#I'm moving in like 36hrs so
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thundercrack Ā· 1 month ago
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the state of my fridge is such that i keep eating forkfuls of straight sauerkraut. my german ancestors must be cheering (remembers the Wikipedia page for sauerkraut) oh right
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solarwynd Ā· 8 months ago
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If we look at CTT's streams I'm pretty impressed. We did 5.7m unfiltered. the problem was that we had big filtering rate which many said could be because we had no playlist and the leak of CTT at different date (which wasn't version but it was still showing up on Spotify ig so ppl over used it or something like that). We really need to work on the filtering rate tho. Tae's new song something around 6.2m unfiltered and we got 5.7m with 36hrs notice period so i think alot were tuned in even if got short notice period.
I really hope we have got better with streaming cause whatever his next release is we have to show good results there too. We can't just be fixated on LC now that it's a year old song. We have to be good with most of the new release if not all. I mean not every song is gonna do good but we can try with as many as we can. If the music is great (like all his solo songs) then that would already do half work. Also after the 1b target we can also try to bring his other songs on chart or atleast SMF2 till next song.
If Only that ass company would move for him ever
Filtering is such a finicky matter, because I have noticed that out of all the recent releases, hobi has had the lowest. Honestly canā€™t remember the last time a member had under 1M filtered much less 500k. Iā€™ve seen people (mostly Hobi biased/solos trying to shade maknae line) claim itā€™s due to more ā€œreal peopleā€ streaming. Which *might* have truth to it, but we all know everybody uses multiple accounts to stream songs/that 20x method and hyung line isnā€™t exempt just because they get a lower filter rate. So anybody who tries to act like itā€™s only maknae line fans who do it are lying.
Jiminā€™s Spotify numbers are so evenly distributed and not just skewed towards one country I donā€™t think thatā€™s the main issue for him. I do think the glitch with CTT played a role in fucking us over because a near 50% rate is egregious. BTS dealt with the same in the past as well, especially with Butter so idk. We really do need to work on it though within the parameters that we can actually control.
Using LC to test our stability and improving on other platforms is very useful though, doesnā€™t matter if itā€™s a year old. And itā€™s not like weā€™re gonna prioritize it once the new release drops, and if we can keep it charting during it then thatā€™s good too. Iā€™m glad pjms have taken the initiative to better themselves. I agree with bringing SMF2 back to Spotify though we could also use some practice on our multitasking as well.
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vampirethin27 Ā· 10 months ago
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Okay I eat literally whatever when I'm on my period because who the hell cares, I'm 19 with the metabolism of a āœØļøšŸ’«šŸ§šā€ā™€ļøfucking horsešŸ§šā€ā™€ļøšŸ’«āœØļø, and today my mother is making angus beef burgers, some cookies my father picked up, and I already planned on making a milkshake with the white chocolate strawberry cream moonshine I got. So I'm definitely fasting tomorrow, but I don't want anything that was bought specifically for me to go to waste, so breakfast is probably gonna be oatmeal with yogurt and fruit and the last slice of red velvet cake, and if my mother doesn't make anything too grand (like pancakes or a full sandwich) for lunch I'll start my fast right after breakfast (which will probably be at 9am CST cause I do yoga at 6 for an hour and then shower and skincare and tarot and tea)
SO!! Help me decide how long to fast for pretty please šŸ„¹šŸ™
I cannot do 72 yet, I know that, but I also know if my body could handle a 48 hour fast almost cold turkey then after filling up like I have been I'll be able to go longer. Probably do 2 shorter ones afterwards whenever I do end up doing 60 and then shoot for 72 because I've only ever hit that thrice in my life. Well- purposefully
I also worked out for the first time using the app I downloaded on January 1st šŸ’€ Went for an hour while snacking on a bunch of ingredients with soy sauce and seaweed (I need a lot of sodium compared to the rest of ya) and I forgot how good it feels to have a sore stomach. I know I tend to roll over and put off things like this, but I honestly feel great. I think I'm gonna start doing it after we (my mother and I) walk the dog around 1pm, that'll also help me get rid of this extra weight I fear I might be almost putting on šŸ˜… But this is why I stop and start exercising, I mean that's literally how I got past my plateau of 4 years at 17! Moved it from 117lbs to 105lbs
Okay I'm gonna go reblog some garbage now (/pos) <3333333
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d1etboy Ā· 1 year ago
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todayā€™s stats
breakfast: 140 cals (tj's peaches and cream yogurt)
lunch: 260 cals (1 slice of marinara pizza, vitamin water zero sugar) <- the pizza was from a restaurant so i don't know if those cals are accurate, i just found something on mfp that looked similar
snacks: 60 cals (radish kimchi, cucumber slices w garlic salt, drinkable konjac jelly)
dinner: 448 cals (rice, boiled egg, 1/2 turkey burger, kimchi, and shredded cheese)
total: 908 cals! after my 36hr fast i moved my goal down to 900, i'm ok with going ~8 over on the first day :)
-128 cals for exercise which was mainly walking around
i like the exercise regimen i have, but i also think taking walks is a little more enjoyable for me, so i might just go back to going on walks for exercise, esp bc i don't really use exercise to gain back cals. overall good day!!
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suzieb-fit Ā· 2 years ago
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Early morning ramblings.....
