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Take your badges. I completely understand your decision." The cheif stood up, looking around the room. "I want everyone who wants to leave the Kira investigation to stand up. You won't be fired but rather transfered to another case." And just like that, nearly every single person in the case stood up, looking around each other disappointly. Y/N looked around her, glaring at the men around her. Wow, she thought, and I was called weak for being a "little girl."

As people made their decisions on whether to leave, or stay, or whatever, Y/N simply stacked her papers and cleaned her desk. The one she shared her desk had left, so she had a lot more space to put her paperwork. To be honest she didn't really like him all that much; it's random but that man would make the most jokes about Y/N's age and gender. She was the only female and being surrounded by a bunch of guys called for many conversations focusing on how she would interact with people, as if her gender is a defining quality to ever conversation.

But thank God that's over with. As Y/N looked around the room, her eyes widened as her eyebrows furrowed. "What? Like everyone left!" She called out, counting the people left. Masuta chuckled from across the room and she received a disapproving glance from Aizawa. Well, thank God these two stayed. She would be so alone with someone to joke with and another to keep an eye on her.

Aizawa is almost like an older brother/father figure of sorts, which is hella comforting. Matsuda and Y/N have never met before their job, not even happened to lassby each other at any point in their life, yet as soon as they saw each other, they knew each other very well. Immediately they kicked it off and eventually he found a way to convince the cheif that she's worthy of being here with him. He may have even brought up Light to make the cheif feel more personalized. It worked somehow.

The few remaining in the office stood up to acknowledge each other better. And when L finally spoke up from the computerin the back of the room, it was time for the debate on whether we trust him or not. Y/N, the Cheif, Matsuda, and Ukita seem to trust L a lot. Aizawa and Ide seem distrustful, and Mogi is neutral. When L released them to go discuss their views on him, everyone was eager to go.

On the way outside, a smile hung on Y/N's features as she walked alongside Matsuda. He didn't exactly share her energy as he rather just stared at the ground with a look of questioning. "This is a good thing y'know? It finally means we have the chance of a lifetime: to meet L. He would know how to keep us safe so we would never end up like the FBI agents!" Y/N whispered to him, making a small look of relief cross his features. He smiled at her and nodded.

Just a little into the conversation, the group had already began to trust L at least a little bit more. A few minutes later, L was given them directions on how to find him. Like hell I will write this all out, so just know that this happened the same way it did in the anime :). Y/N smiled widely, gripping Matsuda's sleeve and giggling quietly to herself. "This is amazing! We get to finally meet the L!"

"Calm down, L/N-san," Aizawa scolded, sending her a disapproving look. Y/N giggled at his stern face, shaking her head. She leaned on Matsuda's shoulder.

"Come on, 'Zawa! You're not excited? Not everyone gets to do this, y'know," she replied. Chief Yagami sighed and rolled his eyes at her childish behavior.

~~~

Y/N walked the dark streets with Aizawa by her side. She's humming to herself before breaking into a light sing, "hirogaru yami no naka-"

"Do you ever be quiet?" Aizawa asked. Y/N shook her heard before continuing to sing. But this time, she spread her arms out and moved more, dancing to the rhythm of the song. "Stop it, you child! You're gonna draw attention to us!"

"No I won't~ After all, it's the middle of the night," she replied as she pointed around the empty streets with the exception of 3 pass-bys. "No one is gonna care about a stupid little schoolgirl with her "dad" walking around when their tired and want to go home." Oh, in order to keep up a lie that Y/N is related to Aizawa, they found it easier for her to dress in a schoolgirl outfit. After all,, it's a Wednesday so people would think she would have to go to school, meaning she was young enoigh to be his daughter. "It's not like I'm gonna run into someone, eit—" Pffb!

Y/N fell onto the ground and landed in on the pavement. She hit her head on a metal door when she was walking and somehow didn't see it; well, maybe that's because someone opened the door. "Sorry! I didn't see you there," called a soft, masculine voice. He extended his hand towards the girl who was rubbing the mark on her forehead. She looked up at him either an apologetic look as she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"No, I apologize. I, um, wasn't looking," she responded. Her face was pink with embarrassment so she kept her head low. After all, how does one recover from embarrassing themselves in front of someone so damn attractive?

"Look what you did; I told you this would happen. I'm sorry, sir, for you— Light?" Aizawa asked with a questioning look on his features. The brunette boy smiled at Aizawa, waving.

"It's me, haha. Sorry, I'm not very good with faces. What's your name?" He kindly asked. Y/N looked up at him and admired his features. He looked so calm and collected that it was admiring to her.

"Aizawa," is all he said before Light nodded in remembrance.

"Nice to see you again, sir. Is this your daughter? She looks lovely," Light complimented as he turned towards the short girl, whose face remained as pink as before if not worse. She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him at waving.

"My name is Y/N, nice to meet to you Light," she responded with a bow of her head. Light bowed his head simultaneously with that calm smile never leaving his face. "Sorry again, haha. I'm sorta a clutz," she continued.

Light shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. "No need to be so worried, Miss Y/N. All's forgiven. Actually, I'm rather glad we did bump into each other like that. You're a sweet woman," he replied. Y/N chuckled nervously and felt his charisma hit her deep in the soul.

"I hate to break up you and your boyfriend," Aizawa stepped in. "But we have to get going. It was nice seeing you Light." Light nodded in understanding and YN posted her lip, though also understanding. She looked back at Light, smiling.

"Well, I hope to see you again, Light. Bye for now," she said her goodbyes as Light did the same to her before hey parted ways. "He's cute," she simply stated as Aizawa rolled his eyes.

"You teenagers and your weird romances..."

~~~

Y/N laid there; her books spread out on a table and her head in her arms, breathing softly as she stayed asleep. She was only allowed to work 4 days a week with the task force and this would be one of those days where she had to study hella hard since she wouldn't be able to every Monday and Tuesday. She's in a few advanced classes and they've been getting harder now that she can't focus all her attention on her classes. But damn, she was so tired today! But even so, a simple poke on the back woke her up.

"Excuse me ma'am, are you alright?" A soft voice asked. She stirred around before looking over at the owner of that voice, furrowing her eyebrows together. "Y/N?"

"Light?" Y/N asked, her face turning red in embaressment. "Oh! I'm sorry, were you going to sit here?" She asked eagerly as she gathered her things and put them in together as fast as possible.

"Oh no! I was just checking to see if you were okay, so please do whatever," Light responded. Y/N continued to blush as she mumbled an oh before setting her things back down.

"Sorry, haha... I sometimes get sorta caught up in my studies," she admitted, earning a chuckle from Light.

"No worries. I'd be glad to help if needed. What grade are you in?" Light asked as he set his coffee down on the table, sitting down besides her.

"Senior year. 18 and still can't grow up," she added a self depreciating comment as she rubbed her tired eyes and yawned. Light shook his head, brushing his hand in the air to singal "it's okay".

"No need to be so harsh on yourself. After all, everyone learns in a different way and perhaps the way you're teaching yourself isn't the right way. Instead of reading equations and writing down answers, let's try drawing out pictures of those equations and adding references." Light took the pencil from her side and and began to draw and write put several equations and problems. Needless to say, in about an hour, Y/N had understood every single thing she had worked on.

"You're doing great," Light complimented as he looked over Y/N's paper. Y/N giggled nervously, a Light blush coming to her cheeks.

"Thanks, with your help though," she replied. Light shook his head and handed back the paper.

"Not at all. I just showed you a new technique and told you what you got wrong. It was all you." Y/N thanked him once more before taking a sip of her coffee. It was maybe 9am by now and perhaps she should get going.

"It's getting a bit late. I need to go home soon," she spoke sadly. Light nodded, standing up from the table while Y/N collected her things. "Thanks again, by the way. Especially for staying with me for, like, an hour. That must be hard, heh heh."

