#but when i lived in NYC there was a bakery I would go to early in the morning to get fresh bread for coffee....i miss it

[sm0lsuccubus]

early morning bread is peak

[honeyedmiller]

Mr. Bakery Man

baker!joel miller x f!reader

rating: none

synopsis: it’s not every day you get to move from nyc to austin for your job and relish in a pleasant change of pace. it’s also not every day that you discover a cute family owned bakery in the heart of austin—and it’s definitely not every day that you meet the owner and fall head over heels for him.

warnings: this is pure, innocent tooth-rotting fluff ; fun flirting, we’ll call this one a hallmark type beat lol, sarah and ellie are both in this, joel is down bad in this (but so is reader), no use of y/n.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this was supposed to be for @punkshort’s au writing challenge but i’m hella late on it. life has been crazy lately, but thanks for sticking with me during my unintentional hiatus 🤍

Moving from New York City to Austin Texas had been an oddity in life’s recent escapades. 

Your job had asked if anyone in your department was willing to do the big move because the office in Austin needed a strong journalist on their growing team. With the rest of your colleagues having kids and spouses, nobody was interested in uprooting their whole life to move to a completely different state. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to get out of New York. You yearned for new opportunities, and when this one arose, you didn’t hesitate to tell your boss you were interested. 

You’d been slowly settling into Austin, getting used to life in another city with a completely different atmosphere. You were grateful your new colleagues were all very nice and welcoming. 

The one thing you’d say you missed dearly back in New York City, though, was this amazing bakery off of Fifth you’d frequent before work. Their coffee and croissants were delicious, which is what led you to go on a Google hunt to see what bakeries were good around here in Austin. 

One caught your eye immediately—Sarah & Ellie’s— with five star reviews and multiple photos of all the sweets they had to offer. It was a cozy little café and bakery mixed into one with a homey, warm vibe and cute decorations. You mapped it to see how long it would take you to get to the place, and to your luck, it was only a ten minute walk from your apartment complex. So, you decided you were going to go first thing in the morning before work. 

And for some reason, you felt excited to try a new place. Maybe it was a sign of finally getting used to living in a completely different state, fifteen hundred miles away from your old life. 

You luckily got used to being an early riser, so once morning had rolled around, you were up n’ at ‘em by six thirty. You left your house around seven, making your way down to Sarah & Ellie’s. 

The shop felt more homey than it looked online. As soon as you stepped in, there was already a short line of customers and a waft of delicious baked goods and coffee that filled your senses. You suddenly yearned for a home you’d never even been to. 

You stood in line and observed the menu, deciding on sticking with a classic chocolate croissant and latte for the time being. You wanted to see if this place held a candle up to the place off of Fifth. 

The older gentleman in front of you greeted the cashier with a bright smile, and she immediately typed in an order. 

“Hey Randy, how’s it going?” 

“Hey sweet pea. Just here for my usual mornin’ coffee and danish,” he says, handing the girl a ten dollar bill. She counts out the change and closes the register with her hip before returning his beaming smile to him. “Tell your old man to stop workin’ so damn hard. Cheryl says I need to lay off the sweets once in a while, but I can’t do that if all his baked goods are too delicious to resist.” Randy pats his stomach with a satisfied hum, and the girl laughs. 

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message. Have a good one!” 

After she waves him off, she locks eyes with you and gives you the same beaming smile as you stepped up to the register. 

“What can I get ya, Miss?” she asks, tone cheery and light. 

“I’ll take a chocolate croissant and a latte, please.” 

She nods and rings in your order, grabbing a cup to write your name on it. 

“Not to intrude or anything, but are you new ‘round here?” Her tone is still light, laced with pure curiosity as the sharpie pen hovers over the latte cup. 

You gave her a smile and nodded meekly, “I am.” 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sarah.” 

You give her your name and her smile never wavers, scribbling your name on the cup. 

“Let me get that chocolate croissant for you—” she started, but was accidentally cut off by a man opening the door that separated the front of the café from the back. 

“Hey babydoll, do we have anymore—” the man stops abruptly, eyes landing on you. A black apron adorned his clearly thick and strong physique, flour dusted on his hands and arms. He was tall, and had a sweet glint in his brown eyes that made warmth flood your whole body. He had a head full of thick brown curls with grays strewn in here and there, and the mustache along with the stubble on his chin mirrored the streaks in his hair.

He instantly gave off a charming aura, and when he smiled at you, you were a goner. 

“Hello Miss. Don’t think we’ve ever met before,” he says, dusting his hands off on the apron before extending one to you. His Southern accent dripped like thick, pure honey, and it made your skin burn hot. 

You couldn’t hold back your smile when you reached your hand out to shake his. It might’ve sounded cliché as hell, but the sudden surge you got from just touching him made every single cell in your body alert, yearning for more. 

“I’m new in the city,” you explain, “Just moved here not too long ago.” 

“Ah, makes sense. Think I’d remember ya even if you didn’t come in often.” 

You’re taken aback by his words. Was he… flirting? You felt your face heat, and your eyes nervously flit to the glass case full of delicious looking pastries. Well, if he was flirting, there’s no harm in doing it back… right? 

“Me coming in often depends,” you find yourself grinning like a fool, “Do your pastries taste as good as they look and smell?” 

“They’re the best in Austin,” he winks, and with that, murmurs something to Sarah before giving you one last smile before walking to the back again. 

Sarah can’t help but giggle as she hands you your croissant. “It’s on the house,” she waves her hand as you pull out your wallet, and you stop short to give her a confused look. She clocks the expression on your face and grins. “Dad said.” 

“That’s your dad?” You didn’t mean to pry, you were just taken aback. 

“Mhm. Family owned and operated bakery,” you immediately hear the pride in her voice, and you can’t help but smile. “I’ll have your latte out in a minute.” 

You grin and nod, stepping over to the other side of the counter. You decided to take a bite of your croissant while you waited for your latte, and god, it was the best pastry you think you’d ever had. The croissants on Fifth had nothing against these gooey, decadent, flaky treats. 

You nearly had to hold back a moan, and the man—Randy, you think—laughed beside you. 

“Good, ain’t they?” he asks, and you nodded expeditiously. 

“Probably the best croissant I’ve ever had.” 

Randy nods in agreement, “Miller’s the best baker in Austin. Been comin’ here since his girls were little.” 

And you finally figured that Ellie must be his other daughter. It warmed your heart that he’d name his place after his two girls, clearly his pride and joy. 

“That’s so nice,” you say, and give him a quick wave goodbye when his order is called out. 

“Hopefully I’ll see you again soon,” Randy shot you a smile before taking a sip of his drink, and you nod at him with a smile before you turn your attention to your name being called out. Sarah handed you your drink and you thanked her, taking a cautious sip. 

Even the latte was superb. You were one hundred percent sold on this place, and maybe even a little smitten with the owner. 

Yeah, you’d definitely be coming back. 

-

A month passes by before you know it, and you’re now deemed an honorable regular at Sarah & Ellie’s. You’ve met Ellie, who was a total opposite of her sister—but you loved both of their personalities all the same. You learned that Ellie was going to art school and you promised her you’d buy a commissioned piece. 

Sarah was going to school for business, studying to take over the bakery one day, and possibly even expand it as a franchise. You told her you’d be at the grand opening the day that it happens. 

As for the owner, Mr. Miller—or, Mr. Bakery Man, you teasingly called him—kept the flirting subtle but fun. You looked forward to the playful banter you two’d exchange, and it always earned a raised brow and a not-so-subtle smirk from either Sarah or Ellie. 

Unbeknownst to you, they’d tease their father about the ‘crush’ he had on the pretty regular that came in and how he should buck up and ask you on a date. 

And he planned to do just that. When you went in on a Saturday morning, you were surprised to see him working the front counter instead of one of the girls. 

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Bakery Man,” you say, and he runs a hand through his hair. 

“In the flesh,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Girls didn’t come in today?” You lean up against the counter as he grabs a latte cup, writing your name out on it. He hesitates for a moment, but continues to write on it before setting it down on the opposite countertop. 

“Nah. Sarah was up late doing homework and it’s Ellie’s turn to have Saturday off.”

You nod in understanding, pulling out your wallet. He stops you and shakes his head, and you scoff. 

“You have to let me pay, Mr. Miller. You can’t keep giving me these discounts.” 

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” his smile was shy, and he was fidgety—almost like he was scared. Right when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, he cut you off. 