This is going to be a long journal type post, so move along now if you don't want putting to sleep šŸ˜‚.
I'm awake at the usual time of just past 3am.
It was a long night. The boss has hurt his hip somehow and he's been in a lot of pain since yesterday. I have given him a strong painkiller, as the generic one I gave him a few hours ago hasn't even touched it.
So it looks like today might involve looking after him. I try do that anyway, in terms of bringing him hot drinks and making the meals etc.
But between us, we're a right couple of old fogies at the moment. What with him in pain with that, and me still in pain after my bad falls on the ice almost two weeks ago!
But life throws curveballs sometimes.
I'm not looking forward to my appointment later. This thing I'm having removed is right on my collarbone, where there's literally no flesh as padding. I don't know what the process will be but I imagine it will be uncomfortable at the very least. But it's probably going to be over before I know it. It might just be sore for a while afterwards. It needs doing though.
My last meal before starting my extended fast will be after getting home from that. That could be any time from maybe 12.30. So if it isn't much later than that, my fast time might reach all the way to 48hrs. I easily managed almost 42hrs last week so it sounds manageable.
But I'm happy for anything from 36hrs.
I'm not overindulging until then, but I've had an early snack just now. My calories today will be right on target. Already logged them on my food diary and I'll be on around 2,000 before that timer starts.
The first time I did the longer fast, which meant no food at all on Monday, was mentally challenging. I was expecting to struggle. But this time I'm not feeling anything negative like that. I've already done it and I know what to expect.
My next post will be in around 24hrs when I have finished my first Monday morning workout, and I'll be quite a bit over 12hrs into fasting mode.
Maybe rather absurdly I'm quite looking forward to it.
But right now, at the beginning of what is going to be an extremely rare lazy day, I'm going to try get a bit more sleep.....
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murasaki-sama Ā· 11 months ago
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My last 36hrs or so.
Woke up early, doctor's appointment.
Went back to sleep.
Woke up, went to estate sale. Bought furniture.
Came home.
Went to estate sale again (same one). Bought more furniture, so much we couldn't fit it all in the car.
Went home with the plan to wake up early and get a trailer to fit the new furniture.
Remembered I had other plans early in the morning, quickly recalculated and made it all work by planning to get up -even earlier- to get it all done.
Ate dinner, sorted through a years worth of unopened mail belonging to my father, read some manga.
Move around a lot of furniture to make room for new incoming furniture.
Completely failed to sleep at all, despite many attempts.
"woke up" (aka gave up on sleep and said fuck it, lets drink 4 cups of black tea instead).
Had tea, read more manga.
Went to get trailer; drove to estate sale.
Loaded up furniture.
Bought even more furniture.
(I am a sucker for a good bookcase, what can I say?)
Came home, unloaded all new furniture.
Now with an additional passenger (my twin sister) and with trailer still attached to car, drove to outdoor board game flea market.
Got a bit lost, even with a map, and went around a very annoying shopping center parking lot, found street fair.
Went through whole thing at crazy speed (with a rollator walker and disabled me, so like, a very slow crazy speed), looking only to replace board games I had lost in the storage fire thing that happened.
Found 2 of them, but didn't buy the first one because it was at the second table I saw, and I wanted to see what other games their were, and then I went and bought things and I couldn't afford the first game anymore, so I didn't go back for it and yeah I'm annoyed at me!
Bought: 1) one board game to replace a missing board game. 2) a multicolored 3d printed turtle Creature (#tod the turtle pics coming soon!) 3) a game for my twin because she was begging, and 4) 8 volumes of a manga because a) it was there, b) its a really good manga, and c) apparently I had bought my twin sister the first 3 volumes already so 4-11 seemed like a quick and easy xmas gift?
Failed to buy the two Pirates of the Caribbean games (even if one of them monopoly). ((and the other game I found to replace what I'd lost but I already explained that).
Drove from board game fleamarket to international market (trailer still attached), to randomly surprise my best friend and her mother who were going to be there around that time. (Also it was like 2-3 miles from the flea market so it worked out).
Proceeded to have me, my dad, and my twin sister waltzing around the store buying xmas chocolate, candy and tea (normal and xmas varieties!) like crazy people with three different carts (well...two carts and a rollator walker chair thing) while waiting for friend.
Gave up waiting for friend and stashed myself in the tea section. While writing a text to friend's mom (whole other story), saw friend nearly slip past me!
Walked up behind her and said "I forgot your clothes".
More fun (and much more chocolate) was had at the international market.
Drove home.
Spent and hour or two trying to corral my family into moving furniture from upstairs to downstairs and from one part of the garage to another.
Loaded up the trailer more, then sent family off to take it all to storage and then return trailer.
Finally, permission to sleep!
(24hrs or so since last sleep, which was like a 2hr nap; I have chronic fatigue so I sleep like 14-18hrs a day? on a good day.)
Went upstairs.
Moved more furniture! I could have ignored it! Any of it! All 3 of it!
but no.
Moved it anyway.
now....can I sleep at last?
(had to type this up first sooooo probably not?)
