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#not even any hashtags. she’s not looking for views or followers. this is for him and him alone
duckytree · 1 year
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cassandra cain is blocked on all of lex luthors socials because she will tag him with pictures of sperm, eggs, golf balls, and anything else round and white every day
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genericpuff · 10 months
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ULO user here! I recently went back and found several old comments I'd made on LO while I was a huge fan of it in 2019.. so embarassing looking back lol. You mentioned that you used to send a bunch of "fangirl" messages back in the day- would love to see your old thoughts/opinions back when you loved LO to compare as a fun(if a bit melancholic) journey, if you'd be willing to share a few? Your thoughts/analysis are always amazing, but I'm super curious as to how you felt back before you realized what a shitshow it was
Haha yeah, I was a fangirl in the sense of like... always being on time for new updates, even if I was out doing other things, messaging my real life friend who got me into the comic to talk about it. Back then Saturday was the height of my week, sometimes the cliffhangers would get me so excited I'd spend the entire week thinking about what could happen next. I suppose I do still look forward to Saturdays now, but for much different reasons.
It's a lil' shameful looking back but I did used to be one of those "don't like it don't read it" dickheads LOL I also used to "not see the issue" with the age gap thing, not because I was okay with age gaps, but as someone who tends to write about immortal beings, I followed the same line of thinking that "they're gods, it shouldn't matter", until I realize just how silly it was that if that were the case, the comic wouldn't be constantly calling out the age difference and drawing Persephone to look as young as possible. I had to really sit on LO for a long time before I started seeing the issues with it. Ironically what opened my eyes to it was lurking in the #antiloreolympus hashtag every now and then, I'd be reading the opinions like "these opinions suck! they don't get it! they're just being nitpicky/mean/etc.!" and yet I duped myself by doing just that because it exposed me to other points of view which became more and more relevant as the comic declined in quality. I think it was around the trial arc that I started to notice the holes (one of the big tells for me that maaaybe LO didn't know what it was doing was when Persephone chose Hades to be her lawyer despite him being one of the judges and someone she was romantically involved with, like hello?) and then when the series returned from its mid-season hiatus and skipped right over Persephone's time in the Mortal Realm, that was when I realized the criticisms weren't coming from nowhere and I got off the high horse and started to read their points with more of an open mind.
Of course, I can safely say I wasn't as shitty as some of the stans can be, most of my opinions were just in the weekly discussion threads in the LO sub, but I was still giving my opinions on LO as if it was a Canvas comic, failing to recognize that 1.) just because webcomics are a budding industry doesn't mean they should be exempt from criticism, and 2.) LO isn't anywhere near the same level as Canvas, it's a #1 NYT best selling book with a creator who's won awards, so it absolutely should be subject to criticism and analyzing as LO is representing that same budding industry in a lot of ways.
I'm trying to find stuff from my pre-ULO days but unfortunately nothing from my main profile is loading past the last 9 months LMAO But if I do find any specific examples I'll definitely post them so we can roast past me together (*≧︶≦))( ̄▽ ̄* )ゞI definitely remember back when ULO was created, it came at a perfect time I think LOL
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astranva · 2 years
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i know you said that you’re done with the matilda universe but i can just imagine y/n then going to find the fan projects on tiktok and watch the origins of them. she’d probably cry and show harry. they’d be like cuddled up on the sofa, maybe after the show, and just watching it all come together 🥺 then maybe y/n and harry would gift or surprise the person that started the fan project. i dont know, what do you think?🥹
Matilda!YN would get sent one TikTok video by one of her friends and that would be it for her.
It’s a few hours after the show. Her and Harry are fresh in some comfortable PJs, snuggling one another on bed as she checks the link and her eyes would instantly get tearful the moment it opens.
It’s a fan recording of the moment fans raised their signs before they zoom on the screen, showing Y/N’s shocked face being filmed, the camera shaking as the fan screams along with everyone.
“We love you, Y/N!” could be heard being screamed.
Harry’s eyes are instantly on her phone the moment he hears the screams, his lips stretching to a smile as he snuggles her closer before leaving a soft, soothing kiss on her cheek.
“I still can’t believe they did that,” she’d say, watching the video again.
“You deserve more,” Harry would mummer against her cheek before peppering a few more kisses.
She’d let out a short, soft laugh, relaxing against him. “Do you think I can ever repay them?”
Harry would stay quiet for a moment, thinking it through before talking, “I don’t think they’re waiting for you to do so, baby.”
She’d sigh, “Still. I don’t know,” she shrugs, tapping on her phone to view the entire caption:
“EVERYONE WAS CRYING I WILL NEVER FORGET THIS #ono #harrystyles #ynmatildaproject”
She’d tap on the last hashtag and her heart would almost burst at all the videos that pull in front of her. It’s the one with the long text explaining the project with 5 million views that she taps on, hoping it’s the original video and creator.
“i won’t be there but i trust you all who will to do so if you can because Y/N really deserves that. SHARE!!!! #ono #ynmatildaproject”
“Baby, look,” she’d be so excited, beaming as she shows Harry her phone, “That’s the person who created it all.”
“No fucking way,” he’d smile at her smile as he reads the texts.
“Do you think we can do anything for them?” She’d turn to look at him, and he’d almost melt. The genuine love and want for making someone’s day, maybe even life, on her face makes him fall in love with her again and again.
“Whatever you want,” he’d reply before leaning to leave a gentle kiss on her lips.
“I love you,” she’d smile at him.
“I love you, too,” Harry would reply before he begins playing with her hair.
“We can plan a short Zoom call with them?” She suggests, “What do you think?“
“What if, like, they freak out?”
She’d shrug, “Mission still accomplished I guess.”
“I’m with you. Whatever you want to do,” he’d kiss her shoulder before leaning his head on it as she begins typing on her phone.
Matilda!YN hardly has any TikToks posted, but it’s just one that she posted two years ago to Kiwi, lipsyncing to the song with Harry beside her that had fans following her and earning herself a blue tick.
So when she writes a comment, it doesn’t go unnoticed:
“i will never get over this. do you have an instagram account i can reach you on, please?”
And after the fandom freaks out and the creator does so even more, our Matilda!YN makes that Zoom call happen.
It’s a couple of days after the show and her and Harry are at their London home, Harry getting ready to go out for rehearsals.
The moment the fan gets in the video call, they’re crying, hands clutching their mouth in shock as they shake.
Y/N is emotional, too because she realizes that she’s looking at someone who, to some level, actually left an indescribably huge impact on her and her wellbeing.
“Hi, love,” she’d wave, chuckling a little, “Breathe with me.”
And she’s allowed a recording to happen so the fan could have that moment documented, too.
Harry, shy but beaming, would join his girlfriend and the fan. “Hiiii,” he’d wave.
“I can’t believe you actually reached out,” the fan would gasp out.
“I can’t believe I found you,” Y/N would say with a laugh, “You changed my life!”
The fan would shake their head.
“You have no idea how big of a deal what your project did to me, do you?”
“I didn’t even think all these people would see it,” the fan would say.
“Even if it’s just you,” Y/N would say, “The mere thought of you, like, wanting to make me feel loved like that is just,” she blows out a breath of disbelief before chuckling, “God, I need to stop crying.”
Harry would rub her shoulder, looking at her with so much love.
“I love you both so much,” the fan would say, “You literally saved my life.”
Harry never really knows how to reply to things like that and Matilda!YN for sure doesn’t either so they both smile appreciatively.
“Thank you for all the support,” Harry would say, “It means a lot to the both of us.”
Y/N would nod, “It was a very selfless act of you to initiate. Means the world to me.”
“Thank you so much,” the fan would cry.
“Do you want to take a picture? Let’s take a picture before H and I leave,” she’d suggest, “You can just screeshot it.”
Harry and Y/N would subtly lean their temples against one another, smiling at the screen as the fan smiles in the midst of tears and takes a screenshot before pulling their phone out, “Can I take a picture with my phone, too?”
“Of course, yeah,” Harry would nod, “Sure.”
They’d pose the same, but only Harry would throw a peace sign for that one.
yeah, Matilda!YN definitely would also follow that fan on Instagram and would be commenting hearts on other fans’ TikToks of the moment captured.
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rosyrosie-e · 1 year
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thanks for answering. I am just saying the evidence is weak. It is not feasible to fly private on every flight and there's plenty of reasons why someone with a (formerly) low profile like her would fly commercial with a group of friends. I am sure she took many many flights during that time. Chris flies private because Chris LIKES it. Maybe she doesn't have the same hangups.
As for dropping hands, it could have been sweaty, they could have been in a disagreement, maybe one of them wanted to reach into a pocket for something. I just find the evidence to be so weak, especially when you think about how narrow a view the fandom has.
Also I don't think Chris is worth as much as you say he is. And because they don't clean up their social media channels isn't proof of anything besides the unhealthy relationship his fans have with him and their relationship. It's expensive to pay for that level of social media management and I just genuinely think he doesn't care that much about what other people have to say. I am not excusing her friends for posting racist shit, we all agree that is awful. But when you're building a life with someone it is in fact very normal to throw people together and see how it goes, which inherently means you're around people don't know very well. Racist uncles and shitty friends are the norm not the aberration. I know the fandom doesn't like what's happening but the logic of PR-only is not there. The Fandom is following the same trajectory as many before it and I find it interesting that those patterns across time and fandoms are not scrutinized to the same level as hand drops while walking and photo backgrounds.
The evidence is weak? 🫨
I doubt her or Justin or any of her other friends would NOT LIKE to fly on a private flight.
His hands got sweaty, so he let go of it as soon as the walkway for the pictures to be taken was done? Like not even a second later. He let go of her hand and put his sweaty hand in his pocket?
Why did she alert him, reaching out for his hand when she saw the civilian randomly recording??
I don't think the fandom has a narrow view. The fandom has the interest to see what is going on and notice it doesn't match up. The ones with narrow views are the GP. They don't have the interest to look further than what is being sold to them. They don't know that things don't add up. All they know and see are the things that's published.
So to you, his fans have an unhealthy relationship with him because bad comments are made on their SM, but you don't think it's an unhealthy relationship when the "couple" is deleting bad comments of themselves, but not the other person's?? How in the world does that make sense?
It's Hollywood. They literally pay for followers. He bought a bunch yesterday. Even Twitter, you're able to buy trending spots. AB was trending WORLD WIDE for tweeting a basic message. But somehow, all the hashtags the fans were actually using were nowhere to be seen on any trending list. Not to mention the tweet count not matching up in real time.
"Racist uncles and shitty friends are the norm not the aberration."
I- Yeah, I don't have anything to say to that. That's unacceptable for me. It should not be the norm. If that's the norm for you, that speaks volumes on who you are.
I don't know what this "trajectory" is that you're saying the fandom is following. The hand drop isn't being "scrutinized." And believe me, the fandom - even the normal ones - get scrutinized by the public daily.
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seeasweetsmile · 9 months
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To my miraculous fans followers
I'm sorry but more the serie continues, more I’m turning myself into the dark side (aka the ml salt).
Maybe you saw that I didn’t reblog gifs from episodes since S4 (just a few) like I did for S1-S3 and to be honest, the wait between seasons/episodes and the way I’m slowly detached myself from the show to discover others cartoons or animes didn’t help either.