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?” His words were rushed, and your heart melted at how nervous he sounded. 

You paused your movements completely, meeting those warm brown eyes that made you feel so safe. 

“I’d love to,” you answered, and relief visibly washed over his features. 

“Great. I, uh, wrote my name and number on your cup. Hope you don’t mind,” he says, and you have to bite back a smile. Then you suddenly realized you never even knew this man’s first name. You’d just stuck with calling him the nickname you gave him, or by his last name. 

You took the cup from him gingerly as he finished making your drink a few minutes later, and turned it in your hand to see his name and number scrawled on the side as promised. 

Joel. 

The name fit the gorgeous man in front of you. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, and your palm landed on his insanely toned bicep with reassurance. 

He stared at you, the warmth in his eyes nearly making you weak in the knees. 

“I promise I’ll call you,” you say, giving his bicep a soft squeeze. Your hand falls to your side again before grabbing the croissant from the counter that you didn’t notice until now, and you eagerly took a bite. 

Joel wanted to laugh at the chocolate on the side of your mouth as you tilted the pastry toward him. He restrained himself from reaching up and wiping it from your mouth, but you beat him to it by using your knuckle to wipe it off. 

“Compliments to the chef.” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He couldn’t help but admire your playful side, ecstatic that you agreed to go out with him. 

“Anythin’ for you darlin’,” he said, and you left the bakery that day with a smile on your face that you couldn’t wipe. 

That night, you found yourself pacing back and forth in your apartment as you chewed on your bottom lip. Your phone was clutched in your hand, keypad open and ready to dial. Your other hand had the empty coffee cup with his name and number. 

You didn’t know why you were battling this in your head. Is it weird? Is it too late to call him? No—No, it’s not weird. He’s the one who asked you out, after all. 

Fuck it. 

You sighed as you dialed the number on the cup, pressing the phone up to your ear. Within seconds, Joel’s deep voice rang through the other line. 

“Hello?” He sounded a bit tired, voice hoarse from what had to be a long day. 

“Hey Mr. Bakery Man,” you said in hopes of lifting his spirits even in the slightest. 

His deep chuckle that sounded through the receiver had a warmth blooming in your chest. Even his laugh alone made you feel good inside—like a cup of hot cocoa in your hands on a cold night while you’re in your pajamas sitting fireside. 

Did it sound kind of insane? Sure. Did you care? No. 

The feelings you’d felt toward him almost blindsided you, but something in your gut told you that Joel would be a constant in your life from here on out. 

“Hey darlin’. How’s your day been?” He asks. 

“Good, good,” you pause for a moment, “So about that date…” 

“I was thinkin’ some dinner? Friday night at seven?” 

“That’s perfect. I can’t wait.” 

-

Friday night rolled around, and Joel was kicking himself for not exactly having a plan B. For some reason, the reservations he made got mixed up and you couldn’t be seated. 

You assured him that it was okay, and that his presence was enough for you to enjoy yourself. 

You both decided to get some pasta to-go and eat your food at a park nearby. Even though you both were dressed to the nines and didn’t exactly blend in, you couldn’t care less. You were enjoying your time with him and getting to know the amazing man that he is. 

He opened up and talked about how Sarah and Ellie were both his pride and joy, how he had Sarah really young and adopted Ellie later on, how he sometimes helped his brother Tommy in the contracting business, and how he’s loved to bake in the kitchen with his mom ever since he was a young boy. 

“Didn’t really think I’d make a career out of it,” he confesses. 

“Looks like it worked out for you really well though,” you nudge his side gently. You were settled onto a bench with him then, closer to each other than anticipated. Neither of you said a word, though. 

Being by Joel’s side radiated nothing but safety and comfort. It felt natural, like you two were meant to find your way to each other. 

“Guess so. ‘S funny though. I meet new people every day because of the bakery and, forgive me ‘f this is too bold to say, but meeting you has completely thrown me off my game,” he chuckles, and you furrow your brows. 

“What do you mean?” You try not to feign hurt in your tone, but he wraps his arm around your shoulders and brings you into his warm body. You’re engulfed in his scent, and you could stay here forever, you thought to yourself. 

“Don’t mean it as a bad thing, sweetheart. I mean you’ve been on my mind constantly, and truth be told, I didn’t think you’d ever agree to go on this date with me. ‘M not really one to put myself out there and go on dates, but somethin’ about you made me want to get to know ya more,” he explained, and you nodded your head in understanding. 

“I get it. I didn’t know what to expect when I moved out here. I always buried myself in work and didn’t pay much attention to dating someone, but I’d like to say this turn of events has been pleasant.” 

He can’t help but grin foolishly at your words. 

“‘M glad it worked out this way too. Y’know my girls pushed me to ask you out? Not that I didn’t want to in the first place, but ‘m… not very good at this,” he waves his hand to the side.  

You could easily picture Sarah and Ellie giving Joel a hard time, hounding him to ask you out. 

“Your girls know what’s best,” you tease, and he can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “But you’re doing just fine, Mr. Miller. I promise.” 

“Even if I goofed and our reservation got messed up?” 

“Joel, I wouldn’t care if you took me to Whataburger for a date. It’s the company that matters,” you say, and you could’ve sworn you saw him blush. 

“Where have you been all my life?” His question sounded like it was meant to be directed just to himself, but you leaned in and gave his cheek a kiss. 

“Probably in New York City,” you shrugged. 

“You and your sarcasm,” he said, shoulders shaking from laughing. 

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me out. That’s on you,” and Joel couldn’t help the pride that bloomed within his chest. 

“Sure did. What do ya say? Wanna head back to the bakery for a cup of coffee and croissant?” 

“What, like a nightcap, but sweet?” You grinned, and he nods. 

“Somethin’ like that.” 

“I’d love to.” 

Joel offered you his arm and you wrapped your hand around his bicep, staying close to him as you both walked back to his truck. 

It didn’t take long to get back to the bakery. Joel made you some coffee with creamer and sugar while he drank his black. He made you a croissant too as promised, and you couldn’t help but gush to him about how you loved his baking. You’d tried a few other things off the menu since you started coming into the shop, but the croissants were what stole your heart. 

You and him sat there for what seemed like hours just talking and getting to know each other on a deeper level. You told him about your family, your dreams and aspirations, what made you want to become a journalist, and what drove you to reach your goals. 

He loved that you were so ambitious—he didn’t come across too many people these days that seemed to know exactly what they wanted in life. You impressed him, and as he sat across from you listening to you talk about work, he knew you were the woman for him. 

He would’ve deemed himself crazy not even a few months ago for thinking such a thing, but hell, if you know you know. 

So the months passed by, and you two became inseparable.

Both of you didn’t think you’d meet someone like this, let alone someone you both could see sharing a life with. This man, all kind hearted and selfless and a big teddy bear who treated you like a goddess, was the man that swept you off your feet and made you see that work isn’t everything life had to offer. 

You took that leap of faith to move to Austin, not knowing the outcome it would have. But, you sure as hell were so glad that it happened. That this thing with Joel happened. You were decently happy with your life before you met him and let him in, but now, you felt as if you’d been on cloud nine for months. 

You were helping Joel close up the bakery one Sunday evening when he turned to you and confessed that he loved you, and he couldn’t imagine his life without you. Neither could the girls. You’d changed him for the better, even if it hadn’t even been a year of knowing each other. 

You’d said it right back to him, and with flour still lingering on his hands, he’d grabbed your face and kissed you like you were the air his lungs needed, the blood to keep his heart pumping, and his god-given solace. 

And you thought, this was exactly where you were meant to be—safe in his arms, full of love, with a whole lifetime with him to look forward to. 

He was it for you. You'd won the heart of the charming Southern gentleman—your Mr. Bakery Man. 

dividers by @saradika-graphics

p.s. sorry if this sucked i’m genuinely so rusty w writing rn. thanks for understanding <3

[truths33k3r4]

You said that Donnie had a job. But how? Wouldn’t people realize that’s he is a turtle?

Hello, @rosalol123!

Yup! In my universe of TMNT, Donatello has a remote job in IT work. (Inspired by the 2007 film!)

This is a fair question! "How could a mutant-turtle-teen be able to do an interview, accept a job, get money?" etc. And here's the best answer I can give for now. :)

Don was searching for the right job to help keep him and his family afloat after he graduated a year early from school. With the family only living off of the scraps from a nearby bakery's stale treats and pastries, Don knew they had to have a better diet in order to get the nutrients they needed and stay healthy. (A feat not exactly easy when living in the sewers of NYC.)