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faithfromanewperspective Ā· 1 year ago
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thank you so much for all of your kind words and multiple reblogs: i am genuinely blown away that you think my writing does that šŸ„ŗ and yeah, that's true I guess, they're always acknowledging Matthew (as they should) but. I guess it makes sense with the plot. while there's a prince of hell out and about it's probably not the time, and chain of thorns wasn't really structured to deal with the aftermath. which there always is.
like i get being 17, thinking that you have everything that you want, and the buzz of excitement that masks everything you've felt, and you're 17 so you think what you're feeling right now is all that there is, all there ever is, but it is going to catch up to you. and i only hope that they're prepared for it. I would love to read your analysis so much!!
and honestly, I think the bracelet is what I blame mostly for taking away his chance to process all that. the academy was intense, he was basically blamed for the death of another kid, his bully no less who he'd have complex feelings about--on top of everything else. like he went straight from there to the fever episode at cirenworth (no wonder his poor little immune system was not up to fighting off Any Pathogen but anyway) to Mind Control Spell. like maybe it meant he didn't feel too different from everyone else due to his--basic empathy for mundanes--there's silver linings to most things--but it will catch him now that the muting effect of the bracelet (for better or worse) is so jarringly and permanently gone. he's got a fair bit more autonomy now he's almost 18 and moved out to actually act on his convictions now than at 13-14 and dealing with his parents' reactions to the discrimination they were facing as well as his own and trying to protect his little sister. and one thing I'm learning now is that anger at injustice doesn't just go away when you try and suppress it to survive in a world that treats you as 'other' the minute you question its norms but actually sometimes becomes this insurmountable barrier against the world and it's best to pick the 'low hanging fruit' to act on for that authenticity and satisfaction. just to feel a little lighter. so it's been very relevant to me and james just happens to be a character in a conveniently similar situation.
as for his friendship with christopher, it's got to be one of my favourite, if not my absolute favourite, dynamic in the whole series. for all the accidental projected ableism, they really are so similar and different in complementary ways and you can see how much james appreciates the weapons kit makes for him, the validation of his reckless heroic bravery. and you can see how much christopher appreciates anyone who is open to experiment. hungry to make change in the world in any way. i hate how little this was explored, and the way canon has prevented it going forward. because they're so young and often it's your 20s that really are where you grow into who you are, what you love and care about and value and find the community who build you up in that. james and christopher are both quiet revolutionaries. (matthew is in a way too, he's more like a living work of art that it's an emotional and life-changing experience just to live life in his general vicinity; and thomas is the glue of the group that keeps the others from self-destructing but he's revolutionary in his own way in how he loves and protects and sees the world) but anyway. I guess I have Ideas And Strong Opinions on how their little group of four would evolve going forward based on their ambitions and personalities and new players and the way sometimes who you grate against the most is who you end up being closest with. I'll have to write a Christopher-positive au at some point, but for now we have this.
(actually i have a chapter on its way to ao3 in the next 36hrs, would you like a tag when i do?)
something like a snippet, i can never keep/ideas in a line and plot of what i see
(to the tune of starting line by luke hemmings)
i was thinking a lot about discovering myself as a musician and an athlete and a way that works for me with my ideals and my neurodivergence and just being in that space where my whole body is burnt out and all but the most authentic options are limited. and also about how gifts that you don't have autonomy over aren't gifts at all and it's natural to get traumatised by things that others who don't know your circumstances don't--
and this came. it's part of a fic going on to 50K words that you will get to read in its entirety once it has a semblance of structure to it. in the meantime it's full of holes, like the stereotype of cheese. this is a flavoursome bit i hope? and i hope it makes sense without whatever background i may or may not have half written for it. i hope it sheds a bit of light on Important Things To Talk About too:
The adults in the enclave had really stepped up, James thought, compared to the last year or so when London went from having no demons, to being overrun with Khora and then being Belialā€™s plaything. It had taken them a while to realise and acknowledge all the bad decisions that were made during that time, but they had. Heā€™d lost track of all who had come to him about it, apologised for all he and his friends had gone through at the hands of Belial and Tatiana. He drew an iratze on his wrist, cutting through the fog (and ignoring an intrusive thought wondering how much longer he might have to do this for). Still heavy with grief and what he assumed was his body simply processing all that had happened to them, he made his way up to the training room to get in some throws before Matthew and Jesse arrived.
In another world, the three of them might train with Christopher as well, and James would continue for hours with the novelty of a slightly modified weapon that he and his cousin were working out how to useā€”it would be useful, eventually, after a few more modifications, Kit would promise, but James would just try again and again to adjust his stance, his grip, to whatever new thing this was even when Matthew grew bored and Thomas sat down with him. Back when Thomas was still small, still discouraged at the idea of ever being a great Shadowhunter. Before he got it in his head that chasing murderers alone was a good idea and Alastair had come along and, unexpectedly, been the catalyst along with the year in Spain that brought Thomas out of his shell. When had they lost that? Was it normal for friendship to be like that at their age, each too caught up in their own struggles to see what was going on below the surface, behind the facades of the boxes one put oneā€™s friends in just to feel like one had a handle on how the world worked, and feel like something was predictable?