For S4 and mostly S5, the traitement of the characters, the Ladynoir/Adrinette chaotic relationship, the way Lukanette and Adrigami were killed at the first two episodes of S4, Marinette’s hypocrisy, Gabriel’s madness and his growth grudge towards Marinette, Chloé’s caricatural treatment, Lila being mastermind, no adult has a brain anymore, even if there’s globaly good ideas and so much potential, the fact they were awkwardly or badly executed were a pain to watch.
And you know what is the most painful? I loved that show.
Because is that : I loved that show.
It’s been 7 YEARS (almost 8 years in september if I remember correctly) since the serie debut, and like so many fans, I grew attached to the worldbuilding, the characters, the bond between all of them, the humor or the banters, the lore about the miraculous, the design of the superheros and the supervilains, their powers and how complex/funny/interesting they were... and if you have the inevitable urge to read/write fanfics, look/create the fanarts, or even read analysis/meta post about the episodes, you grow even more attached to the characters and the show!
But when you watch from a objective point of view, you realize there’s so much problems consistency issues (I don’t list them, others fans on tumblr and salty hashtags do it better).
Like I said in a previous reblog, if the writers didn’t want to make episodes just for shocked the viewers (remember when they said each episodes of S4 were equivalent of Chat Blanc??) because all the excessive drama around ladynoir or adrinette, if they didn’t push these things to the extra way, if they didn’t get anyone involved (Alya, classmates, adults) to tell Adrien and Marinette what to think or what to do, it could have been so much better. I firmly believe that friendship is a fondamental piliar to any relation. Adrinette started with a good way (cf origines), but they shaped Marinette into another girl who idolazed Adrien without sincerly knowing him (and when they start to give Marinette some retrospective of her behaviour, what we got? we got Alya to tell her she kNoW AdRiEn instead of listening genuinely her best friend and step back), and Adrien, even though he sincerely liked Marinette and held her in high esteem, he ends up becoming the perfect boy madly in love with her who forgets everything as soon as she is in his field of vision or as soon she breathes. If the others characters had LISTENED to Marinette when she questioned herself and preferred to remain friends with Adrien because she realized she didn’t fully know him, and if the others characters had LISTENED to Adrien when he told them he wasn’t agree with their crazy plans (they didn’t listen and the MCs sighed, abandonned their spine column when the classmates insisted a little bit too much), I repeat myself ; it. could. have. been. so. much. better.
To leave Marinette and Adrien figuring out how to do the things at their own rythm. Instead of a healthy, good and solid friendship that transform into romance, we get a forced ship. Because “ThEy MaDe FoR eAcH oThEr” like everyone said in millions times (I was temped to rewatch since the beggining to counts exactly how much the characters say this stupid sentence but I’m not strong enough). And they say this as if we were dumb and we didn’t know Adrinette was the endgame since day one.
Also, another thing that bug me : since S4 to S5 –and I don’t know if anyone felt that– but I have this distrubing impression that Marinette and Adrien mostly  were just puppets in the theater/playhouse and they didn’t have a soul. Sometimes it push me out of the show when I watch the episodes.
Anyways, if you made it until here, thank you for reading my rant post. Two more episodes to left for S5 that will air early july (I read the script of the finale and boy...) and I still don’t know if I will watch the S6. With Gabe and Chloe out of the picture, Lila stepping as main vilain (still wait for her background) and Emilie being here, maybe they’ll do something correct ? But as I said in a previous post, if I watch the first few episodes and if it irrated me, I’ll stop.
I’m tired to hurting myself.
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astrognossienne · 1 year
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on andrew tate
Sagittarius men are...interesting to say the least. They are also excellent candidates for the cautionary tales that fascinate me so much; more often than not they are disasters of human beings. It is in this spirit that I dive into the chart of Andrew Tate, the "self-help" personality who revels in almost medieval misogyny. Starting out as a kickboxer, Tate had his first dalliance with a public spotlight through the 2016 season of the UK's Big Brother reality show. It lasted six days. Tate was kicked off the show after a video appearing to show Tate beating a woman with a belt, threatening her with violence if she "texts him again." Tate has more recently become famous as an online personality promising to show boys and men how to "escape the matrix" -- shorthand for becoming more wealthy and successful with women. Before being banned from social media platforms for his rather extreme views, he had over 4.5 million Instagram followers, as well as 600,000 subscribers on his "Tate Speech" YouTube account. Videos carrying his hashtag on TikTok have been viewed over 14 billion times. On November 19, Twitter CEO Elon Musk reinstated deleted accounts for the likes of Donald Trump as well as Tate, where he has continued espousing his views...until his views caught up with him in a real way. Let's look at his chart:
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Sometimes or a lot of times Sagittarius men are, strangely enough, like earth sign men in the sense that they feel like if they make a lot of money and/or help a woman financially they can treat women any way they want. Not surprised at his sun sign or placements, especially the Pisces placements, yeah sounds about right. Pisces are so emotional and petty when it comes to everything women. Not shocked by this chart at all. No Cancer in his chart, which is why he's such an uncivilized and unconscionable demon; he suffers from traditional devolved Jupiter energy, which can manifest itself in cult leader-like behaviour or “self righteous” prophets.
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That Mars in Pisces is why he’s bitchmade and uses basic red pill points to mask his own deficiency; he’s overcompensating for his lack of real masculinity. If you search pictures of him before he shaved his head (because he was prematurely balding) you can see how he was never really a masculine or “alpha” type of man. Sun conjunct Moon is why he’s so stubborn when it comes to other people’s opinions; his ego and emotions are in lockstep so he is simple single minded about his views. He's the type that does not understand why it's so hard for others to get their mind and emotions on the same page, even if a wrong one.
Venus conjunct Pluto in Scorpio with his Venus in the 5° (the erotic degree), which means in time, he will be freed from his physical preoccupation with sex, and he will be more able to enjoy all kinds of human contacts. It also means that he attracts people despite him being dumb as fuck. They may be interested in his dramatic sense or his artistic leanings, or they may be fascinated by his fearless involvement in deep and sometimes dangerous alliances. He arouses deep responses in people, even those he contacts casually. His nature stimulates both positive and negative reactions. Although he's a Sag, he’s extremely Scorpio just based off of that conjunction and placement.
Sun conjunct moon in Sag in the 9th—he really thinks highly of himself. Too highly of himself. Like all fire signs do. Under the influence of certain religious, moral and doctrinal teachings, the assumption of certitude can be made, especially as there can be an underlying pattern of desiring to be authoritative, and to assert or impose personal views as being the only correct ones. Ultimately, taking such a stance proves to be restrictive and self-limiting, closing perceptions and options down to only those which are 'allowable', and thus distorting individual understanding and perspective. Taking moralistic attitudes often corresponds with assuming critical and judgemental positions, which only fuels the separation of people within society rather than connecting them more strongly. His BIG ego and BIG emotions are in sync (Sag is Jupiter ruled, remember)—so that explains his larger than life ego. In spite of his seeming self-assurance, he's not too successful in relating to people except at the social level.
As a Sagittarius with a Mercury in Scorpio—he feels like what he says is deep and profound (when it really isn't). Nonetheless, having Mercury in Scorpio forces him into a more singular determined direction. He has the talent of hypnotizing others into something he wants them to do against their total acceptance. He shows how he feels or what he thinks by facial expressions, mannerisms and an enthusiastic sparkle to his eyes, which is shown through his videos.
His chart is mostly Sag, Scorpio & Pisces—that’s one Jupiter ruled sign, one Jupiter/Neptune ruled sign, and one Mars/Pluto ruled. I can definitely see all three because Pluto makes its mark through his thought process and Jupiter is known for expansion (of his fanbase of misogynists). Also Pisces is the sign of delusions; in case it's delusions of grandeur. With that last part being said, he looks really soft and probably was a sensitive man before he was scorned seeing actual real men get the respect from women he wishes he had without force/disrespect.
His need for control/domination over women stems from not only his Scorpio/Pluto dominance, but also his Lilith in Gemini opposite his Sag sun means that women are dangerous; they scare him and threaten his ego, so he needs to get them under his thumb with his tongue/the weapon of mass communication. As a Pisces dominant, he's a beta male, so the fact that he knows he isn’t the type of man to naturally evoke respect/admiration from women so he went so far to the extreme end of manosphere in order to fake it till he makes it. He thinks being red pill means being an alpha, but he’s so wrong, he looks even more bitchmade then before he started to spout this bullshit. Like men with Cancer Mars, some men with Mars in Pisces don’t have a healthy relationship with aggression/sex/relations with the other sex because they’re naturally prone to be sensitive or “weak” but they hate that because they refuse to be under control from women, or are ashamed of the fact they’re so soft/sensitive so they veer to the extreme end to overcompensate or throw other people off the scent of their sensitivity (a typical Scorpio and Pisces trait).
He has a Scorpio Venus, Pluto and Mercury as well as a Pisces Mars which conjunct his Jupiter (from a wider orb but its to be considered nonetheless); so with all that outward-turning water energy, he’s definitely loud and wrong and he’s quite proud about it. Scorpio likes to investigate and get to the bottom of things, and they also hold grudges harder than everyone likes to say Cancers do, so that's also why he’s not letting his grudge towards women go. Saturn especially adds a restricting influence to what it touches. He might be repressed and instead of taking that and internalizing (if Saturn would be retrograde), he externalizes by asking others to also repress someone (namely women).
His chart is mostly a Minor Triangle, which is one trine and two sextiles. Trine planets are energies that are integrated in his personality and easily expressed, and a sextile is dynamic which requires some sort of effort. Him being a professional fighter both physically (Mars dominance) and verbally as well as always seeking opportunities to spread his message represents that. Until his arrest, it was working well for him because these energies were working together easily and positively, although what he is actually saying is upsetting to people.
If he had more lowkey planets he’d be an obscure guru with a big following but his Sag sun and fire dominance, specifically his Sagittarius stellium (3 or more planets in the same sign) adds this focus of speaking out bluntly to anyone that challenges him, even privately, which is entertaining and lights a fire of rebellion in others.
The motherfucker was on a roll until he played himself late last year by coming for Capricorn environmentalist Greta Thunberg.
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She may not have Cancer in her chart either, but despite this, she’s still a human being anyway. At least the only water sign represented, Scorpio, gives her the courage of her convictions and a fierce yet evident humaneness about her as does her earth and air dominance. Uranus dominance means that she is a conduit for change. Saturn dominance, she is very serious about her mission. She cares deeply and is willing to fight fiercely for what she loves (as is evidenced in her Venus and Mars in Scorpio)--her ideals (Aquarius dominance) and she is fixed and focused in her goal (Capriocrn, earth and fixed dominance).
On December 27, 2022, Tate addressed Thunberg in a tweet extolling his carbon-emitting automobiles and asked for her email address to give her more information. The following day, Thunberg (who's also a Capricorn moon and Mercury) replied with the fake email address "[email protected]".
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The exchange received substantial attention on Twitter and became one of the most-liked tweets ever. Almost immediately after this exchange, he filmed a video in which pizza boxes were visible that eagle-eyed viewers noted gave away his place of residence. On December 29, 2022, Tate and his brother, Tristan, were arrested in Romania along with two women; all four are charged with human trafficking and forming an organized crime group.