So he began searching for a job behind his family's back. He knew Master Splinter wouldn't approve, seeing how it was creating a risk for Don to be found by the world. But the freckled mutant was confident he could do it while still keeping his identity safe. He looked into IT work, (seeing how ever since he was a kid he enjoyed fixing machinery and gadgets and sometimes even coding when he was older), and began filling out applications.

Don was pleasantly surprised at how quickly his application was accepted. But that excitement quickly twisted into anxiety when he read the email from the manager asking for an interview. A FACE-TO-FACE INTERVIEW.

*PANIC*

After a quick prayer and a few deep breaths, Don found the solution to his problem: the truth. He replied to the manager's email saying that he had a horrible condition that made him look incredibly ugly, (partially true if going by human standards I guess), and that he hated for anyone to see his face without a good amount of fabric covering him. (Also true, he hated it when people scream in terror- it's crazy loud and hurts his head.) When the manager texted back apologizing for Don's supposed "condition", he said there was no need for a face-to-face interview, but rather a phone call and test of how well he could do with various difficult questions for the IT work he was asked to do for the job.

As expected, Don did splendidly, even beating the record for how quickly he finished the test. After one more test, (a different one to make sure he didn't cheat), he was hired.

(Now, I can only go so "realistic" with how I was going to answer this question- obviously Don would have needed a lot of personal information to be given to the manager in order to get the job: social security number, house address, credit card number, bank statement and account etc. So for now, I'll just say he "tweaked" a few things so he could get the job. No, I will not elaborate. XD)

After getting the job, Don finally revealed to his family what he'd been doing. Splinter was indeed a bit upset about it at first, but that protective concern quickly melted away into gratefulness once he learned why Don had taken the job in the first place. Ever since then, Don would work 8-5 every day except Sunday. With his hard-earned money, he would go and order delivery for fresh fruits and vegetables as well as eventual furniture for the family.

Don finds great fulfillment in having a job. Sure, there are some really BOTHERSOME customers sometimes, but it's worth it to deal with them in order to keep his family healthy and strong.

Thanks for the question! :)

~ Melissa

[copias-thrall]

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

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

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

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

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

One Way Streets

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, to the big city it was.

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

It wasn't.

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

And ended up spit out by the State building.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another college kid.

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

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

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

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

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

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

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

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

Fresh had never looked so good.

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

He’s starting to gain traction.

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

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

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

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

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

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

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

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

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

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

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

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

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

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

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

"Hey."

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

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

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

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

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

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

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

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

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

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh…"

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

Mary just nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

Mandi patted him on the back.

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

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

It was heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

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

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

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

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

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

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

Mary suddenly panicked.

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

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

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

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

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

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who does that look like to you?"

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

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stripped Bare

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

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

Oops.

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

Homeless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mandi sat down next to him.

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

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

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

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

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

She laughed again.

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

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

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

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

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

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

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

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

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

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

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

"W-what…? I…"

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

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

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

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

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

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

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

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

Anything.

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

"That’s the spirit!"

***

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

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

Mary had nodded.

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

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

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

"Got it, sir."

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

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

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

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

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

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

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

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

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

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

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

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

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

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

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

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

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

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex had groaned.

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

Mary shrugged.

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

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

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

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

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

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

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

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

"I’d kill for your tits."

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

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

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

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

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

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

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

"Hey," he says without looking up.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

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

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

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

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

He rubs the back of his neck.

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

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

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

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

I wrap an arm around his chest.

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

"Thanks."

"No problem."

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

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

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

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

"Hey, man! I love your style."

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

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So like a street fashion spread?"

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

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

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

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

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

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

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

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

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

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

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

Angelique snorted.

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

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

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

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

"Yeah."

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

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

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

Cool.

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

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

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

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

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

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

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

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

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

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

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

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

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

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

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

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

But he was kind of hoping they would.

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

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

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

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

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

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

He was.

***

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

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

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

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

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

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

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

"Put these on."

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

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

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

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

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

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

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

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

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

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

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

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

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

"You know I'm game for anything."

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

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

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

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

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

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

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

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

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

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

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

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

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

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

"Shit, that must be nice."

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

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

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

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

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

But recognition started slow.

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

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

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

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

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

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

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

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

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

She'd compared him all night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You missed game night."

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

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

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

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

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

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

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

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

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

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

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

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

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

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll hold your hair back."

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

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

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

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

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

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

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

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

They all did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck you, Angela."

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

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

"All right, all right!"

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

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

Eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then things turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@slimylayne

Epilogue

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

He shoots me a smirk.

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

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

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

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

"Goore, you temptress."

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

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

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

Mary snorts.

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

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

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

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

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

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

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

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

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

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

He shrugs again.

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

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

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

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

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

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

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

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

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

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

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

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

He tosses my phone onto the table.

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

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

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

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

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

[httpsfelicity]

“In a black dress, she's such an actress” - Harry Styles × Model Reader AU

Summary - Harry meets a model downtown and falls for her quickly, leading the public to think that it’s a pr stunt. Unsure of what to think, the reader plays along, not knowing that Harry is unaware of the rumours. 

For @cruizmanadu! Xx

A/N - Okay, this is my first official request type thing so please tell me if it’s good or not! Ignore any mistakes, thought I think I looked over it pretty well. Also, if you’d like a part 2 / have suggestions / ect, just send a DM or ask! Here you go babes, hope you like it x

“If I don’t get coffee right now, I’m going to pass out on this sidewalk, I swear,” moaned Ella. 

“We’re almost there, calm down,” you responded as you adjusted the shopping bags in your hands quickly. You and your best friend Ella had decided to go out in NYC for the day, which of course meant loads of shopping. Hell, half of the bags you were carrying weren’t even yours - Ella had a shoot the next day, and insisted that she couldn’t carry her bags out of fear that she’d mark up her hands. So you were carrying enough bags to “Mark up your hands”, according to Ella. Which, to be fair, was quite unfair, because that girl shops a lot.

“Hey, can you take some of these, just until we get there? I’m getting kinda-”

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She lowered her voice and leaned in towards you. “Don’t look yet, keep walking, but some guy is totally checking you out.”

You sighed. “How could the paps have found us? I thought we covered our tracks nicel-”

She cut you off once again. “No, no, not a pap. This guy, he’s, well - okay, look to your left riiiight... now.”

You quickly glanced over to see a guy in his 20′s wearing a multicoloured knit sweater with messy brown hair, looking in your general direction. He quickly looked away when he saw you. You looked away, which was unfortunate, because you would’ve seen him gathering up the courage to walk over to you two.

"He's pretty fit," you whispered back quickly. "Do you think he recognizes me?" It sounds very stuck up, but often times people tried to hit on you solely because you model for the big brands, so you had to be careful. Being in the industry had a lot of pros, but a lot of cons as well. Not knowing who your real friends are were one of the cons.

"I'm not sure," Ella replied.

Just then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and saw that you were face to face with the boy.

"Hello," he started nervously. He had a charming British accent, you noticed right away.

"Hi!" You replied, waiting for him to say something totally obnoxious or fan-like.

"This probably sounds weird, but I couldn't help but notice you."

"Oh, why thank you!" You laughed. "He doesn't seem too creepy or weird or stalker-ish," you thought to yourself.

"Yeah, so, um... This is weird as well, I'm sorry, but could I get your number?" He smiled weakly.

"No, absolutely not," said Ella, grabbing you by the arm and starting to drag you away. "C'mon."

She only walked a few feet until you broke away and went back over to him. "I'm sorry about that - of course you can."

His nervous expression eased away the tiniest bit. "Oh, that's great."

He handed you his phone, and you typed in you number."

***-****-****

"I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Styles."

"Oh! I'm y/n."

"Why does that sound familiar?"

"I work in the modeling industry. You might have heard of me from that?"

"I should've known you were a model - you've definitely got the looks. And I'm sure the personality as well."

You grinned.

"I'm a singer," he continued. "I used to be in a band - now I'm solo. So that's one thing we have in common, I guess. Well, not really. You know what I mean."

"You're right!" You laughed. "He's pretty easy to talk to," you thought. Even though you didn't want to, you could feel Ella staring at the back of your neck impatiently, so you decided to wrap up the conversation. "Well, I've got to go, but you'll message me later, yeah?"

"Of course," he nodded. "Well, goodbye for now, y/n."

"Goodbye, Harry Styles."