Light chuckled, shaking his head. "You need to belive in yourself a little more, y'know. However, anyways, I suppose we should get going now. It was nice seeing you again, Y/N. I look forward to our next encounter." They walked each other out the door before finally saying their last goodbye and parting ways.

~~~

In no time, Light was part of the police task force as well. Side by side Y/N, who graduated with him, someone who he had got close to since their first visit in the cafe. Hell, this far into each other's company and how close they must be true to work, some may even say there's love. Light was that tall, sweet, intelligent, caring boy who never breaks in situations. Y/N was that kind, self-deprecating, cheerful but can be serious, smart, and thorough girl who looks as dumb as a rock. They're very similar in some places and different in others, which is the perfect mix.

"To be honest," Y/N sighed. "I'm really starting to doubt L. He focuses on you way too much, and we really don't have time for that. People are being killed everyday and nothing's being done to stop it." Light nodded, sighing as well. They sat on the top stairs of the roof of the headquarters. "And Kira's supporters give me mixed feelings as well. I understand that what Kira is doing seems righteous, I truly do. They say how these people were never the hero so why should they live? They should live because they shouldn't have to be heroes."

Y/N couldn't help but vent her feelings. After all, a tragic incident had happened to he recently so she couldn't help it. Light picked up on her way more serious attitude towards the investigation and asked what's pushing her so hard. After a little persuasion, he got her to talk about it in a private place. The whole time, she was trying her best to hold in tears when she spoke. "It's bothering me that these supporters think their morally right for thinking the way they do... My uncle, he was killed by Kira last week. And these supporters, they laugh and taunt him because hehe made a mistake when he was young," Y/N hissed, her tears threatening to fall.

"My uncle didn't mean to do it! He was friends with an officer who came over to his house for a party! They got drunk and my uncle wanted to scare awake his friend using a gun he thought was unloaded. He got to watch his best friend's head explode all over his fucking house, all because of a stupid mistake? I was 5 years old, going to the prison every week to him for the little amount of time I could. The officers who would search the visitors knew me; she knew me and who I was going to see, a kindergartener who was scared and hurt by the loss of her uncle. Due to the shooting being accidental, he had less time to serve. And that day, that day where he'd be free, Kira did it. It's fucking disgusting."

Light listened with a frown on his face, patting her back and she hugged her knees and began to cry. It's a shame, really. He sat out there with her for maybe two more minutes before she calmed down.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Y/N. I had no idea," Light spoke sadly, frowning. Y/N shook her head a smile forming on her face. It was clearly force and unhappy, but at least it made Y/N cry less.

"No, no, don't be. I kinda should've expected this. My uncle was a great, funny guy and I wish the world knew that. But anyway," Y/N wiped her tears as she stood up. She extended a hand for Light to take, which he did with a soft smile on his features, and pulled him up. A soft blush hit she cheeks when a

#light x you #light yagami x reader #light x reader #light yamagi #death note x reader #death note #light yagami x you #light yagami x y/n #light yagami #light x y/n #light x fem reader #light yagami x fem reader

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theastrophilearchitect · 3 years

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Falcon and the Winter Soldier series commentary.

It’s currently 07.28am on Friday the 19th of March 2021, and the first episode of Falcon and the Winter Soldier is now on Disney+. For WandaVision, I re-watched the series for a review when it ended, but for this one, I’m going to go as I watch them the first time.

This isn’t going to be run-down, or a play-by-play, just any comments I happen to have. I’ll give some context, but this will generally make more sense if you’ve seen the show.

I’ve actually avoided most of the trailers for this show, but it follows Sam Wilson (AKA Falcon, played by Anthony Mackie) and Bucky Barnes (AKA the Winter Soldier, played by Sebastian Stan) after the events of Avengers: Endgame, after the (death?) of Steve Rogers, the original Captain America, who passed the title to Sam.

Let’s get into it.

Episode One: ‘New World Order’ I hate this title, and I’m scared. This episode is 49 minutes long, and I’m expecting the series in total to have roughly the same six-hour runtime of WandaVision, but that’ll be in fewer episodes because WandaVision started in a comedy format, with shorter episodes. Let’s go.

Cue the Marvel intro.

No, no, no, no, no, no. He’s dressing for a funeral. Fuck.

Nope, no funeral. At least not right now.

And he jumps out of a plane with no parachute. Steve Rogers who? I mean, at least he has wings. Steve’s just an idiot. Where’s Bucky?

Okay, this plane break-in is a really fun sequence. Yes, shields, thank you. Sam’s already smarter than Steve. He’s rescuing a Captain Vascant, and I honestly thought he said Captain Croissant. It would make sense. The people on the plane French.

This sequence, flying through a gorge, really reminds me of a game I used to play at a bowling alley arcade. These damn swerves. They’re so satisfying.

I can’t get the WandaVision episode three theme song out of my head. This show was meant to come before WandaVision, but I saw a chronology timeline that claimed this takes place after it.

I’m really not into huge action sequences--I find them to be the most boring part of any superhero movie, but this is a good one. It is, however, ten minutes long. Still no Bucky.

Ahhhh Rhodey!!! Rhodey’s here! (From Iron Man, but then he’s also in the Avengers movies, so you should probably know who he is.)

Oh, Sam’s giving the shield to the Smithsonian.

Excuse me, he chose not to become Captain America??

Welp, there’s Bucky. Being murderous. EXcuse me??? What did he just say???? Fuck off. I thought the Wakandans helped him :(

Never mind. It was a nightmare. So he’s meant to be being a law-abiding citizen, and failing. He’s in therapy, and she is calling him out.

Bucky just asked out a girl, and it feels so wrong, but that just shows how immersed I am in the #stucky ship.

So Sam’s widowed sister is trying to get a bank loan, and they’re real idiots. The bankers, that is. They’re having a go because Sam didn’t have any income in the last five years--gee, I wonder why.

Sam just got a text from Torres--a member of the air force, who he’s working with--and the text ends with ‘#important’. I get the feeling the writers don’t understand no-one uses hashtags in texts.

Newsflash, and the mayor’s announcing a new Captain America, and it’s... show me the face. Show me the face. Who the fuck is that?

Alright, well, and cut to seven minute-long credits. Well. I have questions. A good episode, though nothing exceptional. And just like the early WandaVision episode, no credit scene.

Episode Two: ‘The Star-Spangled Man’ Released March 26th, this episode also has a 49 minute runtime, and the title is clearly referencing the ‘new’ Captain America. I say ‘new’ because even though I don’t know who this guy is yet, fuck him. Anyway.

There’s a guy in some kind of locker room, who I’m assuming is the new Captain America, who was apparently a football player. I just want to know if they pulled more super soldier shit. The captions say his name is John Walker.

Cue the Marvel logo... with some weird-ass music. Okay, it’s just a... dancing marching band, at the Captain America presentation. They’ve given him a new symbol, like an A turned into a five-pointed star. Apparently he’s the first person to ever receive three Medals of Honour, run missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue, and he has some fancy-ass physicality. This guy seems alright, but I’m just mad they didn’t tell Sam what they were going to do with the shield. At least he likes Steve.

God, Steve would be pissed. Ay, Sam and Bucky are finally in a scene together!

My favourite trope: ‘I’m doing this with you!’ ‘No, you’re not.’ [cut to them doing the thing together].

Bucky followed Sam on a mission to Munich, Germany, to do with the Flag Smashers, a free border organisation mentioned in episode one. They’re just glaring at each other, and I love it. God, I love their dynamic.

This has ‘What’s our plan of attack?’ ‘The plan? Attack’ vibes. And Bucky just jumped out of a fucking plane without a parachute. Steve Rogers who? (I think I made that joke in my episode one commentary about Sam. They take so much after their father.)

Sam made a joke about Bucky becoming White Panther after Wakanda, and apparently he’s now the White Wolf. I’m pretty sure that’s a comic book alias, but this is its first MCU mention.

OOOOh, the action sequences in this are fun. And there’s a kid in the back of the bad guys’ truck. Why’s she smiling?

And she just blasted Bucky out onto the road. Wonderful. She’s also a Flag Smasher. Yes, Sam! Yes!

Maybe don’t drive your lorries side by side in the same direction on a two-way road? Just a thought?

And roll in John Walker. You’d think they’d be having a harder time staying stood on lorries travelling this fast.

And Captain America has a fucking gun. No. No. Steve just used a frisbee! Don’t do this, Walker, you bastard.

So apparently the Flag Smashers are all super soldiers. That doesn’t bode well. I don’t think Walker is, though.

And this suit does nothing for his ass. It just isn’t America’s.

So they all rolled off the lorries, and the bad guys got away. Walker rolled up beside Sam and Bucky in a military vehicle, and they’re just refusing to get in.

‘Just ‘cause you carry that shield, it doesn’t mean you’re Captain America.’ THANK YOU.

‘You ever jump on top of a grenade?’ ‘Yeah. Actually, I have. Four times.’ You fucking what? Why? That doesn’t sound like Steve’s dumbassery, this sounds like genuine heroics. Disgusting.

And they finally got in the car. So the Flag Smashers want to put things back how they were during the Blip.

‘Does [Bucky] always just stare like that?’ ‘You get used to it.’ !!!!!!

‘I’m not trying to replace Steve.’ Really? Because it sounds like you are.

I hate that the subtitles are calling him Captain America. He seems like a fine guy, but really?

So apparently there was a super soldier in the Korean War.

Great. Police racism, demanding to see Sam’s ID but not Bucky’s, until the other policeman points out they’re Avengers. Wonderful. And they’re now arresting Bucky for missing his court-mandated therapy.

Also, I didn’t even acknowledge the fact Bucky got a haircut somewhere before the show stars. I was conscious of it, but I didn’t even think to say anything because I’m just used to seeing Sebastian Stan with short hair.

So John Walker got Bucky out. And Bucky’s therapist is forcing him and Sam into a session. HA, she’s giving them couple’s therapy. This is intense. She made them do some soul-gazing shit, and they started having a staring contest!

AND they’re going to go see Zemo, the villain from Captain America: Civil War. I knew he was in this show, but they’re just going to willingly have a conversation with him?? And again, no credit scene.

This was definitely a better episode than the first--the first honestly felt kind of unnecessary, and I think they just wanted to put the new Captain America at the end of an episode to build tension as a cliffhanger, which is a little annoying but does make sense.

I’m going to be constantly comparing this show to WandaVision, but it’s a lot less mysterious than WandaVision. Mystery isn’t necessary for a show to be good; there’s just a stark contrast between the two shows in that aspect.

Episode Three: ‘Power Broker’ Released April 2nd, this episode has a 53 minute runtime. We open with an ad for the Global Repatriation Council, apparently an organisation focused on helping those who were Blipped reintegrate, though I’m really confused what this has to do with anything--it’s not like the ads in WandaVision, because this is the first we’ve had. I guess the GRC must show up in this episode, but I don’t really think the ad is necessary.

I don’t want to give a rundown of this show like I did with WandaVision, so I’m just going to mention which scene each comment is for.

They’ve really given Zemo an atmospheric cell. Also, this bitch, saying the words that turned Bucky into the Winter Soldier. This bitch and his audacity. Now he’s sorry? That’s hilarious.

Why in fuck’s name does Bucky want to break Zemo out??? I’m really with Sam on this one. What is Bucky’s point here?

And now they’re breaking him out. Wonderful. Nope, never mind, just a... imagining? Nope. He did it. Zemo’s out. This seems like a bad idea. He’s going to betray them. That’s just how stories work.

Ah. Snake gut cocktail. Lovely.

I hate that Bucky’s pretending to still be the Winter Soldier. Hate it. And now Zemo’s trying to sell him. No. Good writing, sure, but still.

Love the ‘kill them’, then gets shot. Love it.

SHARON! YAY! I don’t even like Sharon that much, mostly because her romance with Steve was weird, but yay!

Sam: *takes off his shirt* Sharon: Much better.

‘The bionic staring machine.’ I mean, Sam’s not wrong, but still.

I can’t tell if this song, where they’re walking through this place with pistols, is just background music or actually playing, but I love it. Okay, it’s real. It has Umbrella Academy vibes.

Nope. Zemo has his mask. I don’t trust this. There he goes. Wait. He didn’t betray them? Why? It might just be poor comprehension, but I’m confused.

‘You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?’ ‘No.’ Bucky gets his revenge on Sam.

So a woman showed up at the end, head shaven, and, according to the subtitles, spoke Wakandan. I think it’s the woman who came with T’Challa in Captain America: Civil War, but i’m not completely sure.

But, hey, that’s episode 3. I didn’t enjoy it as much as episode 2, because, mad as I am they replaced Cap, so far, I quite like John Walker’s character, and I think it’s a really interesting plot line. This was still better than episode 1 though, which just felt like set-up.

Episode Four: ‘The Whole World is Watching’ This episode was released April 9th, this morning, with a 53-minute runtime, and I’ve already been told John Walker does something unredeemable in this episode, so I’m scared. Let’s go.