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These are the transits for his arrest. His sun squared Uranus in Taurus and Neptune in Pisces on December 29, 2022, which is a somewhat disruptive transit, during which people were subject to sudden upsets or to behaviour that is upsetting to others (Tate's extreme viewpoints and unnecessary trolling of Thunberg). The main point is that he could expect the unexpected that day becasue of his actions. Which he did. He was obviously not clear-headed enough to pull off a convincing deception of his greatness (hence the pizza boxes detailing his location in the video). His moon squared Moon and Neptune in Pisces that day, which meant that there were moments of difficulty and irritation. Old points of view, habits picked up in childhood, prejudices — all misled him under this influence. His relations with women were not very smooth at this time. His emotions were discordant, and he was more inclined to get into disagreements with others (Thunberg), which had the greatest effect in his most personal life and domestic situation (his arrest).
Thunberg, ever the succinct earth and air dominated Capricorn, tweeted:
this is what happens when you don’t recycle your pizza boxes
More of an accurate analysis would be had provided there was a birth time for this individual, of course, but yeah. That's all I got.
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catilinas · 2 years
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Hi! I haven't been following you for long and I'm just starting to get into The Aeneid. Could you explain what you and the other anon meant when you said everyone in The Aeneid is a double of Aeneas? Like who and how? If you decide to answer could you link articles about it too if it's possible (because I'm kinda confused lol)?
the aeneid is (clearly. from its name) a poem about aeneas, so it would be surprising to me if there was any character who didn’t reflect some aspect of aeneas at least a little bit. it is hyperbolic though to say Every Character Is A Double Of Aeneas etc. or is it. eye emoji. there are definitely some characters who are More Blatantly doing doubling things like this Has Been Observed.
most noticeable is (as the other anon was talking about!) turnus. plotwise aeneas and turnus are doubles in that they are both rivals for lavinia. imo the aeneas-turnus doubling starts as soon as the sibyl’s prophecy in book 6 that in italy aeneas will ‘find a simois, a xanthus, and greek camps. in latium you’ll find a new achilles, he too a goddess’ son’ (aeneid 6.88-90 trans. bartsch) LIKE this is saying turnus will be achilles 2.0 But Also aeneas is invading italy! where the sybil says this new trojan landscape is! by taking the role of invader of a trojan landscape aeneas is also framed as a new achilles, and turnus takes the role of trojan defender i.e. what aeneas once Was! and the idea that turnus embodies an earlier (and trojan = not roman yet = defeatable) aeneas is then like. really obvious. e.g. juno tricking turnus into fleeing the battlefield to safety in book 10 as aphrodite saving aeneas from battle in the iliad. there is also the Very Famous parallel in the moment of turnus’ death where ‘ast illi solvuntur frigore membra’ ‘turnus’ knees buckled with chill’ (aeneid 12.951 trans. bartsch) repeats the line that introduced aeneas in book 1 ‘aeneae solvuntur frigore membra’ ‘aeneas’ knees buckled with chill’ (aeneid 1.92 trans. bartsch). what the fuck is going on there. like yes turnus is a weaker (and doomed) aeneas as he dies but also aeneas kills him while succumbing to furor i.e. the force/emotion consistently associated with turnus… like ok you could read it as aeneas overcoming the role of conquered trojan and becoming a hashtag victorious proto-roman via getting someone else to fill his previous role (ritual substitution on main) BUT aeneas killing turnus still ends up looking weirdly like self-sacrifice. and then the academics scream about The Ending Of The Aeneid for One Million Years.
also cool and sexy is that dido is doubled w aeneas!!! this one is kinda an obvious parallel like they are both rulers in exile. they both have dead spouses. they both want to found cities. and alas those cities are destined to be Sworn Foes :( my favourite detail of the aeneas-dido doubling though is vergil being cool and sexy w the verb ‘errare’ (to wander / to Err). the chapter on dido in j.d. reed’s virgil’s gaze (which btw i extremely recommend) says many very cool things about vergil’s Constant use of this verb for dido, including:
‘Dido’s welcoming speech ends with an even subtler and more emotional identification. Her last word—errat, “wanders”—naturally adheres to Aeneas; in his own words, for example, at 1.333. But erro is also her word, connected to her by an etymological pun: the third-century Sicilian historian Timaeus had said that the name Dido was applied to her by Libyans because of her wanderings in exile. [...] The last line of her first speech, in view of this wordplay, makes Aeneas a kind of Dido: perhaps, she fears, he wanders a castaway in some wood or city. Her sympathy with the plight of the Trojans can go no further than to cast their leader as an alter ego’. they are doubles to dido at least. 
and then aeneas seems to see them as interchangeable Enough with one another that him helping to build carthage counts as the city he is destined to found! it takes the literal divine intervention of mercury telling aeneas off for placing the High Foundations Of Carthage (which a Reader knows need to instead by the High Walls Of Rome!!! but aeneas doesn’t!!!) to get him to abandon dido/carthage. fun fact until the end of mercury’s speech where he tells aeneas ‘cui regnum Italiae Romanaque tellus / debetur’ ‘[iulus is] owed the rule of italy, and the soil of rome’ (aeneid 4.275-6 trans. bartsch) aeneas has literally never heard of rome.  and it’s mercury’s promise of italy that makes aeneas claim that ‘haec patria est’ (This Is My Land™!!!!!!) (aeneid 4.347) i.e. the verb ‘errare’ / Wandering does Not define aeneas the way it does dido and they have different fates, actually, and maybe even Wandering for Aeneas Who Must Settle In Italy IS To Err and the doubling starts to fall apart! and you’re like. but what exactly Does make aeneas and dido different. is it just fate??? bcs that fate was/is contingent on a historical Future Enmity between their cities (the punic wars) and vergil is using the future that has already occurred to say this imaginary past was inevitable, and then using the assumed inevitability of the past to say that specific historical outcome Was Inevitable Also. and that is a circle :/ and history Could have gone differently. hashtag here’s how hannibal barca can still win. like to me this is vergil implying that ‘fate’ (the fated foundation and Imperium Sine Fine™ of rome) only goes as far as the contingent historical events that you can retroactively use to justify it. and eventually you will run out of that and end up at the end of the parade of heroes in the present. and what do you (augustus) do then. (but maybe i have been reading too much lucan like the pharsalia brainrot is Real)
BUT ALSO that is kind of the point of (my beloved) virgil’s gaze by thee j.d. reed…… like that every Doomed Youth in the aeneid Could Have Been aeneas and every nation/people each doomed youth stands for Could Have Become Rome or an equivalent. do the doubles everywhere suggest that the rise of Rome Specifically is not as Fixed In Fate as it could be. maybe yeah. or that the Fated Rise Of Rome doomed every other almost-aeneas. pessimistic readings of the aeneid i love YOU <3
anyway yeah. every character in the aeneid kind of Is aeneas. if they have a dad they are Pius Aeneas (e.g. lausus and pallas. esp. pallas who aeneas even claims to be embodying when he kills turnus!). if venus is there. that’s aeneas (helen). if their humanity is sacrificed to the future augustan golden age that’s Also aeneas (turnus and also. marcellus in the underworld). if they Do Some Conquering In An Inset Narrative that is also also aeneas (hercules vs cacus, augustus on the shield of aeneas). if they found a city (or try to. or their city is the ghost of troy. but then aren’t all cities that.) then that’s also aeneas. honestly the aeneas-andromache parallels at buthrotum in book 3 make me go nuts because helenus is Right There! but vergil is like no. aeneas WILL be doubled with a doomed trojan princess who hashtag Lived Past The End Of Her Myth. wild. you can probably find aeneas anywhere if you look close enough! also wait i forgot about his GHOST. the imago of aeneas in book 10. aeneas is literally doubled in a ghostly image of himSElf while he is Still Alive. i get that this is a thing which is allowed to happen in epic poetry but also aeneas IS really extremely undead, especially after book 6, so. yeah. you see evert character being Also Aeneas and you’re like well if everyone is aeneas what is aeneas like. where’s that one article by adam parry. ‘Aeneas from the start is absorbed in his own destiny, a destiny which does not ultimately relate to him, but to something later, larger, and less personal: the high walls of Rome, stony and grand, the Augustan Empire.’ ‘Aeneas' failure as a hero goes deeper than the formality of his speech. As he makes his way through the first six books, we see him successively divested of every personal quality which makes a man into a hero.’ ough. at this point what is the difference between aeneas and his ghost!!!!!!
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smolwritingchick · 4 months
Text
Forced To Believe Chapter 10- Total Divas Season 1 Episode 4
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Author's Note: Melanie was not in episode 3 just an fyi. So onward to 4. I scrapped an idea for episode 3. One of these days I'll post the episode as a deleted scene that didn't make the cut. 
Chapter Summary: Melanie hangs out with Trinity, Jimmy Uso and Ariane 
Words: 1,000+
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Later on the day Melanie and Nikki are waiting for the new girls to arrive at the restaurant.
Nikki (Melanie and I are waiting for the Newbies to arrive. I still gotta keep my eye out for Eva Marie since she's definitely competition.)
Once Eva Marie and Jojo arrive, Melanie greeted them with a grin
"I am obsessed with Instagram." Eva Marie said, scrolling through her social media.
"I am too." Nikki agreed.
"I don't have one, just have a Twitter." Melanie replied.
"You are obsessed with Twitter." JoJo giggled.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes you are, you tweet so much stuff and have so many hashtags that trend. You're a Twitter Sensation. How many followers do you have?" 
"I haven't checked. I heard me and AJ Lee are neck and neck for 1 million followers. I think she's gonna get it first though because she has a little more than me."
Melanie (I don't care who gets 1 million first. AJ and I support each other through everything. If she gets it first, I'm happy for her. Getting 1 million followers would be really awesome. I'll be patiently waiting for that day to come)
"I'm looking at Brie's Instagram right now." Eva Marie said.
"What are the haters saying?" Nikki asked. Eva gives Nikki her phone. "Wow..." Nikki murmured as she reads a comment that says 'Nikki is SOOO the FAT twin!'
Nikki (Did you have to use that many Os? And how rude? Like, damn...that hurt.)
"Now you know there are so many insecure women in entertainment," Nikki said as Eva Marie agrees.
Melanie (I don't think Nicole is fat. She just has more meat on her bones, nothing wrong with that.)
"Look, everyone has haters and I wouldn't even bother listening to them. One of the reasons they might hate you is because of how successful you are. They'll sink low and call you any name to bring you down." Melanie told her as Nicole looked grateful for her kind words.
'Next day, LA'
Melanie meets up with Jon Uso and Trinity. 
"What's up guys?" she hugged Trinity.
"What's up, Melanie?" Jon Uso (Trinity's fiancé) asked with a grin.
"Hey dude," Melanie exclaimed and gives him a hug.
Ariane arrived in her car. "Hey boo boo!" she greeted with a grin and has her dog with her. "Why is he here?"
"We need a guys point of view on this." Trinity replied to her about Jon.
"Guy's point of view? Wait, why am I here again?" Melanie asked.
Melanie (I got a call from Ariane to meet her in LA to help her out with something.)
"I'm thinking of getting breast implants. So you guys are coming with me to see a plastic surgeon. " Ariane announced.
"Breast implants?" Melanie asked. "But your boobs look fine."
"That's what I've been telling her." Trinity reiterated.
"Uh huh. You know, I wish I had your boobs." Ariane said, looking at Melanie.