"What was that?!" Ella asked once he was out of earshot.

"What? He's polite and cute. Of course I have him my number!"

"He could be a creepy obsessive fan! Or a perv! Or a crackhead! He's just some random guy on the streets, for all we know!"

"Would you calm down? He's so nice - I just know he wouldn't do that. Plus, that sweater is awfully expensive. Almost 2k."

Ella rolled her eyes. "Okay, sure."

"Oh, and he's a singer."

Ella snapped her head to look at you, clearly very shocked by this statement. "He's what?"

"A singer, apparently."

"What's his name?"

"Harry Styles."

"Oh. My. God. My friend had a shoot with him once! He's popular, y/n. Really popular."

"God, you sound like a middle-schooler."

"I'm just sayin'! But now that I know this information, I've changed my opinion on him. GO FOR IT."

"I was already planning on it," you laugh, walking past a group of starstruck thirteen year olds quickly. "Although I'm not so sure. I didn't get his number - it's up to him to message me."

"He'd better," Ella replied as the two of you walked into a local café. You nodded in agreement, and you both walked up the the register to order.

The rest of the day was a blur - you went to a few more stores, and then eventually hailed a cab and went back to your apartment. You were so exhausted that you kicked off your shoes and flopped into your couch, too tired to even eat. As you lie there, you felt your phone vibrate in you pocket. Reluctantly, you pulled it out slowly, and clicked it on.

***-****-**** - Hello.

Your first though was, "It's Harry!" Your second thought was, "That's a very ominous introduction." Nonetheless, you typed up a response.

Y/n <3 - Who's this?

***-****-**** - Harry, from earlier hahah x

You let out a sigh of relief - he had messaged you back, and it hadn't been some rando. Things were working out nicely.

Y/n <3 - Well, hello!

While you were waiting for a response, you set his contact name up. You hadn't gotten a photo of him yet, so you decided one from Google would do. You typed up "Harry Styles", and the search results shocked you. Ella was right - he was popular. And cute (But you already knew that.) You got a notification from him, so you screenshotted the first photo to come up (Him in a very nice pink top), set it as his photo, and then went back onto messages.

Harry Styles - Hi! I'm sorry if the whole encounter earlier was creepy. Your friend seemed quite worked up over it.

Y/n <3 - She's had bad experiences like this in the past.

Harry Styles - I've had quite a few myself, honestly. Don't blame her. Anyways, how are you?

Y/n <3 - Exhausted. All that walking must've worn me out, hahaha

Harry Styles - Hahah, that's New York for ya.

Harry Styles - Would you happen to be free tomorrow?

Harry Styles - I'd love to get to know you.

You grinned at your phone screen. This could not be happening.

Y/n <3 - Nope! Free all day. I'd love to get to know you too!

Harry Styles - Does 1pm at the Beachwood Café work? :)

He sent a location along with it. It was the same café you and Ella had gone to earlier.

Y/n <3 - Sure!

Harry Styles - Alright, talk then?

Y/n <3 - Yes!

Harry Styles - Goodnight.

Y/n <3 - Goodnight!

Seen - 11:34pm.

The next day you woke up at 10 so you would have time to get ready. You got a quick shower, did you hair, makeup... By 12:30 you were dressed and ready to go. Casual, but not too casual was what you were going for. You were pretty sure you had the look down pat. You grabbed your stuff and made your way downtown, sunglasses on.

You arrived early, 12:48pm, but luckily Harry was already there, waiting at a table near the back with two menus. He waved once he saw you, and jumped up to pull out your chair.

"Hello," you smiled.

"Hi!"

"I adore your outfit," you said as you sat down. He was now wearing a white and blue striped shirt and tan jeans. Somehow he made it work.

"I love yours as well! The skirt brings out your eyes."

You tried hard not to blush. "Thank you!"

"So, I guess we should start getting to know eachother, then?" He grinned.

You nodded. "20 questions?"

"Sure. Full name?"

"Y/n."

"Harry Edward Styles."

"I like that middle name. Very sophisticated." He laughed at this. "Age?"

"26."

"23."

"Favourite movie?"

"Clueless."

"Back To The Future."

You continued asking questions until the waiter came over to your table.

"I'll have the chicken sub," he said politely.

"I'll have a medium lemonade."

"Is that it?" Harry asked.

You sighed. "And a blueberry muffin, I guess."

The waiter wrote it down and walked off.

"I'm on a diet," you explained.

"Still," Harry shrugged. "So, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I started modeling at about age 8, for this clothing bran-"

"No no no, I meant about you."

You gave him a confused look.

"Not about your job, you!"

"Okay, well, let's see... Uh..."

"I'm 26, but you already knew that. I live in New York, obviously. I used to work in a bakery, even though I just told you not to talk about your job. I like playing football, I write, and I enjoy baking bread. See? Easy."

You laughed. Why did he have to be so... Charming?

"I'm 23, but you already knew that. I've lived in New York my whole life. I read a lot, and I mean a lot. I have a ton of plants in my apartment, since I can't really have a garden here. I like Taylor Swift's music."

Harry nodded. "See? That wasn't so bad."

You laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Just then the waiter placed the food on the table, and you took a sip of your lemonade while Harry dug into his sub.

"I dated Taylor for a pr stunt once."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She got a few songs, I got a new story to tell during interviews."

"Oh. Did you like her?"

"Nah."

You laughed again. "Oh, my."

"Yeah. I haven't had many actual relationships. 3."

"I haven't had any."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Not many guys are interested. Or, well, interested in me, you know?"

"I find that hard to believe."

You tried not to blush once again as you took a sip of your lemonade.

"Well, it's true."

"Personally, I think you're great."

"You are too!"

The two of you continue eating. After two minutes, Harry speaks up.

"Want to go back to my apartment and watch a movie? In a non weird way, of course."

"Okay, that sounds good. Which movie?"

"Clueless?" He winked.

You grinned. "Of course."

You get up and walk out into the streets of New York, leaving your blueberry muffin on the table.

The walk to Harry's is very short. You two talk the whole way there, mainly small talk, but it isn’t awkward at all. You feel like you can be yourself around him - whatever that means. To put it into words, you feel comfortable around him. Which is weird, because you just met him a day ago, but it feels right for some reason.

Eventually you arrived at the door to his apartment. While he was busy digging his key out of his pocket, you took a glance up and down the hallway. This place was much fancier than you had expected. It made your apartment complex look cheap. Everything seemed so... posh. Harry pushed open the door, and you stepped inside. His apartment was decorated with art; albums of artists you’ve never even heard of were hung on the walls, and potted plants were everywhere. It was messy, but in an organized way.

“I just need to run to the washroom, make yourself at home,” he said as he kicked off his shoes. 

“Alright,” you replied. You put your coat on a coat rack (Obviously) and walked over to the couch. Unsure of what to do, you decided to check twitter. After a few seconds of contemplating if checking your phone right now was rude or not, you decided to turn on your data and do it, since he was in the bathroom and you were bored. You looked over you shoulder, then hit the trending page. Politics, Ariana Grande - she must be releasing a new album - #TGIF, and... Harry Styles? Without thinking twice, you click on it. Immediately, photos of you and him pop up from when you were walking back to his place. That was only a few minutes ago... how did these photos get out so soon?

“You ready?” Harry asked as he entered the room, holding up a DVD case with an excited look on his face.

“Yep,” you said, putting down your phone. A second later, you picked it back up. “Did you see twitter?”

“No, I don’t go on social media much,” he replied as he popped the disc into his bluray player.

“You’re trending.”

“Cool.”

“No, I mean... we got papped on the way back here. Look.” You turned the phone so he could see it. 

He took a glance at the screen, then grabbed a remote and flopped onto the couch next to you. “It doesn’t really bother me. Happens far too often. I mean, unless you have a problem with it. I can get them taken down, if you’d like.” Suddenly, his usual relaxed self has replaced with a worried one.

You shook your head. “No, no, I... just letting you know. I don’t care. Besides, I didn’t see many people talking about it, just sharing the photos.”

“Oh, well, if you change your mind, just let me know,” he concluded as he turned on the TV.

You nodded, and then focused on Cher Horowitz on the screen. You didn’t watch much of the movie, because you and Harry kept on cracking jokes and telling stories, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Eventually, it was time for you to leave, since it was nearly 5pm. 

“Do you want me to walk you back? Or, I could call you a cab,” Harry asked as you slipped on your shoes.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“No, no, I’ll walk you back,” he insisted as he grabbed his coat.