They had gained a much bigger group of friends than they knew how to handle, roles they hadnā€™t yet grown into, and no life-changing battle (or three) was without casualties. James couldnā€™t thank enough whatever turns of fate had brought Cordelia to him, even if the events actually had been Eliasā€™ blunder and him burning a house down at Graceā€™s request. He hadnā€™t realised how seventeen years of pent-up frustration and disconnect from the world (which werenā€™t anyoneā€™s fault, not his, nor that of anyone who loved him) could wear one down slowly. And it took being around those who saw every part of his being, who loved him and let him be free entirely, finding his own way in the world without the pressure of living up to his parentsā€™ legacy, to realise how much heā€™d been suppressing the urge to escape he never felt like it was possible to fulfilā€”and that he could live a life of little joys among the responsibilities of protecting mundanes from supernatural dangers.
He'd been resting a lot lately, breathing through nightmares in which Belial was still at largeā€”either possessing him or taunting from afarā€”just to wake with Cordelia by his side, in a world filled only with the smaller demons heā€™d learned from young to defeat. He found solace once again in the stories of mundane magicians who, like him, faced discovery of mystery and of a world no one else seemed to be impacted by. Occasionally heā€™d wonder if there was a future where Shadowhunters or warlocks could counsel these curious mundanes through what they had found as Jem had done for himā€”surely that would work towards the same end as killing demons? But for now it was enough to know that there was a vast world of human experience, far broader than the narrow-minded and sheltered enclave of London would have him believe. There were people out there restless, searching for more, with a curiosity stronger than their instinct to survive.
Jamesā€™ throw missed its mark, and he tried to concentrate on the next one. His mind was loud today, and in the last months heā€™d realised that sometimes it was more beneficial just to pause and let himself think for a bit than try to control it like he did with everything. There were limits to control. That doesnā€™t mean a world you donā€™t have control over is too scary or unbearable, he told himself, and he'd keep telling himself until he believed it.
He positioned his feet for the next throw, and as he shut his eyes to feel his body, he saw on the back of his eyelids something he didnā€™t know why heā€™d been thinking about so much. A magician called Roland the Astonishing, advertised on posters around the city. Mundane magicians were largely ignored by Shadowhunters, except in rude offhand statements loaded with exasperation: exasperation that they were doing what they were doing, endangering themselves and others, and Shadowhunters like himself were powerless to stop them.
But maybe stopping them just wasnā€™t the right answer. He missed Christopher in that moment, Christopher who would simply say that if one potential solution did not work they should simply try another.
Another solution. Another path to a world where James Herondale could still be a Shadowhunter. He opened his eyes and in an instant before he could think too hard about it, let the knife fly. Bullseye.
Maybe the way he was training right now just wasnā€™t what he needed. More of the same thing heā€™d done since he was a child. Maybe the way that he felt when Shadowhunters around himā€”competent, as they were, about keeping the city free from demonsā€”spoke of mundanes and Downworlders, especially those who tried to meddle in worlds that werenā€™t thereā€”was to be expected knowing his heritage.
Maybe it wasnā€™t a bad thing. Maybe it was a gift, like the shadow powers he sometimes wished he could have discovered at his own will, learn to manage the way one would manage a horse or a motorcar when driving. Rather than only ever learning skills that were more akin to someone learning how to flip out of the way of and mislead and even land on to try to have some influence over, a tiger you were trapped in a cage with. He was still learning to release that stress, that terror, from his body. Surely that was why this magician seemed to resonate with James in such a profound way. He was free, yet likely felt lost at the same time. And there was something about him. James wasnā€™t an artist, not by any stretch, so he couldn't use an artist's eye to ask himself: why did his face look so familiar?
He could ask Matthew, he supposed, but somehowā€”this was something he had to figure out on his own. Not with the assistance of any other Shadowhunter (he would tell Cordelia about it when she was finished training with Lucie for the day, but she would simply listen and thank him for telling her, which didnā€™t count). At least, not anyone who was born a Shadowhunter.
James threw another knife. Another bullseye. He knew he didnā€™t get as energetic as Matthew or even Lucie or Christopher did when they were excited, but he could feel it in his veins already: something freeing, something a bit like possibility and hope and the excitement of a new perspective that might just give him a new insight into exactly who he was and what his place was in the world. Something he remembered snippets of amid the crushing dread and shame and tiredness not unlike what he now felt, back when he and Lucie had stayed in Cirenworth Hall after the Academy. If he ignored the scalding fever and the way it left holes in his memory even now, he could imagine the warmth and hope building up in a crescendo like Jem sometimes played on his violin: right up until the moment he fell in love with Cordelia.
Before Grace had killed it with that spell and his life was once again marked by dull despair punctuated only by the pain of being apart from her, and the small relief he felt being around his friends and Cordelia.
Now wasnā€™t the time to think about Grace. He scribbled a note to Matthew and Jesseā€”training with three people could be awkward anywayā€”and set off to find another old friend from his time at the academy who was well versed in everything about mundanes, magicians, the experience of discovering the Shadow World, and might just have some ideas about how it might relate to him. She might even be able to point him to why this magician even looked so familiar (if not for some shared longing in their souls).
James threw another knife and didnā€™t even bother to retrieve it from the wall (where it had struck the target for the third time), before going to find Esme Hardcastle.
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copias-thrall Ā· 4 years ago
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Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful
A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.
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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. šŸ˜Š
Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! šŸ„°
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 heā€™d packed his bag the night before, he wasnā€™t even sure if heā€™d go through with it, but he couldnā€™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 didnā€™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 thingā€”that he could have dealt withā€”but everything else had just kind ofā€¦escalated.