"What?" Melanie asked in confusion.
"Are they real? They're nice looking."
"Of course they're real!" Trinity exclaimed
Trinity (Melanie's breasts are real. The girl has nice B-cup breasts.)
"Is she okay?" Melanie asked, amused at the situation.
"What size are you?" Ariane questioned. "Can I touch them? You know, you look like a B cup. Are you?"
Melanie started to laugh. "I'm done." 
"Melanie, I'm serious! What size are you girl?"
Melanie and Jon sit in the back while Trinity sits in the passenger seat. 
"He ain't gonna pee on me is he?" Jon asked as Ariane gives the dog to him to hold.
"It's a girl." Ariane told him. As they start to drive, the dog starts to feel sick. "What's wrong, noodle? Wait, she has to throw up, she has to throw up."
"Yikes!" Melanie exclaimed.
After the dog throws up, Ariane announced, "She may eat it."
"What!?" Trinity exclaimed
"Dogs like to eat their throw up."
"And I just ate too." Melanie sighed as they all chuckle.
They arrive at the MANUS MD BREAST & BODY place and Trinity, Ariane & Melanie walk into a room.
"I got my implants done 8 years ago." Linda Manus told them.
"What's the recovery time?" Ariane asked.
"Can she take a bodyslam on Monday?" Trinity asked.
"Ooh, that's really pushing it." Linda laughed. "I can show you my implants if you want." Linda pulled down her dress to expose her breasts.
Ariane (Pow! I'm like woo okay girl.)
"I'm just trying to process all this," Trinity said as Melanie nodded.
"Can I feel them since Melanie won't let me feel her breasts?" Ariane asked.
"Dude, my breasts aren't the please touch museum!" Melanie exclaimed as Trinity snickered.
"Oh but you let Dean touch them," Ariane teased
"Ariane!" Melanie shouted, feeling her face heat up.
"What? It's true,"
"I can't believe this chick."
Melanie (For a long time now I haven't confirmed or deny these relationship accusations but I guess the cat is out of the bag. Yeah, I'm dating my best friend.)
Ariane touches Linda's breast. "They feel soft." she pointed out
Trinity leaves the room to get Jon as Linda pulls up her dress. 
"I've been telling the girls that these fake breasts don't look fake and they feel soft and real. I can show you." Linda said and showed her breasts to
him. Jon puts his face in his hands as the girls laugh. "Don't be shy."
"It's okay babe, it's okay," Trinity reassured, amused.
"No, it's not okay." Jon replied with a grin.
"This is a one time. I'm giving you a pass, so enjoy this moment."
"Touch it," Linda gave them permission as Melanie, Trinity and Jon reluctantly touched them.
Melanie laughed. "This is so weird. But it does feel pretty real."
"Yeah, it does feel real," Trinity agreed as Jon went back to the lobby.
Doctor Manus walks in while Linda brings out a basket of breast implants. "Hello, I'm Doctor Manus. This is a 300 CC gel implant." Doctor Manus said, giving the girls the implant so they could feel them.
"And this is silicon," Ariane stated.
"That is silicon. You can take them and try them out at home so you can play and see how they feel." Doctor Manus said as Ariane put the implants in her breasts.
Ariane (I'm gonna take these implants and do a little trial run. That means I'm gonna eat in them, rest in them, I gotta see how these puppies feel.)
"How about you do a little routine just so I can see." Trinity suggested.
"Tuning in for this," Melanie replied, putting her hair in a ponytail, and watching Ariane dance.
Melanie (They are bouncing up and down like crazy!)
Trinity and Melanie laugh when Ariane starts dropping down and the silicon boobs fall out. The Philly diva ends up falling out of her chair from laughing so hard as the girls laugh with her.
"I'm sorry I can't. Phew, that was awesome." She gets up.
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'At poolside'
Melanie has on a two piece swimsuit with white shorts, lounging on a chair at the poolside with Jon and Trinity. 
"Holler bitches!" Ariane greeted, strutting towards them.
"What's going on with you today?" Trinity asked
"Oh, nothing much. Got something to show you girls." Ariane replied and took off her black dress to reveal a blue swimsuit with her silicon breasts in them. Jon responded by putting on his shades.
"You had those on all day?" Trinity asked
"These come everywhere with me."
"This test drive you're doing is going to a whole new level." Melanie pointed out.
"I have to see if this is what I really want," Ariane said.
Ariane (I'm looking a little hot right now with these boobies in.)
"They actually don't look bad." Trinity checked them out.
"Let's test them out in the pool." Melanie suggested and stood up
"I'll do it if you come in," Ariane replied. 
Melanie dives into the pool and so does Trinity.
"This feels nice." The Philly Diva floats around but then gets splashed by Trinity. "What the-"
Trinity laughs and Melanie splashes her back. After splashing each other for a while they turn to Ariane. 
"If you don't come in here in 8 seconds, I'm gonna push you in. You always wanted to do the bay watch move." Trinity told her dance partner and Melanie ends up jumping on her back "Ahh! Help me! Shark! Shark!" 
When Ariane jumps in, Melanie releases her.
"Ahh!" Ariane yelled and held her chest. "What happened to my boobies!?"
Melanie busted out laughing when they saw where they were
"These things do float, look at that." Trinity looked at the floating silicon.
"Look like jellyfish," Melanie added as Trinity poked at the silicon.
Trinity (Huh. Who knew?)
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jess-moloney · 5 months
Note
Why is Jess needing a graphic web designer years later? Either she is reading this blog or the lies are catching up to her. Shouldn't she have hired one years ago. Who is paying for it, Jamie?
With their living arrangement they probably signed a lease together. Although Jamie is the bread winner. Unless she is getting trust fund money, I would think he pays the rent. She can't be getting income from posting pics she had nothing involved with. She seems very anal retentive and a neat freak. Jamie seems more free spirited. They are such opposites. Opposites can attract but in their case it seems more toxic. Their whole relationship is baffling to me.
What's really annoying about that post (if she's genuinely in need of one 4 years after she seems to have become co-founder even though it was founded in 2016, and only started to promote it on her IG account in 2021 and not very much until recently) is that the job is freelance. It's not full-time employed or anything of the sort. If what she needs is a freelance artist for some reason there are tons of other ways to find one. I can't imagine that story is because she's seriously looking for anyone. How many of her 40K followers are even going to pay attention to that?
Considering that only about 9K of them are actually active (according to social audits) she's really guessing there's some pool of graphic designers that want to freelance for a studio that barely anyone has ever heard of? I'm guessing the pay will be as minimal as possible (if this is real and if she ever pays anyone). I can't believe she's not reading this blog because that seems like the most half-assed lame attempt to find a graphic designer that there is. She could have made an actual post and put it in hashtags to get it seen but what graphic designer is going to see that unless they already follow her and also check her stories all the time? Is she really trying to hire someone or is she just trying to show that she runs a business that she doesn't really run?
I can't explain how Jess would afford rent on a place in Malibu, a nice place, as well as pay to continue to lease office space in NYC and London when she doesn't even use those offices, or if she does, she barely does. Rent for office space in both of those cities is through the roof but she's covering that somehow (or someone is doing it for her. Jamie? Her father? Another guy she's fucking on the side?). I can't believe she's getting paid to be with Jamie 24/7 and post about him.
You don't get paid per view or like on Instagram (even if you did she hides likes on the majority of her posts) and she blocks anyone who tries to ask basic legitimate questions. How is she affording any of this? Still, she may have insisted her name be on the lease (paying rent or not) because she's his partner, she lives there, and they are equal or some bullshit. I'm pretty sure her name can still be on a lease even if she's contributing nothing to rent. Which would give her a legal claim to keep living there even if he tried to kick her out.
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playerpurpleusa · 2 years
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THE INSTAGRAM DILEMMA
Creating educational travel and culture content on video-based platforms like TikTok or Youtube can be very rewarding.🌟
It is a hard climb at first, but with enough dedication and work, you can build yourself an active and loyal following. Most consumers won't say "NO" to a short clip, teaching them about a topic, they are interested in. 📹
Watching a single short to medium length video, is not considered to be an activity of high effort by most people. They lean back, relax, listen and just move on in their lifes, right after the clip is over. 🕯️
There will come a time in a personal brand's lifecycle though, where it has to consider becoming a multi-platform social media destination for its consumers. Otherwise, they are not spreading their risks, not diversifying their customer portfolio and not making use of many of their business opportunities. 📊 
Now comes the "END BOSS" of anyone in this niche - Instagram. 😈
Why is this the case, you ask? 🤔
Most educational content is thorough and needs a certain time to be unfolded and explained to viewers. The more complex something gets, the harder it will be to abbreviate its ideas within 1-3 minutes. 😵‍💫
On TikTok, there are some ways to hold up the attention of viewers even past the critical 1 minute mark. On Youtube, your viewers are most likely to be even more attentive and focused than that. 🤩
On Instagram, however, being an image-based platform, most people rely on captions to get their points across. 📜 
One might think, you could easily snap a picture of a place you visited in one of your videos, post it on the "Gram" and add the same educational value in it's bio. Problem is: Most people will definitely not read such a "long" text. It is just a way bigger step, to take your time and read something, than it is to watch a short video. ✨
Sure, the picture above the caption might be beautiful, showing the sunset behind the Hollywood sign, people will like, comment under and share the post, but most of them will not get to witness the actual message behind it. 🙅‍♂️
They move to the next picture in their feeds!
As a brand that is built on education, resolving around many locations of desire and travel, the beauty of a picture is not where you want your consumer's focus. 🦋
Of course, you can also post videos and "Reels" on Instagram. Most of the time, one could seemingly just re-upload content from one's other platforms. Whereas this might give you a decent amount of clicks, tell me - can you actually be considered to be a multi-platform creator or considered to be providing any additional value for your fans? 🎯
From the consumer's perspective - why should one follow any of your other accounts, if he can expect the exact same content on every single one of them? 😯
Now, we arrived at the "Instagram Dilemma".
Either you stay true to your exact content, re-upload videos and bore already existing fans, hindering your multi-platform growth, or you run into the risk of "bastardization" of your message, shifting the focus on entertainment and beauty, rather than education. 🙃
Let's see how similar creators deal with this dilemma:
Let's start with "LebenUSA".
On German Youtube, his videos about his life in the United States are performing extraordinarily well. He often gets views in the six figures range and his videos are leaning heavily into education. 👨‍🏫
His Instagram though, is a hot mess. He chose to not only upload the least educational bits of his Youtube content but also to post memes and completely unrelated videos of him playing pool. His "Highlights" don't make sense and his hashtags are not thoroughly researched. 😕
A better example for converting your TikTok following into an Instagram fanbase, can be seen with Cynthia.nck. 😊
She is a German Influencer, moving to the United States with her smoothie business, going deep into cultural education and how this whole visa process and the journey of hers looked. 👍
On her Instagram, she deals with the "Dilemma", the same way PlayerPurpleUSA will try to handle it.