You weren’t about to argue with him, because, let’s face it, you secretly wanted him to walk you home. So you followed him out the door and to the elevator.

You talked the whole way there, but you were distracted just a tiny bit - you wanted to keep an eye out for paps. Eventually you decided that it was difficult and pointless, so you fully engaged yourself in Harry’s conversation on how to make a mean loaf of bread.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your place.

“Well, this is it,” you grinned sadly.

Harry nodded. “I’ll message you later?”

“Of course. We have to do this again, you know.”

Harry smiled wide. “Sure. I’d love that.”

“Well... goodbye, Harry.”

He leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye, y/n.” 

You stared back at him, starstruck, but he turned and started walking down the hall before you could say anything. “Love ya!” You called out quickly before you shut the door behind you, unsure if he even heard you. Oh, well. He’d message you later, anyways.

You were quite hungry by this point, so you decided to order Chinese food off of Postmates. Once that call was made, you sat down and opened Twitter again. You noticed that you had way more notifications than usual, but you decided that could wait until after you checked the trending topics once more. “Harry Styles” was still trending, but even more surprisingly, “Y/n” was right underneath it. You decided to hit Harry’s topic first - MORE pap photos came up, this time from when you were walking home. Wow. 

“We do look like a proper couple.” You thought, though you quickly shook it. You’d just met - although you know what they say, “Love at first sight” and all that crap.But no. 

You decided to scroll down even further, past all of the photos and to the actual tweets.

@Harryscherry77: Is @ yn Harry’s new girlfriend? If so, she’s soooooo lucky.

@Y/nsclouds: Why is y/n being papped with Harry Styles? She can do much better. His music isn’t even that good.

@Lightsuplouisx: I ship it, tbh {Insert photo here}

@TaylorxxxTea: Oh cute, another pr stunt :/ #HarryStyles IsOverParty

@GalacticY/N26: Ugh, Harry? Really? I’m seriously gonna unstan Y/n, I’ve been considering it but this is just the last straw for me.

@HarryIsUpAllNight: Did you guys know the girl Harry was papped with is a model? She’s absolutely gorgeous, I wouldn’t doubt it.

@Stylesfangirl49: Y/n is honestly so ugly. #RunHarryRun 

@SummertimeNewsOfficial: Has Harry Styles been spotted with yet another woman, months after his breakup with Camille? {Insert Link Here}

@Larry2020xxx: Another beard LMAOOO c’mon. PR STUNTTTT.

@Lola33smith: They haven’t even been confirmed dating yet, calm downnnnn.

“Wow,” you thought as you continued scrolling. “This is not what I was expecting.”

It seemed like the whole internet had something to say about a few lousy pictures of you and H. There was good and bad, though it felt like the bad outweighed the good. An alarming amount of people seemed to think it was a pr stunt. Wow. Your notifications weren’t much better - loads of people had followed you, dm’ed you, called you worthless, called you amazing. It was a lot to handle. Just then the doorbell rang - your Postmates. How long had you been looking through all of that? It didn’t matter now. You went to get your food, then sat back down and began to text Harry. Suddenly, you stopped. If he got so worried about the first set of photos, not to mention you walking home by yourself, how would he react to this? He had said he doesn’t go on social media much, so you figured that as long as you didn’t tell him, it would all blow over quick enough and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. You didn’t want to stress him out. Instead, to take your mind off of this chaotic day you turned on The Office and tried to regain a sense of normalcy. 

Although the more you thought about it, the less and less you wanted Harry to message you. 

“PR stunt.”

EDIT: CHAPTER TWO IS NOW OUT! CLICK HERE

[apexart-journal]

Ann Quintano in NYC, Day 13

Early morning headed out to “the Beautiful block” before day activities begin.This is what the tourist guide book calls it. Pretty block but rivaled elsewhere in the city. I did like seeing the building where Ash Can painter George Bellows lived. Pass Pete’s Tavern made famous by O. Henry (and where my sister and I had our first Moscow Mules!) Went through winding pathways of enormous Peter Stuyvesant Village to the Greenway which runs along the rivers and encircles the entire isle of Manhattan. Parts under construction but I did get to see the flowers planted for the Monarch butterfly migration and a unexpected make shift memorial for a mama duck who was found dead and because her chicks couldn’t survive without her they were euthanized. There was a candle and flowers at the site. I exited at 18th Street by a homeless encampment. There are more than 60,000 people who are homeless in one oft the richest cities in the world. As I headed back to join the Quaker Meeting (virtual) I passed one of the actual Friend’s meeting houses. The city coming awake now.

No preaching, no dogma, no confession of faith simply being present in silence to God, Holy Spirit, the Light however you choose to name. If anyone feels moved to speak during our hour’s silence, they briefly do when feeling prompted by the Light. After the hour concerns for others are held in the Light and new people are introduced and then a time for pertinent announcements. It was a rich quiet, calming, thoughtful and an unusual moment to share the silence with so many others. I’ll probably go back again.

Took L to Bedford and walked through North Williamsburg into South Williamsburg...from hipster to hasidim. Frieda is a warm, friendly, enthusiastic and knowledgeable tour guide. To make it easy she had ear buds for all of us hooked up to her mic which helped a lot. It was less intrusive in the neighborhood...she didn’t have to yell. The Satmar Hasidic community was bustling shopping for flowers and sweet dairy treats with which to celebrate the holiday of Shavout: the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai. There are some 100,000 Hasidim here. We learned a great deal about the culture. It was a fascinating tour and I highly recommend it. Frieda brought us to candy shop and bakery (Gottlieb for pastrami sandwiches closed early for the holiday) and there she treated us to bags of treats. We went to a playground to share some more and have Challah bread and cinnamon rolls.

I would have taken the ferry back but the South Williamsburg and Dumbo ferry are both not running for a while, so I walked back through the various flow of changes of people and buildings to the subway.

Tomorrow’s my last day. I’m feeling very sad. This has been an incredible experience that will take a long time to fully process and will be forever integrated into who I am. I can’t thank apexart enough. Bye for now...

[thejudgingtrash]

How Could You (PJO Fanfic)

Summary: Annabeth thought she had torn up every picture of him, that she had hidden every evidential piece of their relationship. Not only did it hurt losing your one true love. Knowing that they are successful, thriving and happily in love with another person made it even worse. Knowing you could have been that woman in your ex’s life. In Percy’s life. Rated T/M for adult themes.

H O W    C O U L D    Y O U    1/3

Annabeth Chase was walking to her workplace in Lower Manhattan. She clutched her coffee in one hand while the other pressed her designer bag towards her body – it's New York after all and you never know. Her blonde curls were hiding in a tight bun which made her look like any other snob on the small island.

The woman was in her early thirties and her career as an architect was finally taking off. Her boss let her hire her own secretary and gave her a thumbs-up for her own projects. She even had her own polished office while many of her peers were marching towards their forties and still stuck in cubicles. Her boss hinted offering her a senior partnership.

Annabeth ignored the catcalling and the loud car honking. Good morning to you too, NYC.

She was in luck, no pesky monsters in sight. Annabeth's trace got weaker with every newly completed birthday. Sure, she had to kill a monster here and there and even helped out new demigods, but it had been weeks of peace and quietness by now. Her heels led her to an impressing skyscraper. Mitch, the doorman, nodded and pressed the right button to the 34th floor. Annabeth took the last sip of her coffee right before her 10-hour shift. No one was waiting for her at home, she didn't have animals, plants or a man to take care of.

She had been single for the past few years, yes, but that didn’t mean she was living the celibate life of a nun. She had two or three relationships which never lasted longer than half a year, a couple of drunken flings and even a work affair which resulted in her colleague getting relocated to the office in San Diego. Gossip spread fast but also died out pretty quickly. But whenever she thought about a romantic relationship, or sex or even a simple friendship with another man, someone else haunted her thoughts immediately. Percy.

Annabeth chucked the crumpled paper cup into the trash bin and fired up her computer. She refused to think about her loner life, she refused to think about him. Eight hours and a one-hour lunch break later, her piercing gray eyes started to analyze her environment.

“I should redecorate,” she thought loudly. Her workspace had looked the same for the past two years. E-mails were checked, work was low, and no one would barge into her office. Her boss was already gone. She went through her desk, stacked papers, discarded notes and threw irrelevant stuff out. A picture slid out of a folder. Annabeth picked it up. It was a selfie of her and Percy; they were sipping cocktails, smiling into the camera, while the wind was playing with their hair.