And we have an explosion, kids. It’s a previously on, never mind. I don’t remember the explosion, but it’s fine. Okay, yeah, the woman at the end of the last episode was the woman from Civil War. I need to look up her name.

Oh, yep, her name’s Ayo, and she’s a member of the Dora Milaje. Lovely.

Jesus, we’re in Wakanda. Why am I scared? Six years ago. Bucky in Wakanda. Right. With Ayo. I hate seeing him cry, God.

Back to present day. Of course she’s mad about Zemo. I’d also be mad about Zemo. I am mad about Zemo. She gave him a time limit--I think time limits are fun. Build tension. They’re great.

God, Zemo walking down a street full of children singing Baa Baa Black Sheep is so... 80s. Maybe don’t offer sweets to children you don’t know?? Like?? I mean his tactic’s working. Unlike Sam’s. This bitch just turned the children against Sam and Bucky. As you do.

And they have more serum. I’m going to be honest, the supersoldier thing’s pretty elitist, unless they intend to make everyone in the world a supersoldier. I can’t help but see a capitalist versus socialist metaphor here, but then I find those in literally everything.

I do like Walker’s character--he’s entertaining--but as a person, no thank you. I also really like the fact Karli Morgenthau is British, but not quite in the way most British characters in US shows. I fit the stereotypical accent, but you don’t really see other English accents in American shows.

Walker you little bitch, you said he had ten minutes. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Don’t guilt-trip Bucky, you shit. And here we go.

I hate the fact this episode mean’s we’re already 2/3 of the way through the series.

And Zemo’s absolutely going to take that serum. Nope. He’s smashing it. I mean, that’s one way. Not the way I expected, but still. And he missed one. Walker’s going to take it. I know he is. And he pocketed it. Yep.

Okay, I would absolutely take the serum if I were offered it. I bet Walker’s going to take it at the end of the episode, though. Who has a bow??

And he’s the Dora Milaje. Pff, it wasn’t even an arrow; it was a spear. I’m with the Dora Milaje in this scenario, absolutely. Love that Sam and Bucky are just stood there, doing nothing. What’s the point of Lemar Hoskins? He doesn’t do anything.

Don’t unbolt Bucky’s arm, you ass.

And Zemo’s gone. Now, who could’ve seen that coming?

Why the hell is Karli calling Sam’s sister??

Sharon put a tracker on Walker? Smart.

Well, we found Zemo. God, I miss Steve.

Did Karli just kill Hoskins??

And Walker just smashed this guy’s head in. Lovely. What a Captain America thing to do. Ooh, the bloody shield’s kind of a vibe though.

So that’s episode 4, and oh my lord.

Episode Five: ‘Truth’ 16th April, and... crap, it’s 07.26, of course, the episode’s not up yet. Will return in like half an hour.

Okay, it’s past 8am, and the episode is...up. Lovely. It’s 60 minutes long, and I’m terrified, because someone told me about a theory that Bucky was going to die in this episode.

Lemar does seem to be dead, which is disappointing, because that would mean his entire character existed solely to motivate Walker to kill that guy, which isn’t very satisfying. Lemar Hoskins is a comic book character though, so who knows.

I mean. At least murderous Captain America is in anguish. He deserves it. Serious credit to the actor, by the way. Wyatt Russell got a lot of hate about his character, and I get why people don’t like the character, but he’s hugely interesting and Russell plays him so well.

So Lemar Hoskins is not dead. Doesn’t exactly put Walker in a good light. He’s obviously not going to give Sam the shield, for God’s sake.

Bucky just looks amazing with the short hair and the blue coat. It’s great. Love it.

And now Walker’s trying to kill Sam. Great idea. Did he take the serum already? Because that would explain why he’s become so brutish. Hold up. No, I don’t think he has. But who knows. Clearly not me.

Yep, trying to choke Sam. Very Captain America of you, John. And he tried to smash his head in. Thank God for Bucky. And Sam got the shield. Good.

There’s cat hair everywhere around me right now.

Well, that intro was very, very fun.

Did Sam just give up the wings...? Why...?

Glad, at least, that Walker’s no longer Captain America. Yep, yelling in a courthouse. Great way to warrant lenience. It’s the good-man-perfect-soldier balance again: Steve was always a good man first, where Walker’s first a soldier.

So Walker did take the serum. That makes sense. It exaggerates personal qualities, so Walker’s anger and... vengefulness.

Is Bucky actually going to kill Zemo? No. No, the gun’s empty. I’m not sure I get why Bucky would take out the bullets intentionally, but alright.

Hope Zemo has fun with the Dora Milaje.

This storyline with Sam’s sister is so wholesome compared to the rest of the show. So Bucky brought Sam something in a case, and I just want to know what is is. He said is was a gift from the Wakandans, so obviously tech of some kind. New wings?

I’m really confused as to whether or not Lemar Hoskins is dead. He seemed dead. Walker thought he was dead. Then this woman said he isn’t, but now Walker’s going to his family, so... yeah, I guess he is, and I just have really poor comprehension.

Sam’s nephews playing with the shield is adorable.

Aww, Sam’s learning how to use the frisbee. I know it’s more intense than that, but it’s literally a frisbee.

Soooooo the Flag Smashers are attacking the UN. As you do.

Credit scene! Credit scene! Walker’s hammering, making... something. A shield. Great. Wonderful. love how he thinks he can make a better one than Tony Stark. Sure. And that, my friends, wraps up episode 5, and marks us as 83% of the way through the show.

Episode Six: ‘One World, One People’ It’s April 23rd. And the last episode is up. Just going to finish the chapter of my audiobook first.

This title is very exciting, and the episode’s 51 minutes long. Let’s go.

Honestly, I’m not huge on shows this intense, but I am enjoying this, which I think is because a) I know the characters, and b) it’s only one episode a week.

Oh, hell yes. Falcon America. Honestly, costume looks kinda dumb. Awww, the subtitles are calling him Captain America.

This show hasn’t been nearly as exciting as WandaVision, because it lacks the mystery aspect. It’s definitely more for Marvel fans than the other series. What’s next? Loki? Yeah. I just googled it, and Marvel’s really putting out a lot this year. Which is probably because we had a year of nothing, but we’re getting four shows (WandaVision, FatWS, Loki, Hawkeye--which doesn’t yet have a definitive release) and four movies (Black Widow, Shang-Chi, the Eternals, and Spider-Man 3, which I wasn’t expecting until at least next year).

I feel like I just don’t have much to say about what’s happening, because it’s basically just a battle, which I’m never hugely interested in. I’m not really an action person.

Oh, and apparently Ms. Marvel’s this year, too.

Going through a list, clearly, and you mean to tell me we’re not getting Guardians Vol. 3 until six years after Vol. 2??

And fuck. Hey, Walker. In a costume that isn’t yours. Christ, Karli.

Honestly, I’m really fidgety because all I want to do is watch Shadow and Bone, because the entire series has been out for nine damn hours--I could’ve watched it all by now--but I’ve been busy, and I promised I’d watch it with somebody, and godddd.

We got a far-out shot of Walker dressed as Captain America just then, and I honestly thought it was Nebula. Anyway, offended that Walker dares to think he gets to wear that costume and follow up Steve Dumbass Rogers. Uh-uh.

GOD I just want to watch Shadow and Bone. Christ. I’m desperate. it’s on my Instagram, it’s on Tumblr... that’s it, but oh my God. I so hope it’s good. If it’s bad I’ll literally be distraught.

Oh, thank god. It has 94% on Rotten Tomatoes. Good.

No. Christ. God, I just want to watch it.

Screw it. I’ll finish this episode tomorrow. Byeeee.

Okay, I’m back. I watched all of Shadow and Bone. Let’s keep going!

So I did get about halfway through, yesterday, bar credits, so there’s that.

I love the symbolism of the new Falon/Captain America costume, but that doesn’t stop it from being really, really ugly.

Appreciate the speech about society being screwed up.

Why are they showing the prisoner transport? Something’s clearly going to happen. Did they just blow up the prison van??

And Walker got a new costume. That’s concerning. Give me the name, honey. US Agent. That’s bullshit.

So it is apparently his actual comic book name, but it’s still terrible.

And it said Captain America and the Winter Soldierrrrrrrr. Which is already a film. I mean, the film doesn’t have ‘and’ in it, but still. Anyway. Positive symbolism. Shall we check for a credits scene?

They’re pardoning Sharon. Huh. Nice.

There’s something ominous at play here. Great, so Sharon really is a villain here. That’s fun.

And that, my friends, wraps up Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I didn’t enjoy it as much as WandaVision, partly for the mystery, but mostly for sheer tone--this was much more your typical darker action film, where WandaVision was more light-hearted, even towards the end.

Regardless, this was a really interesting addition to the MCU, though may not be worth it if you’re not already invested.

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billiesbeat-blog · 4 years

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I Can’t Breathe

I Can't Breathe/8:46

The fact that George Floyd's now tragic final words were not the first time we have heard them in a similar situation from another black man he didn't know, is not the irony of this story.

It's the fact that here again was yet another black man having life choked out of him, by yet another white police officer, for allegedly committing another innocuous “crime”.

Selling illegal cigarettes, failing to signal a lane change, reaching for ID as requested, buying skittles, sleeping in her bed...Living While Black.

On this day we watch America erupt in frustration and anger at a system. A system that so casually took a life, while grotesquely telling George to get up, all the time deliberately applying as much pressure as possible to the throat of a man, a human being, for committing the crime of “suspected forgery'. Listening with a look of boredom and his hand in his pocket, while this human being went from saying he couldn't breathe to crying out for his mother. A 44-year-old son, father, brother, uncle, friend cried out for mercy where there was none to feel or give.

As it has played out so many heartbreaking frustrating times across America, this is just another one of these times. Because it's not the first video we've seen of a black man or person of color being brutalized or killed by law enforcement.

So why is this different?

Is it the fact that they knew they were being filmed and didn't care or feel pressured to stop? 4 cops, 3 of whom could have stopped the murder and instead stood by again casually, while their partner took the life of an unarmed human who was on his face, in handcuffs no threat. Protect and serve.

People have been filming these brutalities more since the advent of cell phone video - like Philando Castile, Eric Garner and many others. Others like Sandra Bland have been pieced together from dash or body cam footage when released. And the Floyd murder comes a week after people were already reeling from the footage released of Ahmaud Aubery being hunted down and lynched, while the act was filmed by an accomplice.

Trying to make statements on social media with pointed hashtags, seem to fall on deaf ears of those who need to understand what it's truly like to be #LivingWhileBlack.

#JoggingWhileBlack #DrivingWhileBlack #BarbecuingWhileBlack #SleepingWhileBlack

Listening to the anguished pleadings of black mothers and fathers who fear for their sons' lives, begging society to stop killing them.

These are modern day slave times, where the color of your skin determines not just your rights but your fate. And there are different rules for the perpetrators of your fate. Time and time again we see a white person brandishing a weapon at police or having just killed people and he is taken in peacefully. There is no being thrown to the ground and having an officer sit on your throat, choking the life out of you. A man swings a machete at police telling them to leave and is allowed to retreat into his home. And at each telling come the comments “if he was black, he'd be dead.”

It's tempting to say that this has all just happened in the last 3 years, since the election of an openly racist President and many other unapologetically racist elected officials. But they didn't invent racism and intolerance, they merely made it fashionable to express it openly. This pre-existing bigotry has found a home on social media and while people say how could this be happening in 2020, I say how could it not?

The people who killed Ahmaud Arbery, said he wouldn't stop and explain why he was running in the neighborhood. There are now endless stories and videos of white people demanding that a black person explain who they are or what their business is in the building, to calling the police when challenged about their unleashed dog. The young man laying on the front lawn spread eagled while 5 police officers train their guns on him from behind their cars, as if he was a mass murderer. His crime? Rolling through a stop sign. Family screaming at him to not move, while his 90-year-old grandmother went to his aid in her bathrobe. Only to be thrown to ground by the same officers.

This is Living While Black.

During slavery, white citizens were deputized to be able to detain, question and ultimately punish blacks as they saw fit. It could be for a suspected crime or for just walking down the street. This continued into the Jim Crow era and exists today albeit in a slightly different form. This belief has clearly been passed along generationally to the present time. How else do you explain the casual way in which whites feel they have the right to detain, question and ultimately punish black people today? I don't mean that it is taught verbally but clearly learned by the 2 systems at play when it comes to enforcing the law both minor and major crimes.

The numbers in health care show the depth to which this racist behavior has gone. Black patients getting substandard treatment by doctors. Black women are 3 - 4 times more likely to die from pregnancy related causes than white women. Black babies die at twice the rate of white babies in their first year.

Certain racist practices set up decades ago still affect black people today-such as red lining. Black people deliberately blocked from getting loans, mortgages or being able to buy homes in certain neighborhoods continues in 2020.

All of this combined with the capricious abuse of authority by the police leads us to where we are today, in the streets demanding change.