She reposts some of her best received TikToks as "Reels" while simultaneously posting pictures that accompany and form a symbiosis with her video content. The captions of the pictures also are somewhat educational but that's not their No. 1 goal! There's a perfect balance between education and the beauty of travel on her account. Lastly, she seems to be handling the hashtag situation way better, but could improve this substantially with some deeper research. ⭐
It goes without saying, that the "Instagram Dilemma" is apparent and cannot be fully eradicated. 🙃
Taking such a "Dilemma" into account, splicing it up, taking the best out of the two options available and mixing it together, seems to be the best approach out there. 🙏🏽
Let me know what you think! 💜
Is there a better way to deal with this type of situation? 💭
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simpforboys · 2 years
Text
enchanted
she/her pronouns
summary: y/n and vinnie had liked each other for months until a new girl comes along.
warnings: angst, swear words
LISTEN TO ENCHANTED BY TAYLOR SWIFT!
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y/n l/n and vinnie hacker; the rumored upcoming couple of tik tok.
after commenting on each other’s posts, flirting and teasing each other, their long awaited collab sent the entire internet into a spiral.
y/n and vinnie knew of each other’s feelings. how could they not? the constant touching, teasing, flirtatious behavior. they were drawn together.
everyone knew it too. the biggest influencer ship as of 2021, as stated on tik tok and twitter.
“vinnie, don’t you dare!” y/n gasped. the blond had picked her up, a wicked grin on his face as he got dangerously close to the pool.
“i swear, i’ll kick your ass!” y/n shouted, trying to squirm out of his reach. “tempting,” vinnie laughed.
vincent took a chance and jumped. y/n fell out of his arms as they hit the water, both coming up for air. “you’re dead, hacker!” y/n laughed, shoving vinnie underwater.
that was four months ago. y/n still smiles at the memory, until it becomes sour. a painful aching in her heart makes her stomach hurt as she can’t stop reliving the memories that took place a few weeks later.
y/n was in love with the blond. cliche, yes. but she couldn’t help it. his captivating smile, amazing personality, gorgeous looks. she fell hard.
of course, all good things end at some point.
that was until she came along. alex had introduced her to the hype house, saying she was thinking about joining.
y/n had her legs resting on vinnie’s lap, him drawing circles on her calves until alex came walking in. the way vinnie quickly pushed y/n’s legs off made her heart drop.
she was absolutely stunning. long blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, slim body. y/n was even captivated by her.
she introduced herself as sarah and y/n knew she was done for. the way vinnie hugged her a little longer then he should have.
that was the first thing that did it for y/n. second was when he began cancelling their plans last minute, until he eventually just started standing her up.
y/n waited patiently at the restaurant, her leg bouncing anxiously as she picked at her finger nails. vinnie was 15 minutes late.
15 minutes soon turned into 45 until she realized he wasn’t coming.
y/n laid in her bed, a black hoodie covering her hair as some random movie played in the background. she despised how she still loved vinnie, even if she heard from him two times a week.
obviously, their lack of posting with each other quickly caused their fans to be suspicious. however, vinnie only posted sarah once (and it wasn’t even her full face).
y/n couldn’t help but let her thoughts roam about it. was he ashamed? embarrassed? he posted y/n more than that. maybe he was using her?
she went back to the video every few days, reading the comments. barely any of them supported it, and everyone picked up that it wasn’t y/n.
it was vinnie driving his rx7 with sarah’s tan legs in the background.
user3455: that ain’t y/n yall
vinniesfan20373: what happened with y/n :(
user0653: who the hell is that
y/n couldn’t help but feel… proud that everyone didn’t support them. selfish, she knows, but she can’t help it. vinnie hacker broke her heart.
y/n clicked on an audio, beginning the recording.
after setting a timer, she quickly got up from her bed and set in on her dresser. “please don’t be in love with someone else,” she folded her body as she danced.
petty, maybe. but she needed to vent. after adding the text, “we were never dating, idc what he does. also me:” she posted it without any hashtags.
within seconds, she already got hundreds of likes. her 11.2 million followers quickly got the video out. within two hours it had a million views.
y/n clicked on the comments.
y/nfan: this is about vinnie huh :(
user5057261: here for u bae <33
vinniehacker: :/
usedbag3937: @/vinnie you fumbled big time💀
hypehouse383728: miss u and vin 🥺
a ding caused y/n to feel her stomach twist in knots.
vin <3: can we talk?
y/n: come over
fifteen minutes later a knock on her apartment door caught her attention. opening the door, she sucked in a deep breath. vinnie looked… different.
he got more tattoos, his hair was longer. okay, maybe not that different, but it felt different.
“hi…”
“hey…”
-
vinnie and y/n awkwardly moved to the house.
“listen, y/n. i came here because i need to apologize for how i treated you. i guess-“ vinnie took a deep breath.
“i guess i was scared because i was so fucking in love with you. i needed a distraction- and as horrible as that sounds to both you and sarah-“
“vincent-“
“please, y/n. it absolutely terrified me that i actually had all i wanted in a partner, and i wussed out and ran away. i’ve changed and i’m so fucking sorry. i miss you so much,” vinnie was practically in tears as his lip quivered.
y/n felt her own bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to fall. “you broke my heart, vinnie. i was- fuck i still am- so in love with you. and you just left me for the next model girl that walked in,” y/n heard her voice break as she cried.
vinnie had tears rolling down his face. he took y/n’s hands in his own, trying to comfort himself and her in this vulnerable moment.
“i’m so sorry i treated you like shit. you didn’t deserve that,” vinnie said.
“i want you, y/n. i’m so ready to treat you like how you need and deserve to be treated, like the fucking goddess you are.”
y/n swallowed. did she want this?
“i need time, vinnie. i’m open to talking again- but how do i know you’re not gonna do this again?” she asked.
“i understand. i’ll prove to you i’m so ready for you, and i’m willing to wait forever if that’s how long you need. i love you, y/n. you’re worth whatever wait.”
that’s what y/n needed to hear in that moment.
“i’m so glad we met,” she sobbed. she pulled vinnie in tightly, cherishing the way she felt to be back in his strong and safe embrace.
“i’m forever grateful for you, y/n. it was hell to not have you in my life. i didn’t know what i had until it was gone.”
“i love you, vin.”
“i love you, y/n.”
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whentheynameyoujoy · 3 years
Text
Yup, Sure Was a Finale
I had an epiphany. The reason why I never re-watched the final two parts of Sozin’s Comet even though I’ve popped in episodes at random many times over the years isn’t that I can’t bear the sadness of seeing one of the best, most engaging narratives out there come to an end.
It’s simply that the finale isn’t all that good.
Some honorable mentions of what was enjoyable.
(+) This
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Just this.
(+) The Church of Zutara has another convert
“Are you sure they don’t get together?” Hubster, 2020
(+) The tragedy of Azula
And the fact that it’s acknowledged as such. I hope Zuko will do his best to get her help and have a relationship with her…
(+) Sokka being a big bro
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And the whole airship sequence in general. It’s wonderfully paced and plotted, with moments of humor, real stakes, Toph being both badass and a scared crying kid, Sokka strategizing and protecting, Suki saving the day, and non-benders being instrumental in thwarting the bad guy firebender’s plans. Would be shame if Bryke never portrayed them this capable ever again…
And now for the main course.
(-) Blink and its over
The wrap-up feels too quick (hashtag Needs More ROtK-style False Endings). A part of this is due to how fast the story goes from the thick of the action to hastily tying up a bunch of loose ends, but the larger issue is how Book 3’s uneven pacing comes home to roost. After spending half a season on filler episodes that at best subtly flesh out established characters while dancing around a huge lionturtle-shaped hole, and at worst contradict the theme of “no one is born bad” with “you’re a hot mess because your great-grandfathers didn’t get along too well”, the frantic “go go go” rush of the second half screeches to a halt with “they won and everyone was happy because now the right people have power and it will be all good from now on yup nothing more to deal with baiiiii”.
Yes, I know, it’s a kids’ show. But goddamn, this particular kids’ show has proven so many times it can do better than the expected tropiness. Showing the characters in their roles as builders of a new world was the least that could have been done.
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Oh well!
(-) Ursa
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We’ll never know. There will never be a story that delves into this. Yup. Shall forever remain but an intriguing mystery. Is good, though. Mystery is better than a story where Ursa shares her son’s penchant for forgetfulness. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Speaking of which…
(-) What does Mai see in this jerkbender?
Look, I like to harp a lot on the mess of inconsistent writing that’s Mai but let’s unpack this scene from her perspective, shall we?
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Zuko forgot about her! It totally slipped his mind that the one person who prioritized the safety of his dumb ass was rotting in the worst prison in the Fire Nation—because of him! And she was rotting there long enough after the final Agni Kai for the news of Zuko’s upcoming coronation to spread and her uncle to feel sufficiently secure to release her. But then the coronation scene is attended by every single member of Gaang & Friends that was imprisoned?
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So what this tells me is that either a) the invasion force had the ability to break themselves out the whole time and for some reason decided not to exercise it until after the war was over, b) Zuko forgot about them as well and no one thought to remind him there were prisons full of POWs until Mai arrived, or, and that’s even better, c) Zuko took care to free every single resistance fighter while making sure Mai would be the one to stay behind bars.
Never thought I’d say this but Mai? Honey? You deserve so much better.
(-) “What does Katara want?”
Asked no one in the writers’ room ever, apparently.
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This is not so much anti Cataang as anti romance stories that pay attention to the needs, opinions, and wants of only one partner in general. Over the previous 60 episodes, Katara actively expressed romantic interest in Aang exactly, wait for it,
Once.
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And it got retconned out of relevance by the following two interactions where the possibility of a romantic relationship came up, making the Headband dance pretty easy to reclassify as just one of those examples where Aang “teaches” Katara to have fun (as if one of the main obstacles to her having fun wasn’t him constantly fooling around and offloading his duties). And because the writers not only didn’t succeed in portraying Katara’s internal state of mind, but also failed to root her reluctance to pursue a relationship in outside circumstances that could change, her sudden state of unconfused once Aang steps into the spotlight has a single canonical explanation that as much as approaches coherency.
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The fact is, though, that trying to interpret canon Cataang from a Watsonian perspective is an exercise in foolishness. Because there is no Watsonian justification for the ship and never has been. Bryke simply conceived of Katara as nothing but a tropey prize for Aang, never saw her as anything beyond that, and were perfectly happy to go on and immortalize her as a passive broodmare for the rest of her life.
And I fully intend to die mad about it.
(-) Iroh dips
OK, it’s been long apparent that the show doesn’t intend to do anything about Iroh’s complicity in AzulOzai’s regime in any meaningful way, and that his sole motivation for doing anything whatsoever is Zuko whom he views as a replacement son which is supposed to be good for some reason. But the finale has him abandon even that, and instead turns him full-on YOLO, idgaf anymore. It really throws Iroh’s supposed love for Zuko into doubt when his last act in the entire show is to take a half-educated 16-year old with no political savvy or an heir to secure a dynastic continuity and plomp him on the throne of a war-mongering imperialist regime where the entirety of the militarist and ruling class is guaranteed to fight him tooth and nail for power.
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(I sure hope Mai’s ready to start popping out babies by tea-time otherwise the whole country is fukd in about a week)
Christ, how hard would it be to have Iroh keep the throne warm for a few years while Zuko is getting ready to succeed him? Not only would it make the whole FN reformation bit quite likelier to occur, it would require Iroh’s hedonistic ass to actually sacrifice something for once. And not having Zuko ascend to power, instead spending some time bettering and educating himself first, would be a wonderful message that no matter what you endured and overcame, you never stop growing. A kids’ show, remember?