Suddenly Annabeth grew a lump in her throat. They had a last happy small vacation in Montauk six years ago. A year later and everything was over. Percy looked good. Happy. He was way too handsome for his own good. His jet-black hair was long and unkept, his beard hugged his face perfectly and luckily through a well-chosen angle Annabeth had the opportunity of ogling his body one last time before shoving that damned picture into her bag. Her college friends used to ask whether Percy was a Greek model or actor or something like that. “He is basically a Greek God,” she always replied jokingly. But he gave that up. For me.

Her eyes started to burn; she suppressed a sob. No, not here, she told herself. Not in the office. Annabeth refused to cry. She threw herself into work for one last hour, revising designs for a new library in Queens before calling herself an Uber. Once she got into her new way too expensive West Village apartment and closed the door, the blonde began sliding down to the floor in the darkness. And there she wept for solid fifteen minutes.

“Fuck,” she cried. The daughter of Athena thought she had torn up every picture of him, that she had hidden every evidential piece of their relationship. Not only did it hurt losing your one true love. Knowing that they are successful, thriving and happily in love with another person made it even worse. Knowing you could have been that woman in your ex’s life.

Annabeth got up and walked through her messy apartment. She needed alcohol. Badly. Two glasses of red wine didn’t stop the tears from coming, however. No, they only made the suppressed memories come back even harder.

*****

Their relationship was a whirlwind. No doubt in that. And with the wind came cracks that slowly tore through the foundation. Sure, three big prophecies did bind them together. They went from kids to teenagers to adults, from acquaintances to friends to lovers. Their troubles and fun adventures, their bickering, Percy going missing and deep traumas from Tartarus kept them together. When their separation made its waves years later, they never would’ve thought they had ordinary adulthood partially to blame.

The fine cracks started to form when they turned 18. Looking back now, Annabeth knew someone was intervening from behind the scenes. Denying her own faults was something Annabeth couldn’t do. The choices Percy and she had made were followed by consequences.

The demigoddess desperately tried to convince Percy to go to New Rome with her. To live a happy normal life, to have a semi-normal college experience. A life without being chased by monsters, a life among their peers and new friends from the Roman side of the family tree.

But Percy refused. New York City was his home. His mother and his newborn sister lived there; he couldn’t just abandon them. It didn’t matter how welcoming the Roman side was – he was Greek through and through and he reminded her that the rest of the seven were merely acquaintances tossed together by a sick prophecy and not lifelong best friends. Camp Half-Blood would be his priority. Not Camp Jupiter.

So, they argued and decided. Annabeth grudgingly went to NYU and got her degree in Urban Design and Architectural Studies while Percy did his double degree in Pastry and Baking Arts and Culinary Management at the Institute of Culinary Education. It came out as a surprise to many other demigods that the son of Poseidon had enough of water. The Stoll Brothers were betting on either him getting a Marine Biology degree or becoming a high school coach. The duo lost a good chunk of money. But Percy wanted to help out his mother in her bakery and truly enjoyed her passion.

The couple moved together into their shitty tiny apartment as 20-year old’s. Their landlord conveniently forgot to inform them about a roach infestation and overcharged their rent each month. Annabeth woke up almost every morning to Percy hysterically laughing and picking up dead insects out of her messy curls.

Debt, school, more credit card debt, monsters, more college classes, demanding internships, roaches and annoying commands from the Gods of Mount Olympus dominated their lives. Frederick Chase and Sally Jackson tried to convince both of them to move into something better, they wanted to give them more money for something more comfortable. The couple remained stubborn and refused their money. Their romance and sex life were on an all-time low.

Is this really the life I want? Annabeth asked herself as she was watching Netflix with Percy. He fell asleep and started to drool a little bit. No, a voice in her head said. But she wasn’t sure whether it was her voice or someone else’s. You deserve better. Days passed and more and more doubt spread through Annabeth’s mind. Yes, I do deserve better.

Regrets about not leaving to New Rome popped up. Regrets about getting that specific apartment. Regrets about her recent thoughts. Regrets about questioning Percy. Regrets about not questioning Percy’s decisions enough. Tension spread and they began to fight. They fought about money, they fought about their future. They fought about California and New York. They fought about their career choices. They made up quickly and blamed it on exams and tests, but the negative sentiment remained for weeks. It wasn’t for another year when the demigod couple had a massive fall out.

Continue to read on Archive of our Own or FanFiction.net :)

[writing-for-amusement]

Commission for Confidence, 2

Summary:  Y/N has been struggling with her self esteem for years. After incessant pushing from your best friend, Y/N decides to commission an artist to draw her, expecting everything to happen via Internet. However, when your phone is stolen, you try to cancel the commission, but Peter Parker has other ideas. He quickly becomes enraptured by you, and a friendship forms easily. Will it lead to something more? Or will your past fears get in the way?

A/N: Okay, this chapter is necessary, but almost considered filler because you still haven’t met Peter yet. I’m probably going to post Chapter 3 in a couple of hours because I’m impatient and since it’s already written, why not, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @scatterbrainedgenius

Chapter Two

The next day ended up being much more hectic than you had anticipated. You woke up on time, but due to typical New York rain, your walk was littered with slips and multiple splashes. Not only that, your train ran late, and you were groped a surprising three times.

It was not a good day and it hadn’t even started yet.

You strode into work, dripping wet and with a mud stain on the bottom of your skirt and across your legs, but with your head held high.

You enjoyed your work as an editor for a publishing company. You’d moved from home to settle down in Manhattan for this job (though you were living in Queens); you had your own office with a view, and you were doing something you enjoyed. You got to read the fiction works and decide if it was good enough to move on and become a book (sometimes you got to help artists organize their works into a book). It was lovely for you, a wonderful job to have at what was considered a “young” age.

You dropped your bag on your desk and hurried to the break room. Arthur, a friend you had made immediately upon arrival, was refilling his coffee cup. He looked up at you and grinned, but that changed into concern when he saw your haggard appearance.

“Jesus, love, what happened? Shall I call up Charlie and have him bring you some clean clothes? They’ll be too big, of course, but—”

“It’s fine, Arthur!” you laughed, grabbing the coffee mug you had put into the break room. You poured yourself a large cup and just the smell started to warm your cold bones. “I’ll dry off soon enough.”

“This isn’t your old job, you know you can go home to change and won’t be punished, right?” Arthur asked with a chuckle on his lips.

You threw a sugar packet at him. “I know that, it’s not like I’m new here anymore! Besides, if I get sick, it’s not going to cost me a kidney and a leg because we have insurance.”

“No, it won’t do that,” he agreed as he picked up the packet.

“I’m getting to work,” you informed him, clutching the mug of coffee in your hands and scuttering to your office.

Work happened to be incredibly busy. There were more than thirty transcripts on your desk to work on, several of them rather thick. You actually ended up skipping lunch, instead snacking on an apple you had shoved in your purse before leaving your apartment. Of course, you were reminded of how you worked yourself to the bone when you first arrived at this job.

With the stressful echoes of your horrible old job ringing in your mind, you had worked harder than ever to prove yourself in NYC. Your supervisor was quick to notice how you showed up early and stayed late, reading and marking more than anyone. She pulled you aside, kindly informing you that she knew you were capable, otherwise you wouldn’t have been hired for the job. She also told you to “calm the fuck down” and that, “no one is judging you here, my dear.” It had been incredibly helpful to your adjustment.

Truth be told, you had wanted to hide from your horrible morning. When the day got off to such a rough start, you liked to hide yourself in the transcripts so that you could focus on potentially bolstering the dreams of the authors.

As it neared time to go home, your supervisor appeared at your door. “Hey, Y/N, go ahead and go home. I know you showed up soaked, you deserve an early start to the weekend. Go on, go.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go, Edith, I’ll go,” you sighed playfully. She smiled at you and blew a small kiss before walking off.

Knowing that it would be a simple night in for you, you grabbed some transcripts to look at over the weekend. With that, and your coffee mug washed, you walked out of the office and into the Manhattan late afternoon sunlight.

It was a calmer commute back to your apartment. At least, it was until you got home.

Your phone was gone.

It must have been taken while you were on the subway, even though you tried so hard to remain vigilant. Knowing New York City, it was gone forever now, and you needed to get to work on not letting people get your information from it.

You logged on to your laptop and quickly went to your phone provider, going through the steps outlined in the “Stolen Phone” section. Losing your phone was not ideal, but you had a plan that covered this situation, so it could have been worse. And, thankfully, you had just backed your phone up to the cloud when you were at work.