It's not the Klan we have to fear. It's the white person walking their dog who by her words, threatens the possibility of death, knowing full well the power her words hold.

Look to yourself white America.

There are too many funerals to be this innocent because this is not new. 1968, 1992, 2020

Stop saying: Well what was he doing to bring this on himself? Why was he in that neighborhood? Oh he had drugs in his system. He must have been resisting. Why was she sitting in her car?

And please stop saying “I don't see color”. You must see color to see the inequities and naked brutality of life, that a lot of people of color live every day.

This President is a morally bankrupt fascist, who has long advocated for violence against African American citizens, going back to 1989 when he called for the execution of the Central Park 5. He put a bounty on their heads by publishing the names, addresses and phone numbers of the exonerated boys. To this day he maintains their guilt. In Minneapolis, the head of the police union spoke at a Trump rally, wearing “Cops For Trump” shirt along with white supremacist badges. A cop in New York can be seen laughingly flashing the white power sign during the protests. Just as white people need to call out racism as they see it, police need to call it out on their own. The now endless videos coming out of wanton police brutality in the face of peaceful compliant protesters must not stand.

They-whoever they are- talk of “a few bad apples” in the force and more training is required. Reality check: You can't train or teach someone to be empathetic or compassion where there is none. Where someone has been raised and conditioned to see people of color as inferior, their lives not having the same worth. Whether it's equal access to medical care, education or available housing. Or equal access to fair treatment under the law.

Talk. Listen. Learn.

A few thoughts that would be good t-shirt slogans provided they are backed up with action. We can all be keyboard warriors. For some that's all they can do but for the rest we need you to show up.

Fascism is like a boa; inhale an inch and you'll never get it back.

Don't Stand By When You Can Stand Up

Times change but the color has not.

It's not Black vs white. It's everyone vs racists.

Justice delayed is Justice denied- MLK

As Angela Davis said “It's not enough to be non-racist, you must be anti-racist.”

#blm #georgefloyd #saytheirnames #racisim #socialactivism #media #change #nojusticenopeace #police reform #police brutality #whitepriv

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joanofarchetype · 5 years

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A Connecticut Yankee...a kid...that's all well and good but we really don't talk enough about the werewolf in King Arthur's court

This is not a shitpost — in Le Morte D'Arthur, Sir Thomas Malory makes mention of "Sir Marrok, the good knight that was betrayed with his wyf, for she made hym seven yere a wer-wolf". Of course, Malory lifted the tale of the werewolf knight straight outta "Bisclavret," which is one of the Twelve Lais of Marie de France. And it is...wild. There's also "Melion," an anonymous Breton lai which along with "Biclarel" is believed to have evolved from the same source as "Bisclavret". In this post we're gonna refer to the protagonist as the "knight" or the "wolf-knight" and tell a somewhat composite tale.

(A note: this takes place well before commonly established werewolf lore, which crystallized thanks to Universal's The Wolf Man. Curt Siodmak wrote all that stuff about the full moon and silver bullets in 1941 so well that our common imagination accepted it as ancient fact.)

So anyway our guy is a knight who disappears for a couple nights a week and his wife is like ?????? dude ??????? where ??? do you ???? go ??????

And my dude is like "babe I love you but I can't tell you because you won't look at me the same" and she's like "I am your wIFE you better tell me right quick or otherwise have a good nose for almonds in your oatmeal" (jk she doesn't say that because if she did he might've gotten a little foreshadowing of her treachery, but alas, our man was a sucker)

So the knight tells her he's a werewolf, and on the nights he disappears he's wolfing around the countryside and his wife is like !!!!!!!!!! on the inside but makes sure her face is only 🤔 on the outside

(Mind you, Marie de France goes into how the wife is grossed out because she shared her marriage bed with a beast, which has some interesting implications but we'll get to those later)

She starts digging about his transformation until he explains how in order to return to his human shape, he *needs* to put his human clothes back on or else he'll be stuck as a wolf, at which point wifey is 👀👀👀👀

Wifey's like, "but if ur in wolf form, how do u remember where u put ur clothes lol" and the knight's like, "no no, I retain my human mind even in wolf form and besides, I always put them under this one rock outside this cave"

now bear in mind he's never been able to talk about this to anyone so he's pouring his heart out about his deepest secret which he kept even from his wife & I know we're all pretty used to medieval repression but imagine how it must have felt to share this secret at long last 😥

So to recap:

knight: 🤵🏻🛡🐾🌕🐺🤫😅😍♥️💐 wifey: 👰🏼💭🤢🤔👀🧐💡💡👔💍🔪🔪🔪

Our knight is like "yeah so I was born this way and it's just a part of who I am and whew it's kind of a relief to finally be talking about it with someone"

Wifey nods along 🤔🤔🤔 because she's had a💡moment and is 🍳 up a plan...

so the knight has unleashed (pun intended) his secret for the first time in this life and is feeling just dandy, but what he doesn't know is his wife is already plotting his downfall with her...LOVER (dun dun dunnn)

wifey & her secret lover steal the knight's clothes when he's transformed, essentially trapping him in wolf form, get him declared dead in absentia, marry each other & take over his lands

and the royal court goes for this because at this point the whole kingdom knows about the knight's habit of disappearing for days at a time (because medieval nobles are messy gossipy bitches who live for that drama) so they just assume he abandoned her

*~*ONE YEAR LATER*~* (or if you're Malory, *~*SEVEN YEARS LATER*~*)

the king & hunting party corner the wolf-knight in the woods. knight is overwhelmed at the sight of his monarch & runs up to what for all he knows might be his oblivion to kiss king's feet at which point king's like, "THAT'S NO ORDINARY WOLF. HE SHALL JOIN MY COURT IMMEDIATELY."

the wolf-knight goes to live at court where he's basically regarded as a knight (so the takeaway from this part of the lai is that a literal wild animal had a better chance of becoming a knight in ye olden days than a peasant or a woman but I digress)

anyway so there's a celebration at court and who comes to the party but the ex-wifey's new husband, now a baron. understandably, the wolf-knight does NOT react well and attacks him, and the reaction of everyone at court at this near-mauling isn't to say "whoa whoa maybe bringing a wolf to court was a bad idea" but rather "huh, this wolf has never been hostile towards a human before so obviously this guy must've personally wronged him." which is...progressive.

so the new husband/baron/co-conspirator is all "wtf keep it away from me" and the king is like "idk man, what were you wearing? maybe you smelled like royal beef jerky at the time. seems like you were asking for it"

king & the other barons take wolf-knight to the new baron's property. they just need to figure out what's going on because they're not ready to take sir wolf to his final veterinary visit, u feel? they're attached. now get ready for this next part because it's a doozy.

ex-wifey hears about the king's visit so she's waiting with gifts & cakes & shit. the wolf-knight sees her & immediately BITES OFF HER NOSE & he bites it so good her progeny can feel it & henceforth all her descendants are — I SHIT YOU NOT — born noseless. talk about losing face.

under questioning (*cough cough* torture *cough*) the wife admits to her crimes & yields the stolen clothing, which they put in front of the wolf & he just stares at them until they realize "wow yeah sorry dude our bad" and leave the room to give him privacy

when they see the wolf-knight again he's in his human form and in Marie de France's "Bisclavret" it's expressly written that the king embraces him in the bedchamber and gives him "many kisses" (hashtag heterosexual friends doing heterosexual things)

the king restores the wolf-knight's lands and ex-wifey has to live with her ex-baron in exile, forever marked for her betrayal. some real Mark of Cain shit. (obviously this lai has a lot to say about spousal dissatisfaction but that’s another day’s dissertation)

the wolf-knight (Bisclavret, or Melion, or Marrok, or Sir Wolf or whatever you fancy calling him) not only regains his good name, but also the support of a court which now knows his secret dual nature.

something to be hated or feared, only understood and accepted. no one at court shuns him once the secret's out & no one tries to change or "heal" him of his lycanthropy.

remember when I said we'd come back to the wife's reaction? in "Bisclavret" Marie de France specifically states that upon finding out his secret, the wife no longer wishes to "lie beside him." let's unpack that a bit by exploring similar themes across folklore.

the marriage bed serves as a common motif in tales of animal transformation. ex: in "Beauty and the Beast," the protagonist has to overcome her revulsion towards her suitor's ostensible monstrosity before she can accept his marriage proposal. traditionally these stories with mysterious, beastly husbands who are secretly a true catch serve as an allegory for arranged marriage, designed to help young women process their anxieties about being passed from their father's house to that of a strange new husband.

(we should differentiate these tales from those of an ostensibly appropriate groom who turns out to be a monster in disguise such as "Bluebeard," "Mr. Fox," and "The Robber-Bridegroom," as those deserve a detailed thread of their own but also provide good thematic contrast here)

more often the Beast is kind, patient & gives Beauty the time she needs to the detriment of his own freedom from the curse. once the protagonist gets over her anxiety, she ceases to perceive her groom as just a hulking hairy beast and he can take the shape of a prince at last.

circling back to wolves! in most lore both ancient and modern, werewolves represent something uncontrollable; an animalistic second nature which threatens to literally tear through our well-mannered social façade. "Bisclavret" and its various incarnations don't do that.

if you read "Bisclavret" under a queer critical lens, you can interpret the knight as bisexual; a husband has a secret duality to his nature which he is unable to express in their current social order. significantly, he is born with his lycanthropy rather than being afflicted by the sudden, violent means through which most fictional werewolves are afflicted. it's a part of who he is, and it requires no further explanation or cure.

the wolf-knight finds freedom rather than shame in his lycanthropy, and as a result maintains both honor and control while in wolf form. unlike other famous werewolves, he doesn't function as an expression of tension between the id and the superego.

considering how often wolves are used to imply sexual violence (see also: "Little Red Riding Hood" or its medieval predecessor, "The Grandmother's Tale") this would be a fairly positive portrayal of a bisexual man.

however, his wife doesn't see it that way and is repulsed at the thought of sleeping with him again, so she commits adultery and conspires against him. so really, the crimes in "Bisclavret" have a lot to do with sex, just not sexual violence.

the king's attachment to the wolf & the way he embraces the knight can easily be read as homoerotic. there's absolutely an argument to be made about the normalization of homosocial behavior & male kinship across eras but...two things can be true. either interpretation is valid.

so what we have is a werewolf protagonist — not a villain or tortured anti-hero but an honorable man who isn't made to shed his lycanthropy at the end of the tale (tail). rather, he is accepted by his contemporaries and given a place in society to live as he truly is/ROLL CREDITS

#bisclavret #marie de france #medieval literature #queer theory #queer critical theory #medieval lgbtq #werewolves #werewolf literature #i originally posted this to fb & then twitter so u can find these there #my twitter handle is also @joanofarchetype #(it's my pinned tweet)#long post #gif warning

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seblore · 4 years

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everyday i wake up and you still havent posted your evermore rant </3

there u go boo 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

GDBDNSKDJHHDDNDS GIRL................ ok so i very cleverly avoided ranking folklore because every song REALLY HIT and the whole album was just SO.. SO.. yeah. i can however rank miss evermore. i dont want to compare the two album i do not get the point in that. both give off really different vibes. now what i will say is with folklore, AS AN ALBUM, it is just a master masterpiece. The songs flowed amazingly with each other and really held you close the entire first listen. at least thats what I felt like <3 with evermore however, the individual songs are OMG!!! THERE IS LITERALLY NO SONG I DONT LIKE FROM ANY OF THE TWO ALBUMS. but as an album on the first listen i did feel a bit disconnected from evermore which didnt happen to me with folklore. why i think that might’ve happened is BECAUSE taylor is just so brilliant m8.... the MASSIVE contrasting emotions between the songs was too much for my little brain to handle.

Ok so now that’s out of the way dhsjsk time for rankings :) i have no idea where im going to put each song im just going to make it up as we go <3 ill ALSO give you my fave lyrics from each if I remember it <333 (oh and also you’ll notice marjorie isnt here. im sorry but i never listened to it after the first listen because it hits a little too close to home and i dont want to unpack all of that now im sorry! it is a beautiful song)

14. Closure: she popped off <3 she really said dont treat me like a situation that needs to be handled 💃🤙💯 a beautiful song with beautiful lyrics HOWEVER its the first song i couldnt connect with thus it’s down here BUT I STILL WOULD LISTEN TO IT ON REPEAT THO... the last in my ranking but still fucks 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ thats taylor swift 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