(-) The conquering of Ba Sing Se
Gee, I feel so blessed to have my attention diverted from battlefields which actually matter to an old dude vanity project I would have been perfectly happy to assume resolved itself off-screen.
The White Lotus in general just bugs me. I was fine with the individual characters and their overall passivity when they were portrayed as lone dissenters living under circumstances where it wasn’t really possible for any single person to mount a meaningful resistance. But as members of a far-reaching shadowy organization that’s left the real fight to a bunch of kids for 59 episodes straight and didn’t turn up until a perfect opportunity presented itself to take control of the largest city in the world and bask in the spotlight?
Yeah, no.
Similarly to the lionturtle-ex-machina, the White Lotus represents a huge missed opportunity for a season-long storytelling. Here’s just a brief list of what they could have been doing throughout Book 3:
orchestrating a Fire Nation uprising;
gathering those directly persecuted by AzulOzai’s regime to help Zuko keep his hold on power once he’s crowned;
establishing themselves as a viable alternative to Ozai;
sabotaging Fire Nation’s war efforts from the inside;
countering Fire Nation propaganda (Asha Greyjoy’s pinecones, anyone?);
running a supply network to alleviate the suffering of Earth Kingdom citizens.
Instead, they sit on their asses until the time comes to claim personal glory.
You know what, good on Bryke for making me conclude that in comparison, the Freedom Fighters were perfectly unproblematic, actually.
(-) Fire Lord Dead-by-Dawn
Yes, a kids’ show, I know! But ffs, this is the same kids’ show that came up with Long Feng and portrayed courtly intrigue, kingly puppets, secret police, spy networks, and information wars. Was it really too much of me to expect something other than “enlightened despot solves everything”? Especially if said enlightened despot has persisting anger issues, no personal support system, no base of followers, and no political experience whatsoever?
If Zuko’s actually serious about regaining the Fire Nation’s honor (i.e. by dismantling the country’s military machine, decolonizing the Earth Kingdom, paying reparations to everyone and their lemur, and funding any and all cultural restoration projects Aang and the SWT come up with), then there is no way, no way in the universe that he doesn’t face a civil war, deposing, and execution within a month.
One reason why his future as a Fire Lord seems rather bleak is that little’s been shown about the actual subjects of AzulOzai’s regime. While we get a vague reassurance that “no Toph, they’re not born bad” (le shockings), they largely remain a voiceless uniform mass of brainwashed clapping seals. What is their view on the Fire Nation’s crimes? Do they associate their condition with their country’s war-mongering? How will they react when Zuko starts dismantling the country piece by piece to rebuild it, bringing it to economic ruin? What will they do when noble Ozai loyalists come out of the woodwork and begin rounding them up under the banner of “Make the Fire Nation Great Again?”
I have no idea, and Zuko doesn’t either because he’s unironically more qualified to rule the Earth Kingdom than his own people.
You know what would have been better? Fire Lord Iroh, White Lotus pulling the strings to maintain the regime, and Crown Prince/People’s Champion Zuko travelling the Fire Nation with Aang and an army of tutors to promote the new boss, only to realize that absolute monarchy is kinda crap for the people he’s one day supposed to rule and gaining their support by ceding some power to them.
I’d laser holes into my TV due to how much I’d enjoy watching that.
(-) All hail Avatar Rock
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Literally and metaphorically. Aang doesn’t sacrifice anything, gets everything, and the clever solution of going about getting said everything is handed to him on a silver platter, requiring no active participation on his part whatsoever.
He doesn’t work to unblock his chakras, spiritually or physically.
He only speaks to his past lives to get a pat on the back and a bow-tied solution he could mindlessly follow.
Energy-bending doesn’t require any sacrifice from him, leaves no lasting marks, and only serves for the narrative to praise him as the rare individual that’s unbendable and thus so very very special.
The most infuriating thing is, however, that Aang is clearly shown as being able to beat Ozai without either the Avatar state, or energy-bending.
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And he chooses not to. From this moment on, Aang no longer fights to save the world. He fights to preserve his beliefs, going directly against the instructions of his past lives and effectively reneging on his duties as the Avatar.
Again.
It’s not like you can’t portray Aang’s faithfulness to his spiritual beliefs as the key to beating Ozai and saving the world. But that’s not what the show did. There is no link between Aang sparing Ozai and securing a better future, quite to the contrary—Ozai’s survival ends up being a massive problem for the continuation of Zuko’s rule, and consequently a threat to the world at large. His survival benefits Aang and no one else.
Aang’s spiritual purity and his status as a savior of the world are allowed to coexist only due to a deliberate stroke of a writer’s pen.
And I hate it.
Welp, nothing to do about it now except to bury myself up to my tits in fix-it fics I guess.
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brazenautomaton · 3 years
Text
Fixing Afterlives: The Maw, First Visit
So our Shadowlands journey starts with the Maw. You know what? People hate this scenario now because you can’t skip it and have to go through it on every character, but the first time through, this is actually really good. You’re kicking in the gates of Hell with a platoon of Death Knights and then everything goes tits-up and you don’t have a beachhead and you’re lost and wandering and there are awful, awful things everywhere and you’re hiding and isolated and need to learn how to escape. You just need the option to skip it on your alts.
Plus the aesthetics of the Maw are great. They sell what it is -- the hostile architecture, sinister crystal formations, the way everything seems swept and shaped by a windstream of souls. We’ve seen plenty of environments that look like a Hell of flames. This is a Hell of pure suffering. Pain is what lives here. Pain is all that enters and pain is all that is produced. It’s only after you went farming Stygia for a while that the pain gets inflicted on you.
So we assemble the crew, get the exposition while we put together the Helm of Domination, get given a portal stone to establish a beachhead, and we bust in to find the four captives: Anduin, Jaina, Baine, Thrall. We rally the Death Knights into enough of a formation to make it in and find the evidence of Jaina, and I like that, I like how you track her by the huge formations of ice -- it shows you her power and the mark she leaves. Finding her is mostly the same although her dialogue is less generic and content-free (from now on assume I apply this caveat to all dialogue). She’s more confused and disoriented and even though she’s fighting it’s with a resignation that she knows it won’t work and she’s starting to think she’s only hurting herself by trying. She acts like she has been there for years. But you say you and the DKs are here to save her and she follows against her better judgment and agrees to try and find Thrall, who she struggles to remember, but seems to be trying very hard to be able to remember.
Then the Mawsworn Kyrian show up and laugh about her hopelessness, and you fight them. And they kill the shit out of you. 
More and more and more of them keep coming and they’re level 60 when you’re level 50 and if you do some bullshit to survive eventually one of them will grab you by the neck to Silence you, lift you into the air, and do the ol’ Val’Kyr Special and fatally drop you. You unavoidably die.
This is necessary early to establish what dying in the Shadowlands means. Play a special graphic effect when the player dies, something more drawn out and grasping. Play a sound effect appropriate to race/gender of the PC of them struggling against great pain and gasping. Then you appear next to a Spirit Healer (yes normally in the Maw you just respawn alive so you have to pick up your Stygia like in Dark Souls, we’ll explain the discrepancy later), a Mawsworn Spirit Healer, who says “No. Your suffering will not end. The Maw claims you.” and then starts to chase you the fuck down with a bunch of shades. You need to run, as a ghost, to claw your way back into your body. Obviously, if the shades catch you, you get dragged back to the start and the Spirit Healer fucks with you a bit. 
Your body has been dragged over to the area where Jaina and the rest are hiding; they fled while you were being merced. Jaina sees you stir. And she says “I’m sorry, champion. Death is no respite here. It is so hard to fight the pull… I struggle to even remember my body when I try to return.”
Jaina has been brutally killed over a dozen times. This is not her first rodeo. This is not her first escape attempt. This is not the first time she’s killed that particular Mawsworn tormenter whose name I don’t recall. It doesn’t end. It never ends. She doesn’t know why she tries any more, when she knows it will fail and she will die and suffer and claw her way back to her flesh and every time it gets harder and harder. All it buys her is the ability to offer futile resistance and maybe that isn’t even worth it.
Mood: established.
From there it goes mostly the same. You try to pump the shades for info about how to escape and they don’t know, they can’t know, they can’t even want to escape. The info you get is a memory of spitefully hating someone who fled to the waystone. You rescue your buddies. You see the Jailer fuck up Baine, only instead of giving him a spirit poison, he fucking snaps the dude like a Kit-Kat and drops his lifeless corpse, and you drag it to safety. You don’t need to find a poison dagger to counteract the spirit poison; you need to keep him safe and clear a path for his spirit to flee back to his body. Thus reinforcing what the danger here is and how it’s different and what they fear.
And while you do this, at some point, you run into Sylvanas. Maybe she just walks up to you while you’re all collected around Baine trying to help him revive. Since the Jailer won’t be saying “it’s not like you won anything b-b-baka, it was just a temporary setback,” you need to establish that feeling that he views your victories as completely meaningless. Sylvanas knows you’re here saving Baine. So does the Jailer. It does not matter. You cannot accomplish anything. 
Thrall kills her dead. She just gets back up. She has an escort for her soul to go back to her body. “How many times are you going to try that before you learn it’s futile? Come now, Thrall. I know you’re smarter than this. I know you respected me more than this.”
And then stuff like “How could you do this, Sylvanas? How could you betray the Horde?” Thrall is incredibly angry and offended at her. He thought he knew her. “Neither of us had any illusions you were not a monster, Banshee Queen. But I trusted you anyway because I knew you wanted what was best for your people. You were a monster, but a loyal one. How can you now turn your back on what little principle you had?” Sylvanas is hurt by this, but she doesn’t linger on it.
Jaina, however, is desperately trying to flatter her. Do this to sell the kind of impact this has had on Jaina, and what this suffering drives her to. “Please, Sylvanas. I know you were my enemy but you were an honorable one. It isn’t too late. Someone as cunning as you must know that this will end in ruin. I promise… I promise… I will surrender if you let me return. Kul Tiras will become servants of the Forsaken. Just, just let them live… please, you could rule our world, not slaughter it…”
Jaina breaks down in tears. Yes, she just tried to surrender her people to the enemy for mercy. Jaina is breaking. All of them will. The Maw is a Bad Place and makes them give up hope. That’s how we sell the threat. Not by making the enemies bigger or spikier, showing how they have broken these heroes. Less screaming anger. More pain.
Sylvanas scoffs at her offer. “It doesn’t matter where your people’s loyalty lies, Lord Admiral.” And then she says the phrase that will become a motif: “Nobody escapes the Maw.” She leaves. She doesn’t care what you do. It doesn’t matter.
But you have to still hold on to that sliver of hope that maybe the waystone is a way out. So you get Baine up and you sneak past this big-ass Maw army that can fuck 31 flavors of your day up. The jailer notices you and sends out a force to stop you at the waystone, and he repeats the phrase when he sends out the order: “Nobody escapes the Maw.”
So there’s the event, you fight off the army while the waystone charges, the army gets bigger and bigger, the charge meter gets stuck at 90%, you go to kick it and it teleports you to Oribos.
The mob descends on the other captives. Sylvanas and the Jailer look completely unconcerned with your escape. After having clearly seen you physically leave the Maw, Sylvanas brushes it off with “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Dun-DUNNN! Cutscene end.