Now that the kiddies were older, theyā€™d turned into gremlins. Theyā€™d somehow sensed that Mary wasnā€™t their beloved older brotherā€”he was some sort of half other. Theyā€™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 didnā€™t care. Heā€™d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"ā€”as if Mary wasnā€™t in the same boat.
Dad hadnā€™t stopped her whenā€”in a rageā€”sheā€™d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. Heā€™d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldnā€™t play "the devilā€™s music." Heā€™d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bedā€”action figures, books, guitar mags, journalsā€”in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadnā€™t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because heā€™d dyed his hair black and heā€™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 wasnā€™t a crime.
So, no: Mary couldnā€™t wait 3 more months.
Heā€™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 birdā€™s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didnā€™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, honeyā€”that site hasnā€™t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought heā€™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 shouldnā€™t go back homeā€¦but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.
What he hadnā€™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 didnā€™t think heā€™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 menā€™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, heā€™d have probably gotten into several altercations by nowā€”no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fightā€”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 heā€™d been going for. But maybe it had been because heā€™d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monsterā€™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 dayā€”almost boiling in the direct sunā€”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 workā€”dishwasher, busboy, barbackā€”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 kindestā€”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 connectedā€”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 didnā€™t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.
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@dipendancesld
Hashtag WTF
Iā€™m scrolling through Insta on the T, and Iā€™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 Iā€™d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end upā€”trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.
His band has been a local staple for yearsā€”or at least thatā€™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 Iā€™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 yearā€™s 50 best bands "youā€™ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.
Heā€™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 poutedā€”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 Ā 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 Hoursā€”and because Mary doesnā€™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 Iā€™m reigning supreme.)
Thereā€™s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today Iā€™m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in someā€¦risquĆ© poses and outfits.
The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Maryā€™s mannerisms down pat. Heā€™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 oldā€¦and thatā€™s when I sense something off. I canā€™t quite place my finger on it, but usually thereā€™s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. Heā€™s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.
My heart does a flip-flop.
Is thatā€¦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 belongingsā€”and himselfā€”out into the sun to dry.
By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryishā€”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, heyā€¦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 donā€™tā€”"
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. Iā€™m new and shit."
ā€¦But he wasnā€™t stupid.
A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.
"Aww, thatā€™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, weā€™re going to The Pit, wanna come?"
"If you guys donā€™t mindā€¦"
"Fuck, the more the merrier!"
Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the gothā€™s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. Iā€™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 girlā€™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 theyā€™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 ā€˜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, heā€™s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreementā€”booze for pot. Iā€™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?"
"Uhā€¦"
"Aww, I think he got into Lennyā€™s moonshine," said Vanity. "If heā€™s a transfer, I bet heā€™s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"
Mary just nodded.
"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "Weā€™ll put him up tonight. Thereā€™s no way heā€™s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and Iā€™ll be fucked if Iā€™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 weā€™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 warilyā€”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 donā€™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 toā€¦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 donā€™t opt in. Too expensive when itā€™s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I donā€™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. "Iā€™m not a freshman."
She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.
"I thought Iā€™d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place thatā€™s hiring?"
"No work study?"
"No."
"What kind of work you looking for?"
"Shit, anything. Iā€™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 meanā€¦"
"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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@dilfpassing
A Deeper Look
Iā€™m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy picsā€”which I'm sure now are actual scansā€”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.
Itā€™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 Cleaverā€™s salon lets me get away with a lotā€”like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitudeā€”but late start times arenā€™t one of them.) I honestly donā€™t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because Iā€™m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.
Itā€™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 boyā€™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 donā€™t need to see your intimates!"
"Thatā€™s the thing! Itā€™s not mine!"
"Your boyā€™s nudes get leaked??"
I wave my arms around.
"I donā€™t freakinā€™ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. Cā€™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, weā€™ve gone back and forth on whoā€™s in the imagesā€”Mary or a fakeā€”and I havenā€™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 isnā€™t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone homeā€”and itā€™s only June who does the post-work crowdā€”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."
Thereā€™s like, zero online trail about itā€”except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and artā€”but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.
It still doesnā€™t explain why Maryā€™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 jobā€”any jobā€”with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didnā€™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. Heā€™d only meant it as a jokeā€”a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back homeā€”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 Maryā€™s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.
But it was true: he didnā€™t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didnā€™t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didnā€™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 heā€™d never get aheadā€¦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. Whatā€™s kicks?"
"You still looking for a job?"
Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.
"Donā€™t remind me."
"You over 18?"
Just last week. But Mary hadnā€™t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.
"Yeah."
"Wanna be at least 21?"
Mary grinned at her.
"Thatā€™s what my fake ID says."
She laughed, a tinkling thing.
"You got anything against strip clubs?"
Mary furrowed his brows at her.
"Uhā€¦whatā€™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 girlsā€¦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 donā€™t think Iā€™d be much of a bouncer, Mands."
"You said youā€™d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, the club I work atā€”"
"The club at you what now?"
Mandi gave him a strange look.
"Yeah. The strip club I work at."
Maryā€™s eyes bugged out.
"As aā€¦waitress?"
"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "Itā€™s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. Iā€™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 dadā€™s dime."