13. long story short: i have never been in a relationship ever BUT GODDAMN ‘pushed from the precipice, clung to the nearest lips’ hdjsksksjjddjnBbdns jddd ubebs!:!?:?:$3&39383$hzjs WOAH.... and this bitch really summarized the full 2016 drama with long story short it was a bad time. HILARITY. yeah not much to say here tho this is just the ‘at least one mandatory song to shake your tits to on each ts album’ song of evermore <3 and always remember that if the shoe fits walk in it TILL YOUR HIGH HEELS BREAK WOOH ANDIFELLDOWNTHEPEDESTALRIGHTDOWNTHERA—

12: dorothea: making a lark of misery :D RENt free. i had to listen to ‘if youre tired of being known for who you know you know youll always know me’ 113 times to finally understand it tho 😐 some of us are stupid and illiterate have you ever thought about that miss swift???? anyways TINGTINGTINGINGINGING THE STARS IN YOUR EYES SHINED BRIGHTER IN TUPELO <33333 such an innocent feel good song I LOVE!!!!!

11. ivy: the goddamn here and the hush of mirrorball ARE THE REASON IM STILL ALIVE 😽 another lyrical masterclass <3 ‘id live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time’ IS2G!!!!!!!!!!! anyways what if you cheated on your husband with me and i cheated on my husband with you and my pain fit in the palm of your freezing hands 😳 JK JK 😅 unless...... 🤪😏 hdjsks yeah this song is magnificently cursed and i am in love with it 🧎‍♀️

10. tis the damn season: this song is august but the other side of the coin. august but four months later. AUGUST SLIPPED AWAY LIKE A BOTTLE OF WINE- THE HOLIDAYS LINGER LIKE A BAD PERFUMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE... she sounds so pretty goshhh! ‘time flies messy as the mud on your truck tires NOW IM MISSING YOUR SMILE hear me out we could just ride around and the road not taken looks real good now’ is on repeat in my mind. and as always the bridge ::::::::::::::.............:::::::::::::: how does she do this everytime. ‘and wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles im faking’ 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ after every ts song i listen my expectations about true love grows exponentially and my chances of finding true love falls exponentially simultaneously ADIEU.

9. willow: she really took the invisible string quartet and put it in huh..................... FUCKED IN THE HEADDDDDDDDDDDDDD. what can i say <3 its just such a pretty song <3 hashtag gorgeous hashtag i cant say anything to its face. WRECK MY PLANS!!!!!! WRECK IT BITCH!!! ‘wait for the signal and ill meet you after dark’ LOVE STORY WHIPLASH. also mate i cant even focus on the song she looks SO GOOD in the music video i—

8. happiness: !!!! what can i say.... one of the best songs of the album hands down. lyrical masterpiece AND musically rich. she really logged into tumblr dot com and typed out ‘THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU’ AND ‘THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOU’ ARE IDEAS THAT CAN COEXIST and logged off...... h8 her and her insanity. the one word i have to describe this song is: picturesque. tis a picturesque song <3 oh and dfbhhffcbhDDVHHTRSDVJK when i heard ‘i hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you’ i audibly GASPED and then she says ‘no i didnt mean that sorry i cant see facts through all of my fury’................. i fell out of my chair. IT FELT LIKE AS IF SHE HEARD MY GASP AND TOLD ME SPECIFICALLY THAT NO SHE DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT... anyways yeah. ill write an article one day named THE SWIFT DECEPTION OF TAYLOR about how she keeps writing songs with deceptive titles and this will be the opening case 😈🤙 also the fact that this is one of my faves and i put it in number 8 says a lot......

7. evermore: i havent recovered from ‘motion capture. put me in a bad light’. i mean come on the whole goddamn song is a lyrical masterpiece. ‘writing letters addressed to the fire’. IS SHE OK!????????????? i think tf not. beautiful song beautiful arrangement. iver sounded really good too. and lol lol rofl WOOFWOOFbarkbark ‘HEY DECEMBER GUESS IM FEELING UNMOORED’ unmoored definition from google dot com: no longer attached. she doesn’t go back to december anymore. about2 faint oml. long story short: i did not survive. THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE........ what i felt with this song is that she took the quarantine sadness we all felt at least once this year and made it into a masterpiece of a song. couldve been easily the top song on any album except this. no i will not elaborate <3

6. no body no crime: i cannot believe. she teased us with a musical number. this woman teased us with. a musical number. I THINK SHE IS WRITING A MUSICAL BUT I JUST CANT PROVE IT! when she wins that tony 16 years later call me prophetic xoxo. anyways yeah she literally wrote this to flex her storytelling abilities. send tweet 🐥

5. cowboy like me: YEEEHAWWW I’LL BE HONEST WITH YOU I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FULL SONG SOUNDS LIKE I JUST HAVE THE BRIDGE ON REPEAT!!!! OMFG!!! the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. AAAA!! ??? STFU. IM NOT EVEN TALKING ABOUT THE LYRICS MATE THE WAY ITS SUNG!!!!!!! GUT WRENCHING! the best bridge she has ever written musically. i cant stop listening to it. REALLYYY DID BELIEEEVE I WAS THE ONEEE. STORIESSS ABOUT WHEEEN YOU PASSSEDDD THROUGHH TOWN. y e l l. and then she hits me with ‘now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon.’ L ???? M !!!!! A $$$$$ O “”””” i had to pause it and sit there for 10 minutes to take in what i had just heard. case closed critical hit sustained yeedhawd.

4. tolerate it: i cried. the only reason it’s not 1 is because it hurt me too much. WHAT THE FUCK YOU MF YOU ASSUME IM FINE BUT WYD IF I BREAK FREE AND LEAVE US IN THE RUINS???? TOOK THIS DAGGER IN ME AND REMOV— m8 this physically hurts me everytime. if its all in my head TELL ME RN. aghhh aRghhhhhhh. pain. and lol she broke down sleep to its bare essentials ‘breathing with your eyes closed’.

3. ??? coney island: i know it’s a bit of a controversial top three but WHO CARES 🕴this is solely here for ‘AND IM SITTING ON A BENCH IN CONEY ISLAND wondering where did my BABYy GO’ im shaking. my bed is shaking. my body is shaking. my pupils are shaking. THE WAY SHE SINGS IT OH MY GOODNESS ME i have to lie down gimme a sec. ‘and if this is the long haul howd we get here so soon 😟’ SCREAM. and when i was hearing it for the first time and she said ‘sorry for not making you my centerfold’ i was like yeah and?? so what?? and then she hits me with ‘over and over’...... so she didnt make him/her/them her centerfold over and over !!!!!!! she is sorry she didnt do it over and over!!!!!! mannn.... the chorus.. i shall not speak. i am held at gunpoint i CANNOT SPEAK. the bridge tho dhdnsksksjsb I CAN SPEAK AND I SHALL SPEAK. BITCH WENT OFFFFFFFF. <3 this is the apology she deserved from her exes which she never got so she wrote it herself. podium. grey skies. birthday cake. ACCIDENT. im laughingggggggggggg <///3 and yeah so overall it is a really yummy song with yummy vocals and yummy arrangement 9/10 would recommend. also!! life lessons kids life lessons. disappointments? SIMPLY CLOSE YOUR EYES AND PRETEND YOU DO NOT SEE IT YAAAAAAAAAS

2. gold rush: ETHEREAL!!!!!! The last time i felt like this™️ whilst listening to a song was with mirrorball <3 the production of this song omg omg omg LOVE 💃 but what propelled it to number two status was the ‘i dont like slow motion double vision in ROSE BLUSH/ i dont like that falling feels like flying till the BONE CRUSH’ imagine how fucked in the head a person needs to be to rhyme rose blush with bone crush. yeah i have nothing more to say really this song is extremely gorgeous and ‘eyes like sinking ships on water so inviting i almost jumped in’ / ‘walk past quick brush’ ?:!:!&:8483 F A V E <33333 and the transition transmission transfusion from ‘... gray old tea cuz itll never be ᵍˡᵉᵃᵃᵃᵃᵐⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʷⁱⁿᵏˡⁱⁿᵍᵍᵍᵍ’ MADAME

1. champagne problems: are we surprised? ARE WE REALLY SURPRISED? when listening to new albums i normally listen to it at one go in order. i stick to that rule. HOWEVER after many years of my solid album listening self made rule tm i finally broke and immediately replayed this mf song after listening to it once. ‘you had a speech, youre speechless/ love slipped beyond your reaches’???? stfu???? VILE. PUNISHABLE. DEROGATORY. and welp the entire bridge ...... .... ........... what can i say. And the parallels to miss all too well??? WHAT WAS THE REASON???? your SISTER splashed out on the bottle- left my scarf there at your SISTER’s house 😐 she’ll patch up your tapestry that i SHRED- maybe this thing was a masterpiece till you TORE it all up 😐 your MOM’s ring in your pocket- your MOTHER’s telling stories bout you on the tee ball team 😐 November flush and your FLANNEL cure- PLAID shirt days and nights when you made me your own 😐 wHAT A SHAME SHE IS FUCKED IN THE HEAD IS2G........... and also why would she not rhyme POCKET with LOCKET?????? why with wallet???????????? slant rhyme why????????????? AND THE NOTE THIS MF SONG ENDS ON..... FUCKED IN THE HEAD

THATS IT. i really sat here and did this for the past 2 hours huh...... hhdjsms anyways LONG STORY SHORT: I HATE ONE INSANE WOMAN AND HER NAME IS TAYLOR ALISON SWIFT. GODSPEEED 🏃‍♀️

#obviously i have not listened to the two delux songs yet so yeah <3 #im sorry about this i have neither proofread this nor do i think this makes any sense </3 #also i just realized i swore alot in this.... its that kind of a year huh ;D #anyways tysm anon for your eagerness for MY rant on evermore <3 truly honored #have a great day ilyy #answered 🗣#evermore era

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 5 years

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Iruma-kun 8 - 9 | BnHA 68 - 71 | NGL 8 - 9 | ID: Invaded Sneak Preview (i.e. eps 1 - 2)

Tw: suicide for ID: Invaded, by the way (it’s only briefly in the commentary, but it’s in ep 2). Plus, ID: Invaded gets its hashtag well before its debut.

Iruma-kun 8

“Lady Redhair”? I think Amelie’s hair is orange, but you do you, Clara.

I paused at the wrong time and saw Asmodeus had bug eyes behind his glasses.

Is that the vending machine Clara attacked her bullies with…?

I wonder what rank Amelie is…

Diabolical + botany = diabotany.

Come to think of it, the Azz-Azz/Iruma relationship is similar to the Gokudera/Tsuna relationship…

So as it turns out, Clara gets her juvenile tendencies from taking care of her younger siblings. Hmm…

Aw, it’s kinda disheartening to see Clara so down. It looks a lot like Zenitsu when he doesn’t see his own abilities, or something of the sort (which I always fall hook, lin and sinker for).

I wonder what Amelie’s seduction percentage is…?

Oh, you can see Succubus-sensei in the ED…hmm.

Update: where is Clara’s dad…? *gulps if he’s passed away*

Iruma-kun 9

Azz-kun is such a proud parent…even though he’s the same age as Iruma, LOL.

Lack of ambition? Clara just proved this wrong last episode and Sabro has his own ambitions…but then again, Azz-kun wasn’t privy to such knowledge.

“Fear 1” is a pun on ikkai (first floor). (At least, that’s what I can assume from context.)

There doesn’t actually seem to be a pun when Azz mentions Execution Cannonball (shokei gyokuhou)…which, I think, is weirder than having a pun in the first place. (The later joke is that Clara says gyouki instead of gyokuhou, which is pretty far off for part of it but completely spot on for the other , so the subbers put in a phrase that matched that kind of pattern in the English as well.)

Rumour has it there’s going to be an Iruma-kun dub. I wonder how they’ll make all the puns work…?

It’s-wahahaha! It’s just dodgeball!

Huh? A high-ranking demon? Sullivan? Opera?????

LOL, you can still see the tree sprouting from one of the rooms.

The Demonitor is handing Opera the dodgeballs, LOL!

I like Opera’s nails…they’re a nice shade of purple…

Ponytail Iruma…looks a bit strange, but I’ll get used to it. I like ponytails, y’know.

Even Azz-kun’s hands are big in comparison to Iruma…

That preview was far too abrupt!

BnHA 68

The giant moving crab is actually a thing. I went and saw it one time in Ginza and again on Dotonbori, Osaka. The crab is associated with Kani Doraku, a crab restaurant.

“Amajiki” literally means something like “eats the sky”. A good name for my good boi.

The subbers didn’t even finish the word “defence”! Eesh!

Amajiki likes butterflies…? I wonder, if he ate butter, could he be a butterfly too…?

Running All Might, I see…(it’s a parody of the Glico Running Man in Osaka.)

Basically, this is what Vigilantes was for! Woot!

I love how Kaminari charges people’s phones. That’s the sort of dumb thing heroes do with their powers, since you gotta remember they’re just young dumb boys at heart as well.

The problem with a hardening power is that it sounds lewd out of context…

I wonder what Fat Gum’s first job was…?

There’s a post-credits segment…keep watching.

BnHA 69

Centipeder has such a cute voice, albeit a distorted one.

Kirishima is voiced by Masuda, so it’s fun to hear him get such a prominent role again (after Charanko in OPM s2, Touken Ranbu and Boueibu, among other roles).

“Likes: All Might” – LOL, we knew that already though.

Nighteye is Seiya Ryuuguuin: Hero Version.

There’s a post-credits segment. Keep watching.

The manga calls the magical girl series “Preyure”, so it’s weird to suddenly have the dub refer to its dub name, “Glitter Force”.

BnHA 70

Midoriya doesn’t have any bedhead…because his hair’s already messy! LOL.

“…what’s important is what you do afterwards.”

“Maybe we can catch the League…and the Hassaikai all at once!” – Yeah…that’s not going to happen Kirishima, considering the series is still going.

Come to think of it, Eraser’s goggles are the only part of his outfit that don’t really match…no wonder the idea comes from somone else (maybe saying that is a spoiler for those only following the main series and not Vigilantes, though…?).

Swordfish will become important later on…you know Tamaki’s Quirk, so you’ll see when it’s important soon.

Another post-credits segment…keep watching.

BnHA 71

One of the reasons I like Amajiki is because of his intro. Now you can see why!

Hassaikai = Hassai Group, so calling the opponents the “Shie Hassaikai” and “Hassai Group” in the same translaton is inconsistent.

“…playing into their hands.” – You can’t say that when you don’t have hands, Tamaki…

No Guns Life 8

Well, there ain’t no metaphor like the blatant one – man is the deadliest weapon to himself…or something of the sort.

Geesh! I wanna dub for this!

Well…couldn’t Olivier light the cig and stick it in Juzo’s mouth…? Or is that not “sexy enough” for the target audience?

No Guns Life 9