You appear in Oribos. The Protectors stop you because you stink like the Maw and what the hell dude, yada yada. This is when you get a tour of the city, here’s the profession trainers, the bank, the transmog. Only secondary details need to be changed here. One, this is an instanced version of the city where no other players exist (you are the first one there, nobody else is). Two, Lich King Bolvar (hashtag #notmylichking) arrives from Azeroth and says SOMETHING to justify other players coming from the Maw but being less important than you. Something like, he saw what you did, there are other adventurers from Azeroth still in the Maw, his DKs are hunkering down in defensive positions and will try to make their way to the Waystone once it cools off because you already activated it, since you are the more special one, and there might be a chance that a couple others might have an echo of your power because they have had similar adventures. You are the True Maw Walker, and the context of the massively multiplayer element is “for your story, all those other guys have shitty Maw Walker powers that only work once you opened the pickle jar for them.” They can’t bring passengers, either.
Third, not the most importantly but yes the most importantly, if you are Forsaken or a Death Knight or Mechagnome or whatever you get a special dialogue where you say “Why do you keep calling me a ‘living mortal’? I’m not alive. I’m undead / a machine / maybe something else like maybe I missed the fact that vulpera are made of rocks and string.”
So Tal-Inara or whoever can be like “Oh, THAT’S what that is. Something was odd about you, mortal, that I couldn’t quite place. I call you ‘living’ because your soul is still tethered to a body. To us in the Shadowlands, to be bound in a vessel like this is far more important than the nature of the vessel itself.” That’s why people keep calling you “living”, to them you’re easy to mistake for one.
Kyrian in the Maw is disturbing news, and also WEIRD, because as Tal-Inara reminds us, “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Why would the Kyrian go down there when they can’t come back? It is terrible but not unheard of for mortals to try and speak to the Jailer but they never GO there because they can’t get out. And yet Sylvanas just walked in there? And he is mustering armies? Better go to Bastion and find out what is up. Let’s crank open this gateway, and...
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copias-thrall · 3 years
Text
Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful
A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.
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~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.
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@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.
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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.
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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.
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@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?"
47 notes · View notes
scabopolis · 3 years
Note
Omg congrats on 600 followers! Honestly any fake dating with Jonah x Amy would be amazing, although I love number 44 and/or 48 on your Google Docs <333
This is my first Jonah x Amy fic and I offer two caveats: 1) I’m still not sure if there is a particular vibe people who read for this pairing preferring, so...here we are, and 2) I have only made it through 4x12 of Superstore but am pretty familiar w/ what happens the rest of the series. 
Prompt: “You know we’re not actually dating, so why did you propose to me in front of my family?” / “I’m sorry, I panicked.” --- Title: the scene of the complication Fandom: Superstore Pairing: Jonah/Amy Other Characters: My crippling insecurity writing for a new fandom, sleep soft mornings, dumbs being dumb (but, like in a cute way) Additional Tags: friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, alternative universe where Amy’s HS pregnancy test was negative and she and Jonah met in college Word Count: ~2,100 ---
It started with a chance meeting ten years ago, and somehow it’s brought Amy Sosa here: awake in her childhood room with Jonah Simms beside her, sleeping off upwards of half a dozen tequila shots. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew that day they met in the lecture hall that Jonah was a person who would make her life exceedingly more complicated. 
And ten years later, here they are, practically leaving complicated behind in the rear view mirror. 
(“What are two hopes and one fear you have for your first lecture on your first day of college?” the guy sitting to her right asks. 
Amy doesn’t answer at first but this stranger just waits for her, all blinking, bright eyes and freshman eagerness. It’s barely morning. Is this her life now? 
“Hope one,” she says, holding up a finger, “that I’d sit next to someone quiet. Hope two,” she holds up another, “that no one would talk to me before I managed to find coffee.” She holds up a third finger. “And this moment right here is what I feared.” 
For some reason, her shortness delights him. His smile is open and affectionate, and he nods in appreciation. 
“Noted.” 
And Amy fully intends to never speak to this wide-eyed panda boy ever again, but then their General Psychology professor informs the class that the person they’re sitting next to will be their assignment partner for the semester. 
The next lecture her partner – his name is Jonah, she learns – brings her a cup of coffee and doesn’t speak a word until she takes a long sip. 
Complicated.)
Jonah snuffles in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering slightly. His hair is doing that thing it does when he’s hot or drunk or has run a hand through it too many times, where a single lock of hair hangs in the middle of his forehead. Amy resists the very real urge to brush it away. Because, yeah, she has those kinds of thoughts a lot and they also make things complicated. They’re friends. Maybe even best-friends, but definitely not ‘tenderly brush a lock of your hair away’ friends. 
Do those kinds of friends even exist? 
Jonah stirs again, and now that it’s clear he’s actually waking up, Amy reaches for her phone and opens Candy Crush. The last thing she needs is to get caught staring at him like some weird stalker.
“Oh, god,” he groans, his voice scratchy. He stretches out with another groan, his foot bumping against Amy’s as he does. Rather than move away, he kind of just rests it there on top of hers. And this is something she is all too familiar with. Drunk and/or hungover Jonah is yet another complication. More accurately, his propensity to cuddle indiscriminately is a very real complication. 
“I need—” Amy reaches for the glass of water on her night stand and hands it to Jonah, stopping him mid-thought. “Do you have—?” She hands him two ibuprofen. “Thank you,” he says. 
“You’re welcome.” She looks back at her phone. 
Jonah swallows the two pills and drinks the entire glass of water, and then lays back down, curling slightly into Amy’s side.  
“I made so many mistakes last night,” he says.
“I’m aware. As are your 80 Instagram followers.” 
“I liveblogged it?” 
“And tagged everything with the hashtag ‘best noche ever.’” He groans again and turns his face into Amy’s side. She sets her phone back on the nightstand. “What got into you?” 
“Your dad is intimidating.” 
“My dad?” 
“Yes. Your dad. And then he and your brother kept pouring me shots—” 
“I knew this had Eric’s fingerprints all over it.” 
“Well, it was kind of my fault, too.” 
She frowns. “What do you mean?” Jonah doesn’t answer and Amy kicks him under the covers. He looks up at her. His eyes are red-rimmed but also so sleepy and soft. Complicated. “Jonah.” 
“They kept asking me questions. About you and me. And I was so worried I’d say something wrong, I kept taking shots to avoid answering.”
“You could have found me.” 
“I know, but—” he trails off. 
“But what?”
“I want them to like me.” 
“Oh, Jonah.” She gives in and brushes the lock of hair off his forehead, and he looks up at her. “They’ve known you for 10 years. They’re never going to like you.” 
“Thanks, I feel so much better.” 
“I do have one more question.” 
“Okay.”
“You know we’re not actually dating. Right?” 
He closes his eyes and nods. “No. Yeah. I know.” 
“So why did you propose to me in front of my family?” 
“I panicked.”
“Panicked?” 
“Your dad asked what my intentions were, and there were just so many shots. 
“And that’s why you shouted ‘I intend to marry her!’?” 
Jonah flips the comforter over his head. “I just got wrapped up in it all.” His words are muffled from under the comforter.
She’s glad for the moment of respite, with Jonah unable to see her. If Amy didn’t want things to careen so off track, she probably shouldn’t have agreed to let him come to her dad’s retirement party as her fake boyfriend. 
(“I don’t see what the problem is,” Jonah says, spooning more cashew chicken onto his plate. “You don’t still have feelings for Adam, do you?” 
“No. No. God no,” she says. “Absolutely not.” 
“Alright. I’m clear on the no.” 
“It’s just the last time I saw him— Well, you know.” 
“I recall, yes.” 
And he does. Jonah knows all about Amy’s high school boyfriend. The one she liked but never quite loved. The one she broke up with when the pregnancy test came back negative. The one she slept with again the summer after their senior year of college. 
(An event that occurred in no small part because Jonah was dating Mindy and the two of them were talking about moving in together. Maybe moving to the west coast together and Amy realized there was a very real possibility she was going to be left behind. 
Jonah doesn’t know that part of the story.) 
Adam is also the guy who thought having sex in her childhood bedroom meant Amy wanted to get back together. He’s the guy bringing his very beautiful fiancée to her dad’s retirement party. Because he’s also somehow the guy who still helps her dad with home improvement projects. And Amy is just Amy – the one who doesn’t visit St. Louis enough, and is using her very expensive liberal arts degree to work as a survey researcher for Cloud9, meaning she’s basically paid to manipulate shoppers. 
And, not that it should matter, but she’s also very single. Has been for a while now. 
She mostly blames the man stealing chow mein from her plate for that. She blocks Jonah’s chopsticks with hers, and a piece of cabbage goes flying. 
“Stop that,” she says. 
“You’re not eating it.” 
“I’m too annoyed to eat.” 
“If you only ate when you weren’t annoyed you’d starve.” 
“I hate you.” 
She pushes the chow mein around her plate. God, when she thinks about it, this really is Jonah’s fault. If she could just find a way to get over this stupid, dumb, little crush that has creeped up – without her permission, mind you! – then maybe she could actually—
“I could do it,” Jonah says, interrupting her thought spiral. 
“Do what?” 
“Go with you to your dad’s retirement party. Be your fake boyfriend.” 
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s a great idea. Besides, I am very close to getting your dad to like me.” 
“He’ll never like you.” 
“It’s not that I didn’t like the painting—” 
“—How would this even work?” she asks, cutting him off. 
“I don’t know,” he says. “I think we act like we normally do, but maybe you can hold my hand and be nice to me.” 
“Eww.” 
Jonah smiles around a large bite of cashew chicken. She really needs to stop hanging out with him so much – he’s become immune to her insults. It’s rude. 
And him as her fake boyfriend is a terrible idea. Truly awful. If Amy is looking to get over her crush and make things between her and Jonah less complicated, there are better ways to do it. 
Except. 
Except she kind of wants to. 
“Okay. Let’s do it,” she says. 
“Yeah?” 
“Yes,” she says decisively. “But if you try and kiss me, I’ll cut your lips off.” 
“That seems like a proportionate response.”)
“So, to be clear, I told you kissing wasn’t allowed, and you thought that left proposals on the table?” 
He groans again from under the comforter. It’s a little sad and a lot pathetic. Poor guy. 
She pats the comforter in the area of what she hopes is his shoulder. As annoyed as she is at having to untangle these threads, it’s not his fault. Not really. She knows her family is relentless. Amy slides down and flips the comforter over her head as well. 
Jonah rolls over onto his side to face her. Amy does the same. 
“It was better than Adam’s proposal.”
“Adam proposed?” 
Amy nods. “Ish. If I remember correctly he said, ‘I’ll marry you if I have to.’”
“Yikes.” 
“Right?” It’s cozy under this blanket. Intimate even. “You did say some nice things. Even if they came out kind of slurred.” 
“Amy—”
“Sexy, huh?” 
“I really didn’t mean to shout that to all of your dad’s—”
“Because it’s not true?” 
“No!” Jonah winces and Amy isn’t sure if it’s ‘I have a hangover’ induced or ‘I am revealing too much’ induced. “It’s true. Of course it’s true. You are very, you know.” 
“Sexy on a completely objective level? Or, are you saying that you, yourself, Jonah Simms, think I’m sexy?” Jonah goes completely still. Amy isn’t even sure he’s breathing. It’s entirely uncharacteristic and a little unnerving. She pokes his cheek. “Are you blushing?”