After filling out the proper steps, you went to your email inbox and sent out a mass email to your colleagues, letting them know that your phone had been stolen and to email you if they needed anything over the weekend. It was then that you remembered your plan to take reference photos for Peter.

With a sigh, you realized that it would be a better idea to postpone the commission than to keep the seemingly sweet Peter waiting. You began to compose your email, once again thinking too much and taking probably too long for what should have been a simple email. Still, you ended up with this:

“Hi Peter,

I am so sorry, but today my phone was stolen thanks to the ever so amazing New York City subway. I unfortunately do not have another way to take reference photos (none of my friends are available), and I don’t want to fill a spot for your commission that won’t be able to be finished for a while, because my phone is being shipped and won’t be in for about a week. Therefore, so I don’t waste your time, I need to cancel the commission. I’m sorry if I did waste your time.

Thank you for your understanding, Peter. Perhaps I can commission you (for realsies) in the future. I still love your art, btw.

Y/N”

With a deep sigh, you ran a hand through your hair and sent Monica a message on Facebook, explaining the situation. She, of course, sent back multiple sad face emojis, but was overall understanding. Then she offered to hunt down whoever stole your phone and beat them up for making you stressed, which made you laugh.

You ordered some Thai food so that you wouldn’t have to make anything. After the day you’d had, the last thing you wanted was to get sweaty from standing over the hot stove.

As you settled into your couch to wait, with your laptop open next to you so you could message Monica, you got a notification for another email. You saw it was from Peter, and a melancholy smile touched your face.

“Hi Y/N!

Omg you live in the NYC area too??? In that case, if you’re comfortable with it, we could actually do your stuff in person! Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course, and I’d like to meet for coffee before we begin. Getting to know my muse is my favorite part of commissions; usually I just ask questions via email, but this way, we both get coffee!!

Please let me know if you’d be interested in meeting up for coffee in Manhattan this weekend; I think it would be very beneficial.

Thanks, and (hopefully) see you soon!

Peter”

You blinked in surprise after reading the email fifteen times.

Peter was certainly passionate about art and about coffee. Though you didn’t blame him, because as an artist who went through a prestigious university, Peter probably lived almost solely on the beverage for four years. You debated whether you should take him up on his offer, because, well, you did want to meet him.

You were still thinking about it when you turned on your TV and selected the HULU app. You were still thinking about it when you picked a random episode of The Golden Girls. And you were still thinking about it when you answered your door for your takeout.

Finally, as you began to dig into your food, you made your decision. With your takeout container in one hand, you replied to Peter’s email with the other. You suggested your favorite coffee shop, Constellation Bakery and Café, and suggested meeting tomorrow. The ambiance was calm and friendly, so you thought it would be a good meeting place.

After informing Monica of the change in plans, you ate your Thai takeout with a vigor you didn’t know you had. The food was exceptionally delicious today, and the cooks always gave you extra shrimp in your shrimp pad Thai. The comforting food warmed you to the core, and you felt a lot more relaxed than you had in days, even weeks.

Before you went to bed, you got a reply from Peter, agreeing to meet with you at the coffee shop at 1 p.m. With an excited smile on your face, you actually fell asleep easily.

[chocoluckchipz-bag]

Unexpected Surprise - 14

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

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Marinette could get used to the view - barely covered by a blanket Adrien sprawled on his bed in the perfect cuddling position. She scooted closer. His chiselled-by-workouts body, his gorgeous face, peaceful and calm in his slumber, messy hair splattered all over his pillow, the perfect, slightly open lips… Gently, she ran her fingers across his evenly rising and falling chest just as the first rays of sun peeked through the curtains. Adrien wriggled his nose and scrunched his face. The muscles on his chest twitched and murmuring under his breath, he twisted in his sleep, curling away from her and the sunlight. Marinette giggled. Yup, she could definitely get used to the view - gorgeous, but still adorable and dorky. She shifted closer again and rested her head on Adrien’s back, thanking the universe for the time zones - still living on the Parisian time was the sole reason Marinette was awake before six in the morning in NYC.

A beeping sound suddenly shattered the silence. Adrien groaned, his hand acting on its own as he shut the alarm off. Without opening his eyes, he turned back to Marinette and wrapped her in a hug.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice deep and rusty from the slumber.

“It’s still fifteen minutes to six,” Marinette replied. “Didn’t you say you don’t have to wake up before six?”

“Yup.” Adrien yawned. “Get up at six. Fifteen minutes before- cuddle ceremony.” He pulled her closer, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Mhhhh, you smell nice.”

Adrien’s hair tickling her skin, Marinette giggled as she wrapped her hands around him, placing a kiss on a top of his head. “Sounds perfect.”

They lingered in each other’s arms for a few minutes before Marinette asked. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Office. You. Escape the paparazzi.”

Another sound shrieked through the room, and Adrien groaned again, moving closer to Marinette. “Too early. I’m busy. Make it stop.”

“I would,” Marinette laughed. “But I’m currently being immobilized by a cuddle monster. Can’t move. You should’ve put your phone on Do Not Disturb.”

“It is on Do Not Disturb,” Adrien replied, opening his eyes. “Except Emma and you have an override privilege.” Pulling away, he reached for the device. “Yup. That’s her. Give me a few.” With a soft smile, Adrien picked up the call. “Morning, sweetheart. How are you? Me? Yes, of course, I'm already up- Momma? Yup. Right here- Okay.”

Adrien pressed the speaker mode and Emma’s chipper voice immediately filled the room as she dived straight away in telling them everything she’d done since her last call, starting with a new book Grandma Sabine had read her yesterday, finishing with exciting additions to the bakery’s breakfast menu she’d helped Grandpapi Tom to choose just now. Then it was Marinette and Adrien’s turn to explain what the two of them were planning to do today and when they heard Sabine call Emma’s name in the background, Adrien’s cell phone alarm went off again.

“I adore Emma to pieces,” Adrien admitted, wrapping Marinette into a hug as soon as Emma hung up. “But I’d love to have you all to myself from time to time.”

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Marinette teased. Laughing at his pout, she added. “Not judging you, though – I might be feeling the same way. Emma’s had my undivided attention for five years. I think it’s about time she learned to share.”

“Let’s hope she’s a good learner.”

“She is. That’s one of the things I love about her.”

“And I love you,” Adrien whispered, leaning closer for a lingering kiss, his hands cupping Marinette’s face. “Did you know you’re the best thing that had ever happened to me?”

“And you to me,” Marinette replied, pressing her lips to his collarbone. “Love you too.”

They shared a few more kisses and tender moments before Adrien glanced at the clock. “As heartbroken as I am but it’s time to get up, Princess,” he sighed. “However, since we’ve missed the ceremony, what would you say about an evening equivalent?”

“Sounds perfect,” Marinette replied with a chuckle, running her fingers through Adrien’s hair. “Now, let’s pretty you up, so you can finish this thing in style.”

Adrien smiled, pulling Marinette in. “You, on the other hand, look perfect already.”

“Flatterer.”

“Just an honest person.”

Swamped by everyday routine, their morning flew by fast. They’d helped each other with the wardrobe choices and cooked their breakfast together, all while deliberating the ways to keep the paparazzi off their track. Adrien departed for the office right after the meal, leaving Marinette to wait for Thomas, the company's driver. About an hour after he'd gone, the paparazzi at the front door largely vanished and Thomas, donning civilian clothes, came by to pick up Marinette in a less suspicious car than the company’s limousine. Per Adrien’s suggestion, he’d also brought her a disguise - a wig of rich brown waves with red highlights and the biggest pair of sunglasses Marinette had ever seen. Feeling playful, she styled the wig into her signature low ponytails, dressed in the brand-new pair of boyfriend jeans she had bought specifically for this trip and rummaged Adrien’s closet for a t-shirt that would fit her.

The effect it had on Adrien was worth the trouble. As he caught her sight of entering the office, his eyes instantly widened. Mouth slack and frozen in his place, Adrien swallowed before saying something to the person he’d been conversing with and leaving them without looking back.

“If you’re trying to kill me, you’ve succeeded,” he quietly said into her ear, giving her a welcome cheek kiss.

“Baseless accusations,” Marinette whispered back. “Just dressing according to my “Adrien’s girlfriend” mood.”

“I thought we were trying to hide you.”