I’ve noticed only the women have lip flaps now…LOL. (But maybe I’m stating the obvious because my head’s a bit fuzzy from lack of sleep…)

“Medico” appears to be the Spanish word for “doctor” (as you might be able to guess). Then again, what Spanish colonies are there in the world…? Spain, sure, and South America…*googles* Basically all of South America, dangit.

Context says “madre” = mother.

Context also says “mentira” = lie, or “you’re lying!”.

Geesh, that cup size joke was such a non-sequitur that I didn’t even find it funny…

Geesh! This Colt dude is basically Sabro (from Iruma-kun)! Update: He also looks like he came straight outta JJBA.

ID: Invaded 1 – 2 (SNEAK PREVIEW!)

I thought I wouldn’t be able to access the preview, but by accessing Funimation’s videos…I can watch it!

Ohmygloooooooob, this “I’m in pieces, but I’m connected” concept is so cool! (But also hella freaky, which is exactly my style!...You do know that I’m a bit of a freak for body horror, right?)

You…probably shouldn’t be yelling at the person if they appear to be dead(!)

This would make an awesome escape game, no…?

I never knew the future looked so similar to the present.

Ooh, this gets more and more interesting! There are people watching this murder mystery.

Whose ID Well is this…? If it’s Sakaido’s, then maybe he can find out more about himself through the celebs.

The code appears to be from the Windows operting system, since C: is the default hard drive. So I’d say it might be Windows Visual Basic, actually, or C (the programming language).

Hmm…maybe that’s when the episode ws being produced.

Okay, so how I’m understanding this is that Sakaido is in the world of the murderer (of Kaeru’s) mind and he has to find her murderer to get out.

Ooh, so Sakaido is also a murderer…and as it turns out, Sakaido’s perp drills holes in the heads of their victims…scary. What I was really here to say was that this reminds me of a movie called Minority Report.

I think one of the victims had part of his head missing in the ID Well, so maybe Sakaido’s missing an elbow in real life…?

The joke is that the word for “well” in Japanese is i (井) or ido (井戸) and then ID, of course, is ID and likewise id is id (but it’s ido in Japanese). Googling ID: Invaded reveals Sakaido is written with this same kanji, plus two others (酒井戸), meaning his name is part of the wordplay too.

It’s like Minecraft, except you make the world with your entire body…LOL.

Maybe that’s (takoya) short for “takoyaki”…? Just a guess. Update: I’m right.

The licence plates say “Shinagawa”. This show takes place in Shinagawa (or the car I read the plate of was obtained in Shinagawa)!

Huh? How did Hondomachi get into the well? Do they have a drive to kill as well????

These quotes have gotta mean something, so here’s the first one: “Is it ridiculous to believe that I have been given a certain role to play for this present world?”

What’s up with the numbers in the room Matsuoka is in…? (Apparently a terrible day volunteering is enough to put me on edge and subsequently make me a master detective, it seems.)

I went back to my old Honeyfeed stories recently and I rediscovered a character that I wrote about a few years ago – Yuki, after the matching character I axed from my original plot of Half-Paid Heroes (because the story I’m referring to is the Honeyfeed version of HPH) – who was partially close-shaven like Fukuda. I gave Yuki such a character design just to set up intrigue, but I didn’t think I’d ever see a similar design to it, ever. Now, here I am.

Narihisago? What a name! I checked what “hisago” means and apparently it means “gourd”.

Is this Kaeru (the one that committed suicide), perhaps, the one in Hondomachi’s head and that’s not actually the case…?

The CGI’s a bit awkward in this show.

Is “Muku” Sakaido/Narihisago’s daughter…?

I think the old guy – the head of the cop team – uses a Mac, based on his GUI.

New quote: “Wind comes in this hole and out the other, and it makes the world a little bit clearer.” This reveals the quotes are actually from the episode.

This music which acts as the ED is nice. I’m basically sold on this show, y’know.

The original work is by “The Detectives United”. I wonder what that means…?

#simulcast commentary #ID: Invaded #no guns life #boku no hero academia #My Hero Academia #mairimashita! iruma-kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #chesarka watches mi-k #Chesarka watches NGL #Chesarka watches BnHA #Chesarka watches ID: Invaded

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starwarsolo · 6 years

Text

i feel so silly writing this down so it’s basically purely mindless and absolutely incoherent rambling of BanditoParis but it’s more for myself to help jog my memory if there ever comes a time i need it to be jogged

had planned on going to a florist and buy a bouquet of yellow dahlias and have one tied around an armband and/or bring the whole ass bouquet as well but didn’t work out in the end, meh

so idk if tyler does them looking straight at the camera and pointing and doing stuff at every concert during stressed out and heathens but gdi lemmetellya i was NOT prepared shit got me all profuse sweating mode activated

speaking of fairly local the whole ass song!!! but mostly the END?!!?,!?§?!, like the smile the nodding and just the whole moment and his whole face and ‘behaviour�� i was like pleeeaaaase don’t do this omfg im gonna have to actually like you now

the pre-trees speech??? like it was so different from the usual (no slander here i truly get it) like i really liked his sincerity of like not gonna lie it can get hard to remember every show and every crowd

and then following this with but we’ll never forget this show bc you shined during the quiet game and honestly even though i don’t believe he will ‘never forget’ (again no slander against him here it’d just be natural for anybody bc life and all) in this moment i believed in the honesty of his words

also at some point he went like ….hey…. and i really thought he was about to say something but went on and ‘introduced’ josh or maybe he just temporarily forgot what he was meaning to say hehe ALSO that Star Wars prequel trilogy-worthy zoom out on the sound-and-light crew guy hashtag truly magical^^

i was like below the middle of the bridge (more or less) on the right side when facing the stage and during his comings and goings he literally passed me by and i was like *Khaled voice* comme si je n’existais pas elle est passé à côté de moi

also i felt like he took aaaages to climb on that bridge i saw him kneel down and all and i was like come oooonnnnnn man bring your ass over here so i can get physically the closest to you i could ever be

(saw a close-up of that moment in video and mannnnn that was……)

lost my shit at that first ‘paris’ with the right pronounciation BUT MOSTLY at his one-two-threes with THAt cute ass accent

i mean yeah josh made a whole ass sentence but tyler can count to three we stan a legend

had the new haircut and i didn’t even notice?????!!!

his smiiiiile i saw so much of that and im literally so freakin happy

when the trees confetti fell i Bathed TM in that shit lemmetellya

there were so many times during the show where i was just like…. standing there completely still smiling like a fkcing idiot while all hell was breaking loose around me bc i COULD NOT believe i was actually there and all that was actually happening

to be completely honest i think maaayyybe i might have slightly fallen a little teeny tiny bit in love with tyler mr joseph

no yeah i was completely in love with him yesterday

and like it’s so fucking surreal to think that i was dreaming about winning the quiet game and wE DID

dreaming not only josh but TYLER would say at least ONE word in FR and hE DID

fearing that the crowd might not understand whenever the boys would speak bc we’re so notoriously bad at ENG and that it would kinda sink the atmosphere down maybe but we got nONE OF THAT

and ofc and iknow im repeating myself here but like dreaming i’d get in and I DID!! like honestly all the gigs i been to i literally never got asked for ID but like i’d always had my name on the ticket so i was like i know they never check ID but what if this time they do uwu

but the main maaiiinn fear was the non-validity of the ticket like that’s where i really thought i was gonna get fucked over but anyway it’s all past now i just will NEVER do it this way again (like i never shoulda did to begin with but you know….experience)

but like gdi it’s been Worth It worth the whole ass trouble and worries and now im just.so.tired.

and that first sec guard tyler so desperately tried to get a dance move out of during my blood i came across at the end of the concert and i was like congrats on the dance and he smiled and said thanks ^.^

also THEN the beatles stopped and SAVAGE FREAKING GARDEN started playing and i was like azkhgdjsjf???agjehgfsdhfkjs???!!!!!!!! like whoever’s responsible for the choice to play that song i absolutely fucking LOVE you.

Tyler at the beginning of wdbwotv smiling ‘we’ve been looking forward to this one’ i was like ‘if you only knew’ also during pre-trees speech when he went ‘are you glad you came to the show tonight?’ i was like ‘iF OnLy YOU KNEW;;;;;;;;;’

also i been knew from the start but confirmation that tyler shouting and screaming his lungs out is my sexuality

ohhhh and during hoty when he was in the crowd and just plain ass directly pointed at Whoever’s Lucky Ass right under him like bITCh??!!! we LIKE.

oh and during my blood at one of the you don’t need to runs he did that nah move while shaking his head and it was SO sassy like biiiiiitch damn!

and ofc the hugging of the bass fren during ‘our’ lines during cut my lip cUt MY LIP PERIOD, also so many tapping hand/fist on heart/chest moments like bitch same.s a m e.

the lights too like? gorge, especially the lights of b stage like i couldn’t see properly by then so i focused on them and wow truly beautiful and just perfect for the mood of these particular songs

and idk man the whole show was fucking splendid and i still can’t believe like i could hardly believe then but it’s even harder now with reality slapping back from the moment i got in it all felt like a dream and i don’t think i’ve ever experienced that kind of thing in alllll my years of attending shows

like luck was indeed on my side that day and im so fucking grateful and so happy and stunned and in that kind of ethereal daze it’s really hard to describe it all felt so surreal but very real at the same time and words truly aren’t enough i wish i could convey my actual feelings and okay i need to stop The Rambling now but really like im so thankful for the existence of this band and obviously this particular show

lol and now i bet we’ll be beat as soon as the next show but idec all that matters is that until the next one we’re all wearing the crown and that’s that on that

and i feel bad talking only about tyler but like josh is the cutest and he needs more love from my crusty ass self im so ashamed but i truly adore him he’s a ‘cking treasure

side note but The Regrettes are Hot TM and that ‘Fuckboy’ song…mmmmmhhh tas.ty. alsoLydiasvoiceissodeepitreachedallthewaydowntomyvaJJ

also i probably forgot about stuff that i’d add to this bc there was so much and every single moment was so precious they’re all worth mentioning and okay noW IM STOPping bye

#txt #twenty one pilots #bandito paris #urrrrgh why am i so cringey im so sorry;;

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shiningstarsandbrightmoons · 6 years

Text

(Ace)ceptence

The messages had begun to take a more sexual note again.

Megan closed the app and tossed her phone onto the bedside table, laying her forearm over her eyes and trying not to scream into the void. She didn’t want to wake her family. But the constant messages were getting on her nerves. Just one time she wished someone who understood and respected her and her sexuality would come along, give her the love and attention she craved without constantly thinking about sex.

She sat up as her phone screen lit up, but she ignored it, reaching over and flicking her lamp on. The cover of her newest read caught her attention and she debated whether or not to keep reading. Ultimately the call of thirst pulled her out of bed and downstairs, to the kitchen, where her bottle of water sat on the bench. She guzzled just over half of it, refilled it, put it in the fridge, and returned to her room. Her cat meowed at her from his little nest on her other set of pillows, having been disturbed, no doubt. She scratched his head then laid back down, staring up at the roof and imagining a day where she could be free of the apparent obsession with sex her generation appeared to possess.

Her phone screen lit up as her alarm began to sound. She looked over and groaned, sitting up once more and tapping the button to turn it off. She was displeased with having to actually get up and start the day, but she’d been awake since 3am, and her early mornings were an excellent alternative to living with her father.

She changed into a simple outfit. Her only decent bra, a pair of clean underwear, plain ankle socks, skinny jeans, the shirt she’d slept in, and an oversized hoodie she’d picked up from a recent show she’d gone to see. More effort than that would have required more concentration than she could muster. The only addition to her outfit was a plain wristwatch – silver with a thin black band – she’d been given by her younger brother for her nineteenth birthday.

After a quick breakfast – leftover fruit salad with some yoghurt – she headed outside and got into her car. The sun was only just beginning to rise, and so was a dark feeling in her gut, but she quashed it. She simply lamented over the dark morning as she dumped her backpack in her passenger seat and set up her music. But as she went to hit play a text interrupted her, and almost on instinct she opened the app to reply. The confronting image almost made her toss her phone out the window.

But she was never that drastic, so she simply curled her lip, deleted the message, closed the app and started her commute to school.

“Hey~!” Lily chimed as she bounced over to Megan’s car, just as she pulled up. Megan looked up as her best friend approached and mentally prepared herself for the story that was to come. The hickey on Lily’s neck – not even 24 hours old – gave indication as to what Lily had been up to.

“Morning.” She stepped out of the car, pulling her bag out after you. “Have fun last night?”

Lily’s hand went straight to the hickey and she gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Uhh… yeah!”

Megan wanted to go crawl in a hole and curl up, but Lily was her best friend. So she let her tell the story of her recent sexcapade; it just reconfirmed her early morning thoughts. She shook her head as she listened, timing these actions with one of Lily’s many shameful fails. To Megan, these stories were disgusting and she would have been able to go her whole life without hearing them.