“Big time, yeah.” 
That does enough to break the tension under their blanket enclave, both of them laughing, at first awkwardly and then more genuine. Once they stop to catch their breath, Amy notices they’ve shifted closer together. 
This would be the perfect moment to flee from the scene of the complication. But the complications don’t seem so terrible at this specific moment. She blames that lock of hair of his.
“How long have you held this opinion?” Jonah frowns at Amy’s question. “Regarding my sexiness?” she clarifies. 
“Amy—”
“What?” 
“What are you doing?” 
“I just want to—”
“Really? You really want to have this conversation?” 
Jonah stresses the ‘you’ and Amy knows why he does. There isn’t a topic or feeling that is off-limits to Jonah – he’d happily discuss every feeling he’s ever had. It’s her. It’s always her. 
Their faces are so close they’re practically sharing the same pillow. It takes no effort at all for Amy to close the distance between them, lightly brushing her lips against his. As quick as it began it’s over, and even in the dim light under the comforter, Amy can see Jonah’s eyes blown wide. She’s sure she looks just as shocked and she’s the one who did it.  
“You said if I kissed you you’d cut off my lips.”
“Which is why I kissed you.”
“Oh,” he nods. “Makes sense.” Jonah taps out a slow but erratic rhythm against the side of his leg. She just knows he’s trying to stop himself from verbalizing every single thought in his head. “To be clear, was that a friendship kiss, or—” 
So Amy kisses him again. This time Jonah recovers quickly from his shock, winding a hand into her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head. It’s just unbelievably good. 
“Okay,” Jonah says, his voice unsteady as he pulls away. “That answers that.” He traces her jaw with his thumb. “Any chance we could do it some more?” 
Amy rolls onto her back, putting some distance between them. “I don’t think so.” 
“Wait. What?” 
“Your breath is awful.” 
Jonah breathes into his hand and sniffs it to confirm. “What if I brush my teeth?” 
Amy sighs, long and exasperated. “I suppose that would be—”
Jonah is out of the bed in seconds, scrambling for his overnight bag, and Amy presses her lips together to hide her smile. From the way Jonah smiles, soft and delighted as he backs out of the room, she isn’t fooling anyone. 
So far past the point of complicated, she thinks, her heart still racing. But then again, maybe complications that make her feel like this are okay.
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katsuflossy · 4 years
Text
Misguided Spark
Pairing: Kaminari Denki x black reader
TW: Suggestive themes, some obscenities, Becky
A/n: Why do I always get inspired by Tiktoks 😭😭 but anyways I’ve been giving Mr Bakugo wayy too much attention and neglecting our shocky boy Denki. So please enjoy!!! 💕
P.S. credit to my bb @iiminibattlehero for giving me a title when my brain was pooped😣
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You’ve been with Denki for two years. After joining Uravity’s agency, you’ve met the bolt of lightning that struck through your beautiful black heart (this was after many failed pickup lines and one failed date that resulted in your favorite shirt getting seared off.) Denki did nothing to conceal you, in fact, he showed you off despite your protests; the few couples photos on his Instagram told the story of your love life—not secret but it’s none of your business. 
So why do his fans pair him up with every other hero?!
You would’ve understood if he was shipped with his friends and other heroes in the Big Leagues; your reputation being Uraraka’s sidekick had granted you some fame but you hadn’t reached the big pond yet. 
However, his mass of fans and reporters paired him with everyone under the sun—heroes and sidekicks alike—except you. Just last week Mina nearly choked out a reporter because he trailed her during her patrol, asking what she and Chargebolt did last night. Who knew a simple drink with close friends would spread like wildfire over the news. Oh, not to mention you were there too, holding Kaminari’s hand and laying your head on his shoulder. Your brown face and body had been cut out from every magazine seen the next day. The picture of Mina and Kaminari at an older drink night resurfaced on your timeline, showing Mina slapping his back as he choke-laughed on some beer. 
You didn’t tell Denki your insecurities about the whole world romanticizing him with other very pale—except for Mina’s case—heroes. You can picture his exact laugh, his hand falling on your cheek while affirming you had nothing to worry about. You’re his lovely lady forever and always. 
However, tonight was a different kind of irritation.
The bedroom finally fell quiet, your steamy session released the sexual tension during today’s joint practice. Kaminari’s eyes followed your heavenly molded ass all around the gym, and your own followed his nicely sculpted back when it was angled in your peripheral view. The deed was done now. Your finger made pointless drawings on his naked chest as you laid against his stomach, looking thoughtlessly up at him and his blonde glory. Two nude bodies curled against each other in comfortable silence.
At least that was the case until your phone pinged due to a notification. Your phone glowed the Twitter symbol, the only app you used to keep up with the hero scene and news. One glance at the title and you wished you had put your phone on Do Not Disturb.
Chargebolt's with a civilian fiancee?! Read more about the Electric hero dating top American chef, Becky Gudhear, and their secret relationship.
Your lips formed a scowl at the picture. The blond female chef was entering a car as Denki held her umbrella above her head, the rain clattering against the umbrella as he smiled at the lady. Only for you to remember the next two minutes after the photo was taken; Denki snatched you up, running through the rain as both screamed in delight. 
You shot up from his muscular chest, the middle of your brows creased and your brown thumb scrolled through the hashtags. Denki looked at you before going on his own phone.
Deku’s ratty shoes @noticemesemmpai: “I didn’t know Denki liked white girls *this goes completely with my fantasy*”
Ground zero’s harem girl @otakuforevaava: “Not him cheating on Mina.”
Ground zero’s harem girl #2 @lemmebiteacrumbofdatass: “@otakuforevaava Nah, he’s with Jiro. Did y’all not see when she gave him that hug?”
Your eyes darted from one ship to another, none ever mentioning you, before throwing your phone on the mattress. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, removing yourself from its comfort to pace around the room in frustration. Denki cocked a brow at your strange behavior; you weren’t usually this upset and if you were, you’d simply just watch baby videos until you perked up. The screen glowed through the mattress despite being faced down, holding the secret of your furrowed eyebrows and sharp glare. He took up the phone, showing all the news outlets, fan mentions, and titles creating a relationship not with his black girlfriend but with some random lady that he helped out of the kindness of his heart. 
“Damn, they’re really going bonkers over this one act of kindness. Is Chivalry that dead?”
“As dead as their brains are.” You grumbled out, flopping back on to the edge of the bed.
“It’ll die out in a week. Give or take.” 
“Or not at all. They always come back when they spot you 6 feet from this lady, then resurface this same picture or even better crop me out and photoshop her in it!” Your outburst was met with silence and a wide-eyed, very concerned lighting wielder. 
“...but it’s cool tho.” 
“(Y/n)? Why didn’t you tell me this’d been hurting you?” Your gaze averted to your fingers, twiddling as your embarrassment heated your cheeks.
“I didn’t want to because I thought you’d think I was silly for thinking like that. Plus, I was the one that told you that being with a superhero like you will make me look like a whore trying to climb the ranks.”
“Silly? Baby, I nearly threw your teddy bear across the room because it was looking at your ass too much. If anything I’m the silly one.”
“You didn’t nearly throw Parker across the room, you did throw him across the room.” Two pairs of eyes went to the slumped bear at the opposite corner of the room. It’s patched tongue ratty due to the force it was a victim to.
“... And I’d do it again.” Your attempt to sigh only released the giggle in your throat as Denki continued.
“And baby? Fuck what these tabloids are saying. You’re a skillful fighter and Ochaco’s number one sidekick! If that isn’t a fine, brave, amazing woman then I don’t know what is.” Your body tingled in warmth, unable to hide the physical effects of his compliments as wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him straight on his lips.
“Thank you Denki, I really needed to hear that.” 
“Oh, I’m not done yet.” He moved out of your embrace, kneeling to set his phone up on the bedside table. The lamp was used as support, showing the front camera the entirety of the room. 
“Denki? What are you doing?”
“Don’t worry doll, just sit there and look pretty.” He continued to tap against the screen before a familiar symbol popped up.
Tiktok, one of Denki’s favorite apps, met your eyes as it began to start up. Denki was one of the only pro heroes on Tiktok, which garnered him 5.5 million followers, and at least a million views each video he made. He swiped and scrolled until his eyes lighted up.
“Go put on my shirt. I don’t want them seeing any parts of you only for my pleasure.” You raised an eyebrow at the request but still complied. 
“Now come here, sexy.” Your footsteps hesitantly approached his side of the bed, unknowing about what scheme he made up in his brain. You stopped right where the camera couldn’t see you but you were too far for his liking, so he grabbed the plush of your thigh, pulling you close enough to bury his nose into your flesh. 
“That’s more like it. You ready?” 
“Denki I swear to God you better answer me. What are we doing—”
He tapped the screen, unaffected by your threat, and began to record. The beat was all too familiar before your eyes widened and your face erupted in heat. Sex Talk?!
“Aye uh...ahhh.” He wasted no time getting into character, sticking his tongue out as he winked at the camera. Your melanin-rich thigh stared back at you through the phone, making it known that the leg Denki held indeed belonged to a black person. His hand, under the shirt, kept firm on the back of your thigh to ensure that you stayed within the frame as he continued his Tiktok.
“Aye, bad bitch tastes like cherry kiwi, real big titties these double DDs.” He sings out the song, pointing to your very exposed thigh. Your face hot, the thought of this going online burned your face with not only embarrassment but also excitement. You buried your face in your hands as Denki skimmed your leg with his nose.
“Mwah…” He pressed his lips against your flesh, the epicenter sending tingling waves through your body as he looked straight up at you. His eyes twinkled with mischief as the sound ended. He grabbed the phone before you could reach it, hitting ‘post’ before you could snatch it out of his hand.
“Denki! Your PR manager is so going to kill me.” You scrolled through his phone frantically; it was already pinging with likes and comments from the video posted just 10 seconds ago.
He plucked the phone from your hands and placed it down on the table.
“Never mind that baby girl. The song said a bad bitch tastes like cherry kiwi and I suddenly forgot how that taste. Maybe I should sample you again…” Without ceasing he pressed his lips against yours, ready to start the night off again. 
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(H/n)’s footstool @blackshipper: @theeofficialy/n this you? *Chargebolt’s new TikTok*
Chargebolt and (h/n) sittin in a tree @comegetyalljuice: I fucking knew it! (h/n)’s living our Chargebolt fantasy.
Stream Sex Talk by Megan @kpophoebutnotondalow: If your man ain’t kissing up your thigh like Chargebolt did with (h/n), is he even your man?
Mirko’s left rabbit foot @westanMirko: Guys, that’s not @theeofficialy/n, that’s Mirko duh…
You rolled your eyes at the tweet before scrolling through the rest of them. Denki’s chest raised and lowered as he looked through his own phone. Suddenly, you received an email notification. Your eyes widened as you read its body.
“Denki! Some talk show wants us to come in and talk about our relationship. They finally recognize that I’m your partner!” He craned his neck to face you, offering a smirk at your excitement.
“Good, that’ll show Parker who you’re real man is!” The teddy bear stayed in the corner it was thrown, now laying on its side, looking solemnly at the bed. 
“You’re annoying.”
“You still love me though.” A smile spanned your face as you inched closer to Denki’s. Your lips met his in a soft embrace before withdrawing. 
“Yeah, I do.”
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