She tilted her head at him.
"I thought youā€™d get it."
When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.
"Mare. I know you don't go here."
"W-whatā€¦? Iā€¦"
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, Iā€™m desperate, Mands. Iā€™ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."
"Thatā€™s the spirit!"
***
Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mobā€”or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Maryā€™s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."
Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ainā€™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 donā€™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 downā€”but you only get paid 'til 2amā€”and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You donā€™t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you donā€™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, Iā€™m gonna be very put out."
"Got it, sir."
"Donā€™t call me sir. Iā€™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? Iā€™ll start you at $10 an hour."
Maryā€™s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.
"Tenā€¦?"
Patrick had tilted his head again.
"No, youā€™re right, 12. Do a good job, and Iā€™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 itā€™s not that much of a problem. If you donā€™t fuck up and the girls donā€™t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"
Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." Heā€™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 Iā€™m giving you a shot. Donā€™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 weā€™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 fuckā€”your boss is scary."
"Nah, heā€™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 Maryā€™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 "Itā€™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 wasnā€™t an on-campus "student" and didnā€™t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found thatā€”while back home he was less than scumā€”here, he attracted all the right kinds of attentionā€¦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 residentā€”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 wasnā€™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 Christmasā€™s best furniture finds.
Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didnā€™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 Maryā€™s cave felt downright homey.
When the gang got back, he simply told them heā€™d dropped out.
"Yeah, I just donā€™t think college is for me. Musicā€™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 Iā€™m still around, you know. The strip clubā€™s only a block from campus."
"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.
"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "Heā€™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 Aaronā€™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.
"Youā€™ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "Iā€™d kill for your cheekbones."
"Iā€™d kill for your tits."
She slapped him playfully. "Donā€™t be gross."
"No, Iā€™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 girlā€™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 nuisanceā€”and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they dancedā€”but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.
When theyā€™d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if theyā€™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 heā€™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 theyā€™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 didnā€™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 wasnā€™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 clubā€™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 wasnā€™t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)
When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bearā€™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 vestigesā€”his battle vest and his ripped jeansā€”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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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 Maryā€™s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where Iā€™ve saved screenshots.
"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ā€˜splaining to do!"
Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.
"Shit, babe. Whereā€™d ya find these??"
"So they are you!"
He chuckles.
"Christā€¦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.
"Iā€™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 wasnā€™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 knowā€”modeling but like," he gestured up and down Maryā€™s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isnā€™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 townā€”concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. Heā€™d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.
"Weā€™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, butā€”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 itā€™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 heā€™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.
"Omigodā€”youā€™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.
"Iā€™m the art director, asshole."
Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.
"Couldnā€™t find one with brains?"
She turned back to Mary.
"I donā€™t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But Iā€™m letting you know right now that Iā€™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. Iā€™m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so donā€™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."
"Heyā€”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 youā€™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 waitedā€”greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or downā€”until Angelique approached him.
"Thatā€™ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"
Mary preened.
"Yeah, thatā€™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?"
"Weā€™ll call you."
***
"Omigod, omigod!"
Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.
"Maryā€¦look at you!"
Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.
Failed.
"Yeah. Iā€™m hot shit, ainā€™t I?"
She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.
"Donā€™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 pleaseā€¦until he put on Frankā€™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 Societyā€™s set heā€™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, dudeā€”thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.
The Ben on the other end chuckled.
"Itā€™s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dudeā€”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 moreā€¦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, Iā€™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 gartersā€”mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra popā€”but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.
"Heyā€”whereā€™d you get theseā€¦?"
(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 hadnā€™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.
Heā€™d left that day with a new kinkā€¦and the guyā€™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 themā€”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, utilitiesā€”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 anythingā€”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 whoā€™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 ā€˜Heroesā€™!" she'd shouted to him over the music.
Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.
"Maybe I am the guy in ā€˜Heroesā€™."
She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.
"I dunnoā€¦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 Iā€™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 aboutā€”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 sceneā€”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 heavenā€”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, soā€”while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pitsā€”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 nicheā€”and fuckā€¦I love to visitā€”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 crewā€¦but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creationā€”with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodiesā€”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 justā€¦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 crewā€”there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater gamesā€”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 charismaticā€”heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeansā€”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 inā€¦
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 theyā€™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 timesā€”or not at all.
The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old newsā€”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 whoā€™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 wasā€”fuck ups and all.
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@slimylayne
Epilogue
"Honestly, thatā€™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 ā€˜Model Maryā€™ perform in his underwear."
He shoots me a smirk.
"Iā€™m sure thereā€™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 Iā€™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, Iā€™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, Mareā€”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, thatā€™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 shitā€”most of those people arenā€™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 haveā€”what is it when itā€™s four people?ā€”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.
"Iā€™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. Uhā€¦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 wouldnā€™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 foundā€”and I did a lot of searching."
"Christ, I think there were at least 10."
I smile ruefully at him. "Itā€™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 Iā€™ve always been cool."
And then heā€™s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.
"You know, Iā€™m your family now, Mare. Just for you."
He brings my hand up and kisses it.
"Fuck, I know that. Whyā€™dja think I put a ring on it?"