“Sooo… how’s Tinder going for you?!”

Lily’s abrupt change in topic startled Megan. She stumbled over her words before managing, “Eh.”

“Oh come on!” She grabbed Megan’s phone right out of her hands. “Let’s see…”

Megan snatched it. “Don’t pry!” she snapped. Lily recoiled, eyes wide, before she mumbled something and wandered over to some of their classmates, waiting for the teacher to arrive and unlock the classroom. That feeling in the pit of Megan’s stomach returned. She followed. “Lil—”

“It’s fine.”

Megan paled. Not because of her friend but because of the stares of her classmates. Her rational mind knew they were confused stares, but her heart began to race, and she paled and backed away. Deciding to call it a day then and there, she left and headed back to her car. She would talk to Lily later in the day.

Her phone kept pinging but she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up and check the messages. In the background Doctor Who was playing but she had her back turned to her television, instead staring mindlessly at the wall. Her thoughts raced around in her head.

The pinging stopped, and for a few minutes, there was silence save for her cat’s soft purring. But then the ringing began. She had to answer, what if it was work? She blindly fumbled behind her and scooped up her phone, not even bothering to check the caller ID before hitting ‘accept call’ and putting it to her ear. “Megan speaking.”

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeg!” Lily’s voice bordered on frantic. “Good god, woman, you’ve been worrying me sick! Why haven’t you been answering?! Why did you go home?!”

“I felt sick,” was her simple reply.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I upset you. Just decided to tell you later.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, then, “Are you home?”

“Where else would I be?”

The line went dead and Megan blinked before tossing her phone onto her other pair of pillows, not particularly interested in the twenty odd Tinder messages she had awaiting her. When she eventually picked up the device again, she noted that most of the messages were images. Several were penises, but there were a couple of vaginas in there too. Regardless, vomit rose higher and higher in her throat as she deleted message after message.

As she deleted the final message her bedroom door exploded open and Lily threw herself onto the bed. “Meeeeeg~!”

“Hello,” she managed to laugh, despite an abrupt spike of anxiety. “How was class?”

“Eh, booooooring,” she dismissed. “We were just doing workshopping today. Poor Brandon got hashtag roasted~!”

Lily continued to babble on, stopping only when Megan’s phone lit up with a message from yet another Tinder match. Megan sighed and opened the message, only to be confronted by the biggest schlong she’d ever seen. She could not hide her repulsion, and Lily blinked.

“Meg, you okay?”

“I… I’m fine.” She deleted the message. “Just going to delete Tinder, to be honest.”

“Why…? You okay?”

She rubbed her face. “I just… I hate it. This… This stupid obsession everyone seems to have with sex and sexuality and I just…” She gripped her hair and tugged. “What the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“Hm… maybe there isn’t!” Lily’s eyes glittered. “Here!” She grabbed Megan’s Macbook and opened it, typing away quickly before thrusting the computer into her lap. “This might be you!”

She checked the screen, and her eyes widened.

An asexual person (“ace”, for short) is simply someone who does not experience sexual attraction. That’s all there is to it. Aces can be any sex or gender or age or ethnic background or body type, can be rich or poor, can wear any clothing style, and can be any religion or political affiliation.

In short: There is no asexual "type".

She kept reading, and the more she learned… the more she felt at peace. That’s me, she whispered to herself. She glanced up at Lily, who was smiling broadly, and tears welled in her eyes as she managed, “I… I’m asexual! I’m… I’m not broken…!”

“No, you’re not…!” Lily took the Macbook and set it aside. “Oh, Meg… you should have told me earlier…”

“I couldn’t.” Because you don’t need to be burdened by my shit. “I didn’t know what I was feeling…”

Lily hugged her. “Well, now you know. Now hopefully you can feel a bit better. And… I guess me setting up a Tinder account for you was a stupid thing to do, hey?”

“Just a bit, yeah,” Megan laughed, picking up her phone and deleting the app as if to say, ‘Goodbye, fuckboys!’ And the rest of the night was spent by the two laughing, watching horror films and cat videos.

To be asexual is to be on the fringes of sexuality. But like bisexuality and pansexuality, heterosexuality and homosexuality, asexuality is real. It may be unaccepted in many circles, and it may be deemed a falsehood by many more, but it is real. Those who are asexual are not broken, they do not need a good fucking to fix them. They are asexual, they experience no sexual attraction, and that does not limit their capacity for love, for romantic capability. Sexuality is just one piece of the puzzle.

Asexuality is normal for the one percent of people believed to be asexual. And it should be normal for every part of the LGBTQ+ community. To all my asexual followers, I see you, and I love you. You are not broken. You are normal, you are whole, you are perfect.

#asexuality #writers of tumblr #sai writes #short story #ace #sexuality #word barf #lgbtq #i wrote this story as something personal to me #and i would like to share it with the world #lgbtqia #ace pride #asexual pride

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rebels-advocate-blog · 7 years

Text

fbi: don’t move

hOwDy hO, hErE wE gO

Ivan is a completely ordinary, totally unassuming, simple meme-loving guy, and Alfred is the FBI agent who secretly lives in his camera. Governments and grudges are thrown aside as chance encounters in Washington D.C. bring them closer and closer together.

read it with your own eyes on fanfiction.net!

read it with your own eyes on archive of our own!

or, just scroll down a bit and read the first chapter right here! (with stolen eyes)

fbi: don’t move

Ivan laughed, which was to say he snorted very, very lightly. Even snorting was an overstatement; a silent wisp of breath escaped him as he swiped away at his screen, liking the photo and commenting: LOLOKOLKOLOLOL1!1! He switched gears to search up the hashtag under the meme, something he almost never did, and found a semi-sorted collection of posts following the same theme. He wasted no time screenshotting a few of his favorites to pirate for himself later.

Soon. Soon he would break 999K followers. And then, and then. Then he would have a million followers. A million was a lot, depending on who you asked. Beyoncé only had fifteen million—at least on Twitter. (On Instagram she had eleven hundred million.) He wanted to rule the Internet.

Ivan turned his phone off and threw it across the bed, forcing himself to get up and move if he wanted to retrieve it. Stretching languidly, he rolled out of the warmth of the covers and faced the day.

He dressed in comfortable, durable clothes; Ivan had recently secured a position as a horticulturist for the Smithsonian Gardens along the National Mall, which was a fancy way of saying he cut grass and trimmed hedges all day, except it was really nice grass and they were really nice hedges. Obviously, wearing his favorite scarf was less than ideal for the sweaty work, but Ivan would never and could never take it off. He slipped into his boots and thrust a spare pair of gloves into his pocket. Sadly, he couldn't use his phone on the job, but he could use headphones. He began to hum to himself, imagining the songs he would listen to on his first shift.

Before shoving his phone into his bag, Ivan took a glance at the blank screen. A strange feeling overcame him as his eyes drifted upwards, making contact with the minuscule blue dots of light inside his camera lens. He held its gaze for a brief, piqued interest that lasted about two seconds, then giggled. "Goodbye, Mr. FBI," he sang to himself.

It was silly. He dropped the phone into his bag and left his apartment with haste.

Alfred grabbed street food on the way to work, washing it down with a hefty Starbucks to go. Whipping the shades off from overtop his regular glasses, he strode into headquarters. Immediately, he had to give up his meal so it could be scanned for toxins while he himself was stripped and searched. Elizabeta Héderváry, chief of the gray division, took an eternity to scrutinize Alfred's badge. Alfred tapped his toes and fidgeted to himself. Predictably, Ivan would be online in seven minutes. "Alright, Jones." She handed back Alfred's ID. "You're clear. But don't let me catch you in here again, or it's straight to the slammer." She drew a line across her throat.

Alfred gratefully collected his food and his badge. "Wait, what the? Dude, I work here!"

She stared him down.

Alfred, without hesitation, steadied himself and stared back.

After a few seconds of silence, Chief Héderváry burst into hearty laughter. "I'm only testing you, kid! I guess it's very Gilbert of me. But gosh, you would have thought I had just admitted to you that the tooth fairy isn't real, or that Santa is Illuminati propaganda, or that JFK is still alive up on a secret moon base in space...oops." She covered her mouth. "I've said too much."

Alfred blinked slowly. "Okay. I'll just...get to work then, um, before you zap me and wipe my memory."

The agent nodded. "Better bolt. Gotta keep you on your feet." She then began drawing her stun gun, but Alfred had already disappeared down the hall. He frantically dove into an arriving elevator and jammed a finger down on the button to close the doors as the clunky boots of the Héderváry's footsteps came closer. Alfred hugged his food to his chest and pressed into the corner of the tiny metal box. He had had his memory wiped before, he was certain, and had even had to do it to others once or twice—it was a ghastly, abominable experience. The chief's image appeared between the elevator's two closing doors and Alfred screamed, but when the shot was fired the elevator had already begun its descent.

Alfred shivered, cradling himself. He was safe for now. He dug into his food and snuck out a bite of greasy fry. It would be two hundred more dings of the elevator before he arrived at the secret underground black zone where all the FBI agents monitored their respecting, (un)suspecting citizens.

Alfred had finished half of his coffee before he made it to the negative two hundredth floor. It was pretty swampy down there, due to the thick consistency of cubicles, the heat coming off of so much compressed technology, and also due to the government having concealed the fact that, yes, Washington D.C. had really been built atop a swamp. He had his semi-greasy fingerprints scanned a second time and then navigated the maze toward his cubicle. He only had two minutes at best before Ivan came home.

Ivan was Alfred's monitor man, Alfred's subject of spy. Alfred had Ivan's schedule practically burned into his brain: he woke up at six-thirty, dabbled on his phone for fifteen minutes, then put it in his pocket and didn't use it again until four, when he got off work. Ivan did not have a computer, making Alfred's hacking tasks both easier and harder by reserving everything to Ivan's cell phone. Alfred would transfer Ivan's morning visuals to Alfred's own laptop to monitor in the morning, and Alfred usually came to headquarters to watch Ivan during the rest of his day. Sometimes he took shifts with another agent, but lately Alfred had been finding himself at headquarters more and more. After all, it was important to develop a deep understanding of your subject, even if your subject had no idea you even existed.

Alfred fired up his special, government-issued laptop, opening the monitor. Just in time, too; Ivan's face soon filled the screen. Alfred sighed. It was on.

Alfred knew almost everything about Ivan. His names (Ivan "Vanya" Braginsky), his family (one older sister and one younger sister), and even the songs he sang in the shower (surprisingly a lot of Taylor Swift). Alfred knew Ivan was the head of a semi-famous online meme domain. Alfred knew Ivan watered the sunflowers in his window every day as soon as he came home. Alfred knew Ivan didn't have many friends. Alfred knew Ivan had long, red scars circling around his neck, hidden under that huge off-white scarf he always wore. Alfred knew Ivan liked soft things and had five blankets on his bed. Alfred also knew that Ivan was at the top of the FBI's list of suspected dangerous Russian intelligence agents, and it was Alfred's duty to report any fishy activity. So far, Alfred had observed none.

Other than the fact that Alfred had to be constantly alert in his job, monitoring Ivan was pretty easy. Ivan had a cute face, and often made little childish noises and expressions whenever he saw something that grabbed his attention. Alfred had trained in the Russian language for years and still couldn't capture the melodiousness of Ivan's murmurs to himself. Sometimes Ivan would be scrolling through social media at night and fall asleep on his phone, which was annoying but undeniably adorable. And he was an immigrant; Alfred could damn well appreciate the hard work it must have taken Ivan to leave his homeland and adjust to life here.

However, this morning, Ivan had addressed Alfred personally, saying "Goodbye, Mr. FBI" before he put his phone away, and that had been hella creepy.

Ivan wasn't saying anything now, just staring at the screen, his eyelids half-shut, eyes moving in line formation over whatever he was reading. Alfred took a sip of his Starbucks and tapped into Ivan's phone display, bringing up a rectangle of white with a thick block of Helvetica text. Alfred's eyes scanned it himself, knowing it was another online post, and Alfred had read thousands of Ivan's. They were quality. When he finished laughing, he switched focus back to Ivan's camera visual; the ceiling behind Ivan was moving as Ivan sat down at his kitchen table. Ivan picked at his lip, snorting a little. The sound of his bags hitting the floor echoed to Alfred, and soon Ivan began humming a sweet song.

Alfred kicked back in his ultra-comfort wheely chair and popped in another fry, enjoying the music. He had no reason to feel so comfortable in the artificial presence of a creepy Russian, yet his wariness was drowned out by tribute for the memes. And Ivan's face. Thank god Ivan at least had a nice face that Alfred got to stare at all evening.

There was a knock on the wall of Alfred's cubicle. He spun around too quickly in the wheely chair and had to overcorrect, graciously spilling a couple of fries into his lap. "Whaddya want?"

It was Toris. A fellow FBI monitor, the long-haired Lithuanian stood stiff in the doorway to Alfred's workspace, making more eye contact with Alfred's inspirational NASA star map poster than with Alfred. "Hi. Um, Felicks went to the bathroom, so I was going to be taking break, and if I remember correctly, you told me to 'mosey on over when you get a chance, because I got the goods?'"

"Aw yeah!" Alfred pushed down his laptop screen so it was at a forty-five degree angle. Toris knew who Ivan was, and sometimes covered Alfred's shifts when Alfred stayed up too late playing video games or reading Marvel fanfiction, but Alfred still didn't want to be interrupted on the job. After all, both Ivan's screen and his camera were blank and black; he must have gone to take his daily shower. "Right here, man. Check it out. They were handin' them out all down the Mall, and I managed to snag a few extras!"

Toris took the item in his hand and inspected it cautiously. "This is a…a SAVE THE WHALES sticker?"

"No, a SAVE THE WHALES magnet!" Alfred corrected, spinning it over. "I thought you might want one, since your space is so plain and boring and all. It'd give you something to look at other than Felicks's fancy skirt collection, or whatever."

The tips of Toris's ears turned red. "They're designer." Yet he didn't refuse the magnet.

Not every FBI monitor happened to be stationed in the vicinity of their subject; Felicks lived halfway across the world from Toris, and was an alleged underground market weapons dealer, with emphasis on alleged. Mostly he just took selfies in the bathtub and embarrassed Toris to no end. Alfred considered himself lucky that Ivan was only half a city away, though they had yet to cross paths in public.

Toris drifted out with the magnet in hand and Alfred was left to finish dinner in peace. He flipped his screen back up and found that Ivan was at the stove, cooking his own meal while watching a Vine compilation. Alfred grinned, keeping up both the front camera and screen views as he dug in so he could laugh along with Ivan. "I smell like beef." A long time passed. They finished eating their dinners at the same time; Alfred imagined the noodle casserole thing Ivan had cooked tasted better than Alfred's weak Starbucks.

Now Ivan had set his phone against the wall to rest while he washed the dishes. He was mumbling peacefully to himself again, but Alfred couldn't tell if he was singing or talking over the sound of swishing water and clinking silverware. After a couple more plates, Ivan's movements slowed, and his gaze slowly climbed back up to the phone screen. The phone camera. "Are you there, Mr. FBI?" he whispered.

Alfred jolted in his seat. It was just like this morning! No warning, no nothing. In English! There was no way Ivan could ever know, of course, that he was being monitored, so the sudden unprompted conversations with a seemingly inanimate object had to stem from Ivan's latest meme obsession. Alfred knew about it.

He was onto them.

"How was your day?" Ivan asked, redirecting his gaze towards the skillet he was scrubbing. "Mine was well. I planted flowers today, and I had a nice conversation with a policeman. Do you talk to police often, Mr. FBI?"

Alfred let his shoulders relax, his mind wandering unintentionally, following Ivan's statements. Coincidentally, his brother Matthew was a DC police officer and friend of the division, but sadly, they didn't have many chances to talk. "What are you doing, man?" Alfred blurted out. "You know this is weird, right?"

Alas, Ivan would never be able to hear Alfred. He had already begun saying something else by the time Alfred was done speaking: "...and work around the people, because it is so fun inside, and there's AC! People are scared to talk to me when I am working outside. But at least I don't have to stand all day." Ivan's voice had gotten quieter, forcing Alfred to pay closer attention. "Do you stand all day when you work, Mr. FBI?"

"Hell no." Alfred kicked the wheels of his chair. "But don't get excited—it's a curse, dude. I would choose a nice garden with fresh air over this stuffy old garage any day."

Ivan was silent and complacent, as if he was really listening, Dora the Explorer-like, and Alfred still couldn't discern if it was endearing or eerie. Ivan's eyelids were halfway shut, a tiny smile gracing his lips. He waited a second more, then nodded. "Is your work boring, Mr. FBI?"

He considered. "Yeah. Not that you're that boring, but…" Alfred let the sentence hang. It wasn't as if it mattered if he finished it, anyway. And the fact was that Ivan was pretty boring. He was the only one ever in his apartment, and went to bed early on Friday nights. On Saturdays he did laundry and cleaned, and every Sunday he napped and called his sisters! "I'm just glad you work so much so I don't have to. Wow, I did not mean for that to sound mean. Um, it's true, though. If you had a computer, things would be differen—"

"Agent Jones?" a recognizable accented voice peeped around the doorway. "Whom are you talking to?"

For the second time that day, Alfred jumped and pushed down his screen, muting Ivan. "No one, good golly, don't scare me like that!"

Chief Arthur Kirkland, Alfred's boss and the head of the black division, didn't appear to notice or care. He stood stiffer than Toris had, clipboard and pencil in hand. "Okay, so, listen. You're mates with Agent Beilschmidt, right? He never checked in with Chief Héderváry and she wanted me to ask—"

Alfred adjusted his glasses, scrunching up his nose. "Which Beilschmidt?"

"The elder." Arthur steeled himself, putting a perplexed finger to his temple. "Apparently, Gilbert's gone MIA."

Alfred crossed his arms. "I haven't seen him since office bowling on Friday. He got his arm stuck in the ball return. Today Héderváry tried to stun me when I checked in! What is up with the gray division?"

Kirkland shook his head to himself, beginning to pace in place. His eyes were as wide as quarters, staring unforgivably at his clipboard as if it held all the answers. "With Carriedo missing already, I'm sure there's foul play to suspect, or even worse—the Mafia. They're on the same team; it's too much of a coincidence. It also means—" He gasped suddenly, raising his crazy blond head in epiphany. Then his voice lowered to a whisper. "It means someone else will be next."

Alfred sat up straighter, suddenly excited. "Whoa, really? Can I help? What case were they working on before they disappeared? Who saw them last? Where—"

"No." Arthur Kirkland was cross. "Not your division. Just let them handle it. Who are you monitoring, again?"

He hesitated. "Ivan. I mean, Braginsky. The...the guy—"

"The Russian spy, right." Arthur stuck his pen behind his ear. "Well. I'll be off, then. Remember to record any—"

"I know, I know." Alfred waved his hand. He felt more and more antsy the longer the Chief was in his space. "Just get on with it. It's fine."

"Right." Arthur frowned and touched his headpiece, half-turned away. "Good day, then. Do your work."

Alfred swiveled back to Ivan, groaning loudly as Arthur departed. Sometimes he felt like he was never taken seriously, but then again, he did sit at a desk and watch a famous memer's life all day. He wasn't sure if such a job should be taken seriously or not.

"I wish I was in a different division," Alfred blurted out. While he had been distracted by Arthur, Ivan had finished washing dishes and was now wiping down his stove and countertops. "I want to do more field agent stuff. My job would be a lot less boring if, instead of hacking all your gadgets and watching you from behind this screen, I could actually go out and spy on you. You know, like, shadow you from around street corners, hiding in the bushes with binoculars, open up the refrigerator door and BAM I'm there!" Alfred slapped his hands on his knees, grinning. "Eat all your food. Make you drop your croissant."

Ivan was still smiling to himself in that charming, unnerving way as he strangled the last drops of water from his rag and hung it over the faucet to dry. "What do you like to do when you're not working, Mr. FBI? Or do you work all the time? I imagine you taking shifts with someone else. Which FBI do I speak to now?"

"Nope, just me. I mean, other black division monitors like Toris sometimes, or Ludwig Beilschmidt if I can convince him, but mostly just me. They all have other guys to watch; y'all suspected criminals are weird. If I wasn't here I would be at NASA." Alfred glanced wistfully at the star chart above his head. "But they wanted me to work on computers, and I wanted to go to space. Diddly darn dang, I love space."

Ivan waited five more seconds before responding. "That's nice."

Alfred nodded fervently. "Damn right it is. Arthur—what a mom—says I waste my talents—"

"I hope you are having an good day, wherever you are," Ivan mused. "I assume you work at FBI headquarters. I walked by that place today. Tomorrow I work in the butterfly garden. It is very close, and my favorite place to work."

"That's rad. I've been there. It's right next to the Museum of Natural—"

"It is next to the Museum of Natural History." Ivan was staring directly at the camera. For the many months Alfred had been Ivan's monitor, he hadn't noticed the purple hue his eyes took on in this dim kitchen glow. "Very beautiful, da? Convenient that most of the Smithsonian buildings are close to each other, all in the same place. I can look at prize artifacts and arrange flowers at the same time."

Alfred was silent. A vision of Ivan with a butterfly perched atop his big nose entered Alfred's mind. He wished Ivan used his phone on the job, wondering what Ivan actually looked like while working. The phone was harder to hack when it was turned completely off; Ivan normally kept it like that during the day while Alfred was away.

"Oh. That reminds me. One moment, Mr. FBI." Ivan walked off out of view.

An idea began to take shape in Alfred's mind, replacing the image of Ivan and the butterfly. Really, allowing Ivan to go that whole slot of time without documentation was a bad strategy, especially if Ivan really was a dangerous Russian intelligence agent. Who knew what he could be up to? And with all the gray division field agents being abducted by the Mafia, apparently, there would be less people to go out and make sure Ivan wasn't, like, putting poison into the plants or something. Alfred could step up and ask. Alfred wanted to see Ivan irl.

And speaking of Ivan, where the heck was he?

Alfred instinctively leaned forward before forgetting it was impossible to see around the kitchen through Ivan's phone. He was positioned so he was staring at Ivan's undecorated refrigerator. He couldn't even hear Ivan, though he remembered Ivan had excused himself.

Ivan never did this. After dishes he would always make himself a lunch for the next day, spend another thirty minutes online, read a little of the book he was slowly working through, check his phone again, and then get ready for bed. Alfred stared frustratedly at the screen, willing it to shift. "Hey, get back over here!" he protested. "You can't just leave me hanging like this!"

From the other room came a thump and a crinkle of plastic that sounded like an empty Doritos bag.

"Ivan!" Alfred huffed. "Don't make me do it!" He brought up a tab of the phone's controls. His finger hovered over the mouse. "Alright, you asked for it. Hear that? I'm doing it, Braginsky!" He pressed a button, making the phone burst into a frantic buzzing.

A few seconds later Ivan reentered the kitchen, his soft boi face appearing innocent and concerned through the screen. Alfred shut the phone's buzzing off, crossing his arms smugly. "Explain yourself."

Ivan, however, didn't say anything. He picked up the phone, opened it, and went straight to his meme account. Alfred felt betrayed when Ivan didn't speak any more, just swiped through his feeds. "So close," he mumbled to himself, having switched back to Russian. Alfred was a bit startled by this, as well; if Ivan knew (or thought he knew) that no one was going to hear and respond to him, why had he been using English when he spoke to "Mr. FBI?" Alfred accepted it was just another of his quirks that made Alfred's job easier. But it signified that their conversation was now over.

"Okay, whatever, it's chill, then." Alfred glanced at the time. He still had a few long hours to go before Ivan clocked in for the night. He had been caught off-guard by the unprompted half-conversation, and now was embarrassed at how he had whined about being ignored. Deep down, Alfred didn't really believe Ivan was a criminal or a spy. Criminals didn't get drunk on vodka home alone and laugh so pleasantly. Spies didn't jump on their beds in excitement whenever it snowed and knit their own oven mitts. Ivan was as ordinary and unassuming and simple as one could be, and immigrant or otherwise he had absolutely no reason to be on the FBI black list.

So Alfred sighed and settled into his cubicle for another evening of memes, same as always. He waited, watched and waited, stole food from Toris and waited, but it turned out that Mr. FBI didn't even get a "Goodnight."

Ivan had no intention of telling his phone goodnight. In fact, he had been reading (and posting) so many FBI memes lately that he left his phone on his bed under the covers in paranoia while he went to the bathroom. But not because it was gross to have someone watching him do his business, which it was. It was because under his sink, squeezed behind the water pipe, was a laptop computer no one knew about but himself and an invisible faction of Russian hackers. Stored on that computer was vital information he had been slowly leeching from the Smithsonian Institute. He didn't know what the circle would do with the info when he sent it, wrapped up with ribbons and bows over a deep web email provider, but he knew if he didn't do his job there would be consequences. He made sure to flush the toilet and run the water on his way out.

Ivan hopped into bed and picked his phone back up, humming as if nothing had happened. He refused to look at the camera lens again, but chided himself. If someone really was watching him, he would know. He distracted himself by checking his meme account once more.

Ivan buried his body under the massive pile of blankets, turning off the lamp and letting his phone screen be the only source of light in the room. He had read that blue light before bed destroyed the eyes, but figured he was already too far gone in that direction to fix anything now. Someone had commented "Congratulations! Heart emoji, fireworks emoji, clapping hands emoji," on his most recent post. Ivan's breaths picked up as he doubled back to check his follower count, gasping when he saw it.

He had broken one million.

I have nothing to say for myself.

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