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brigittttoo Ā· 3 years ago
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Fic Review 2021
Thanks for the tag @galateagalvanized! <3 total number of completed works: 10 total word count: 114k looking back did you write more, less, or the expected amount of fic this year?: a lot more! But this was the year of joining a new fandom, so I can see how the inspiration would've been really flowing
your own favorite story of this year?: I really love Wolfssegen, I think I really struck something weird and good and well-constructed with that one. I also got a delightful number of essay comments from people that made me feel like a book in english lit class, the IDEAL feeling tbh haha <3
do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?: just to finish things probably. I have too many little ideas floating around, as well as wips waiting in the wings until the big bang is finished. It would also be fun to co-author something; it's been really refreshing to come up with ideas with new friends and [job interview voice] I love following through, I'm a real team player
most popular story of the year? Pacific Rim AU Slow Waters babeyyy! Which is partly to be expected because it was a big multi-chapter thing and the first thing I wrote for codywan, but I'm very happy that everyone liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. Still surprised there weren't more pacrim au fics already when I wrote it
story most under-appreciated? Possibly Akin, Removed, but I kind of knew going into it that a weird horror fic wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea. Kind of the same thing but in the different direction with As before the loved one, which is also tied for fewest comments and was mostly written for myself anyways. I will continue to write these kinds of stories though, because I cannot be stopped
most fun story to write?: Probably Slow Waters again (because those fighting robots are just SO great), but there were a couple of prompts for Codywan Week 2021 that really buttered my parsnips, especially the retired-on-tatooine ones. And the one for 'domestic'.
most unintentionally telling story: For some reason I've pivoted into making a lot of my fics intentionally telling (i.e. As before the loved one, This is About You) but the one that was most unintentional was probably Wild Time. I thought I just wanted to write about girls but I guess I also needed to be read for friendship loneliness again, RIP
biggest disappointment: this should be kept a secret because there are some fics that were a pain to write and which I now have a personal vendetta against all comments/kudos towards, or ones which I just published in a hurry because I couldn't be bothered, but who am I to publicly cast my disappointed gaze over something that may be quite moving or touching or thrilling to someone else? In any case I should probably still be proud of these particular disappointments for managing to still get love from people, and for helping me become a better writer in the end anyways. Practice practice practice
biggest surprise: two biggest surprises were the amount of love for Inexpressibly to Untangle and for Gone and Returned, I think. I don't know what I was expecting with these but the amount and quality of feedback on these two were definitely a surprise! The other surprise was the amount of fics I managed to come up with and turn out within a good 24-36hr timespan. Inexpressibly to Untangle, Wild Time, This is About You, i'm lookin at you
my favorite part of fandom this year: being able to make new friends :) <3 it's cheesy but it's true. I also love the amount of events that have managed to happen and that I got/get to be a part of, or even just read the collections or saw the art for.
no pressure tags:Ā the discord jocks have already been tagged so I'll throw it out as open tags to anyone who bothered to open the readmore and wants to talk about their year of fic <3
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damagedmech Ā· 3 years ago
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Fuck November is over already...
I have moved to Seattle and living with my chosen family. A wonderful woman whom I call Mom. I think I have 3 moms now but no complaints from me.
The feeling of living here is unlike anything I have ever felt. I am apart of an amazing family that shows me so much love, support, and concern. Something that has always seemed to come at a price. I am super grateful to have been welcomed into the family and into my mom's home when I was in a space that was slowly killing me.
I have only been here for almost 1 month but it feels like ive known everyone for so much longer. I think some amount of pain has eased but the ones that hurt me the most hasnt subsided.
I stopped drinking back in October probably around the 9th. I continuned dance with death using my perscribed meds and taking a bunch just to feel numb for roughly 36hrs.
I can say I have stopped doing that for the past week and its rough. Just having to be present all the time and also having to sit with emotions with no way out.
It triggers my fight or flight response. Its hard for me to open up and say " Hey, without alcohol and pills I have remembered how hard the day to day is without them. Now that I am living in this I want to go back to being numb."
In my head its like "Wow, okay these feelings ive been suppressing are really coming back up. I shouldnt do all those bad things to my body to repress them again"
I am aware that it would not be a good idea but i feel like my eyes linger on blades a lot lately. I stare at my meds longer when taking my PM medications.
My brain is just in a constant search for a way out or a way to give me that false euphoric feeling where the world stops and I think I am ok.
I am so tired of this cycle...go to therapy-> doctors visit-> big mental breakdown-> stops treatment-> Game over attempt
I will hang on a little bit longer but the outlook is not so good.
I just feel sorry towards everyone around me because I know they all care about me deeply. My head is so fucked up that its a constant internal conflict of wanting to just shut everyone out or break down at least one wall to let them in.
I feel like expressing my feelings always ends up with me feeling like I am ungrateful and a bad human being. I hate talking and I hate that feeling like I'm just making conversation being a bother.
I feel so low most days and that my own communication skills are dropping because I am too scared to express myself.
The hardest part about meeting such an amazing transfamily is that feeling of "I fucked this up and now everyone is going to leave me"
It hits harder and that scares me a lot. I feel like if this doesnt work out i am going to be all alone. I don't think I can keep losing people important to me becausd of me.
I really wanted to do something fro Christmas to make it a nice experience for me. Mostly lame things like a themed ginger bread house, nerdy cookies, ugly christmas sweater....i wanted to make something I hated so much become not as bad.
That incident one week before Christmas is also still affecting me pretty hard. As much as I looked up to them and the inspiration they gave me. I wanted to try to keep going but I understand how they felt and why they made the decision to leave us.
I never met them but it hurts a lot still. Especially when you resonated with emotional pain so well.
The next 3 months are going to be rough and painful.
I don't have the energy or postive outlook to be optimistic. I'm sorry to everyone rooting for me and trying to encourage me. I don't have much hope.
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silver-wield Ā· 4 years ago
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I'm a new fan of Cloti, I just finished playing Remake. I want to ask. do C and T have special bonds? because I see their every move is always intimate. other people say C fell in love with A but I really didn't see C falling in love with A in this game, after what I saw C and T feel like they really have a strong relationship, am I wrong about that? I'm just a new fan
Welcome to the fandom!
Yeah, Cloud and Tifa have a deep long lasting connection that goes from their early childhood through to now. They're kinda each other's childhood sweetheart, only they weren't actually a couple because they're both shy dorks who thought the other didn't like them.
Cloud went to Midgar so he could become worthy of being with Tifa, but she never wanted him to be anything but himself. She likes him for who he is šŸ˜
Those two reconnect and it's clear they're into each other from all the flirting, longing looks smiles and attentiveness to each other. They're really cute together and you'll see from a lot of Cloti blogs there's so many moments in the game where they're being adorkable with each other. It's not just a couple of scenes recycled and padded out with OG stuff. There's so much in Remake to showcase how much they care for each other ā¤ļø
Cloud's known Aerith for about 36hrs by the end of Remake.
They met briefly for a few minutes on the 9th, which is when the first reactor mission is dated. Then he fell into the church on the morning of the 12th, spent most of the day with her, then he tried to leave, got stuck with her again, did wall market, the sewers and graveyard, and that takes us up to around 3am on the 13th, which is when she's taken away. He doesn't see her again until late hours on the 14th. He passes out soon after, wakes sometime the following day and then gets separated again to deal with the drum, which takes all day. Then they're in separate vehicles for the escape. He talks to her for a few minutes at the end of the road, they fight the whispers and Sephiroth and that's the end of the game.
It's not a lot of time to even get to know her and he spent most of chapter 8 annoyed af because he wanted to go home and couldn't.
Aerith's more Tifaā€™s friend tbf. They get along great and I've never seen Aerith look as happy at any point in the game as she did when she first saw Tifa in Don Corneo's basement. She looked so happy to see her and then had to back up because Tifa didn't know her, but Aerith does because she's got meta knowledge from the original game. She knows Tifa. She wants to be best friends again. People reduce Aerith to a one note figure, but she's got a great story and her relationships with everyone as friends is really important. She's also totally in love with Zack, so much so that she broke fate to save him ā¤ļø
Disc one is setting up the same mysteries as the original game had, but with more emotional intensity. Cloud and Tifa are the original game canon couple, so they're gonna go through some stuff, but they'll come out stronger at the end šŸ˜
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hopelessly-me Ā· 5 years ago
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Hey, I was scrolling down the ovarian cyst tag bc I got diagnosed with one today for the first time and I'm kinda scared and confused. šŸ„ŗ I saw your post and quite many others like it and i have a question. Isn't a rupturing cyst something you need to go to the emergency for? Or does the pain go away on its own after? And if a rupture is so bad isn't it better to get a key hole surgery to remove it before that happens? Mine is already painful so I was hoping to get it out and end my misery šŸ˜©šŸ˜­
Hey there! So- yes and no. The first time a cyst ruptured I was terrified too- I went to the hospital because I thought it was a kidney stone or something. They did some CTs and diagnosed the rupture. The rule of thumb I was given was if the pain was debilitating, or lasted more than twenty-four hours to go in; otherwise they basically told me to take Tylenol and heating pad it. Your gyno should be able to tell you more about if surgery is right for you.The pain does go away on its own, the longest Iā€™ve noticed it linger was for about 36hrs. Thereā€™s been twice in the roughly three years Iā€™ve had this happen that Iā€™ve had to take time off of work because it hurt to move. Most other times I can push through the pain.Ā It is definitely scary the first time it happens because you have no idea what is going on. I was terrified (and I am a huge sissy). Now I track it with my period, and can tell which side is normally the side to rupture one, and when it is most likely to happen. I keep a very detailed log of pain level associated and everything. Unfortunately, medical care for womenā€™s reproductive organs is still stone age in my opinion and it takes a long time for people to do anything about it. So you basically have to build your case for wanting anything done.I hope things work out for you though! I know the pain is terrible, makes you feel sick and everything. Best of luck!
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kimyeoreum0 Ā· 7 years ago
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I'm tired
Seriously, I always stop on 72kg and I'm not going lower. Once i'm on that weigh I start eating and it's so horrible!! I feel like shit, like I can't be in control for only a bit in order to finally go past that barrier. All I want is to be skinny, pretty, confident, a little bit happier but i'm fucking stopping somewhere and I just don't seem to move. I hate it!!!! I was trying to fast for a week now but I couldn't because I always ended up eating! Now, today, I'll fast. It started 9pm yesterday and I'll go with it for 36hrs. I have to be skinny, I have to lose weight... Wish me luck, I can't give up....
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