“From paparazzi.” She shrugged. “As far as I know every employee at Gabriel's offices are under a non-disclosure agreement or am I wrong? Plus, don’t forget that I’m wearing a wig so even if someone will give me away, all I have to do is to wear a different wig tomorrow.”

Adrien chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s why you were Ladybug. Always thinking a step ahead.” Turning to face the people curiously staring at them from all over the room, he added, “Everyone, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng - one of the head designers at the main office, bursting with ideas, fearless, kind, gorgeous and simply an amazing person. If I get my way, my future wife, so, please, make her feel welcome and keep her identity under the wraps. I want her to enjoy NYC paparazzi-free.”

“Adrien,” Marinette yelped, feeling much hotter than just a second ago.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Just acting according to my ‘I’ve moved a few steps closer to my goal’ mood.”

“Dork,” she puffed.

“Yours,” he grinned. “Now, come on. Let me introduce you to the people Father mentioned in your ‘instructions’.”

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. While they spent most of it together, there were a few moments where Marinette explored the office by herself, devoting most time to the designer department, observing, giving advice, taking notes and sketching the new ideas in her sketchbook. To avoid the media, Adrien asked Thomas, their driver, to get their food delivered to the office. When the evening came, he offered her a choice.

“I’ve got three days left of work at the office - today, Thursday, and half a day on Friday; but since you are here, I can cram in a few extra hours today and on Thursday. That’ll leave all of Friday free for us. What do you think?”

“What about Wednesday?”

“Photoshoot. Would take most of the day, though. It’s a final one - they’ll squeeze whatever they can out from me.”

“And Saturday?”

“Nothing really. It was left as a backup day in case I need extra time, but it doesn’t look this way as of now.”

“So technically we can have two days to ourselves before our Sunday’s flight back, right?”

“Yup.” Adrien nodded.

“I think the choice is obvious. Why are you even asking me?”

“Because,” Adrien wrapped Marinette in a hug, settling beside her on a very comfortable loveseat she’d occupied for the last hour in his office. “Cramming in a few more hours would mean staying here those few more hours, and you've just dozed off for what I suspect was not the first time.”

“Sorry,” Marinette smiled apologetically. “It’s late in Paris and I’m still on their time.”

“Then why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll come when I’m done.”

“But-”

“No buts, Marinette,” Adrien gently scolded. “We were supposed to go home separately anyway, and Thomas’ workday will be over soon, so go and rest.”

“I wanted to spend all of the time I can with you.”

Adrien nuzzled her nose. “Sleeping in an awkward position on a couch while I'm working can hardly be considered spending time together. You should rest, Marinette. We’ll have some time alone tomorrow after the shoot. I might even take you out to one of my favourite places here.”

Marinette stayed silent for a second but then failed to suppress a yawn. “You honestly wouldn’t mind me leaving you?”

“I insist,” Adrien said before a smirk split his lips. “Unless you allow me to ravish you right here, right now-”

“Adrien,” Marinette squeaked. “There are people still in the office. You said it yourself - Thomas is waiting to drive me home.”

“Risk makes it all more interesting,” Adrien leaned down and slowly kissed her neck. “So, what do you say, Princess? May I?”

“I say the most you’ll get right now are cuddles,” Marinette responded, shoving him away a bit. “But if you manage to finish the work and still catch me awake at home, then I might consider your offer.”

“Perfect,” Adrien purred, weaving his arms around her back. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Adrien pulled away, saying that Thomas’ workday would end in half an hour, so it probably was a good time to call for him. Riding home, Marinette caught herself dozing off a few more times, and once she exited the shower, she crawled under the blankets and blacked out. She didn’t hear Adrien coming in a few hours later, but she still snuggled onto him when he pulled her into a hug, giving her a goodnight kiss.

On Wednesday, Marinette saved Richard another few hours of shooting. Inspired by her presence, Adrien did a fantastic job in record time and earned just enough free time to take Marinette out to Central Park. Since both of them were wearing disguises, the pair managed to avoid unnecessary attention and spent an evening quietly strolling along the lesser known paths of the park. They talked about the past, remembering the good times, and discussed their plans for the future. Marinette admitted to wanting to put her own spin on Gabriel’s style for a while now. After hearing her ideas, Adrien thought she should’ve done that a long time ago.

“Father loves this kind of stuff,” he beamed. “You’re brilliant, Marinette. I guarantee, he’ll give you your own line if he sees these ideas.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!”

“Alright. I might as well try it. What about you?”

“Hm, well, for me there’ll be no more catwalks that’s for sure. The December show will be my last one. Maybe some random photoshoots for fun in the future, but I’ll be moving towards managing the business side of Gabriel.”

“Getting too old for the pictures?” she teased. “Don’t worry, Chaton, you’ll always be handsome for me.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Adrien chuckled and winked at her. “I’m glad to know the most gorgeous woman on this planet thinks I’m handsome.”

Marinette laughed. “You do know you are an incorrigible dork, right?”

“I don’t think you mind, though.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I don’t care,” Adrien smiled and lifted her hand for inner wrist kiss. “Love you, Mari.”

“Love you too, Chaton.”

He didn’t let her hand go once until they got into his car to go home, and even then, Adrien reached for it as often as he could, finishing the day holding Marinette in his arms. She loved every moment of it.

Thursday was spent almost identically to her previous day at Gabriel’s office, the only difference being Marinette staying awake until the very end. Adrien managed to finish his work a little earlier and was pleasantly surprised by a goodbye party his coworkers organized. They got home late, not even bothering to take two separate cars because even if the paparazzi were to camp at Adrien’s place or his office doorsteps, the darkness and the disguise hid Marinette’s identity quite well. Still, the fact that her name hadn’t made it into the papers yet was astonishing. Though, they did go to extremes to protect her. There were even rumours floating around about how harshly Richard himself dealt with the person who’d leaked her pictures after personally tracking them down.

“He’s vicious,” Marinette noted when Adrien had confirmed that someone did turn up at his office to beg for forgiveness.

“Only when someone wrongs the people he loves,” Adrien shrugged. “Otherwise, he’s an old softie in disguise.”

On Friday they slept in, and then spend the afternoon strolling along the streets scattered with multitudes of little shops and vendors, buying presents for friends and family. It was a bit trickier to stay undetected in a highly populated area in daylight, so Marinette changed her wig to long blonde hair while Adrien “forgot” to shave and wore a black hair wig of his own. He added a hat, and both wore sunglasses.

“I’ve never had so much fun,” Adrien kept whispering from time to time. “I feel like a kid again.”

“And a very handsome one at that,” Marinette said, brushing his jawline with her fingers. “I think I like that stubble look on you. Do that often once we’re home.”

“Absolutely,” he purred. “What about a beard? I once grew it out and let me tell you - rocked it too.”

Marinette laughed. “I don’t think I’m there yet, but we’ll see. Let’s start with a random stubble for now.”

“As my Lady wishes,” Adrien bowed his head and pulled her towards a hot dog stand on the side of the walkway. He swore she'd love those.

Friday’s visit to the François family in the evening of that day, however, was the event that Marinette considered the most interesting of the whole trip. She’d never expected it to be more than a farewell party from Adrien’s closest friends in NYC. It turned out to be an insight into the character of Adrien Agreste of six years after.

They arrived a few minutes before the appointed time.

“Everything will be alright.” Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand reassuringly. “They might be a bit unconventional, but they’re really cool. You’ll like them. I promise.”

“I’m sure I will-” Marinette didn’t finish the sentence when the door was swung open and the pair was pulled inside by the host.

“Bonsoir, bonsoir, my dears!” Richard greeted them with a broad smile as the other members of the family eagerly encircled Marinette. He briefly introduced everyone: his wife Lucia, their children Sofia and Edward with their spouses Peter and Megan, as well as their four grandchildren: twin five-years-old boys, a toddler girl and a four-month-old baby Antoine.

A bit overwhelmed by all of the commotions around her, Marinette could do little but smile and greet everyone while focusing on Adrien’s arm around her waist... at least, until even that anchor was taken away by Lucia dragging Adrien into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“You are so much better with Bolognese, Adrien,” Lucia practically pleaded. “I am really sorry but, please, do me a favour and finish the damn sauce. Last time, I promise.”

“Alright, alright.” Adrien chuckled and turned to Marinette, to see if she wanted to go with him since most already dispersed back into the apartment.

“She’ll stay with me, won’t you?” Sofia rushed to interfere, looping her arm around Marinette’s. “I didn’t gather a whole bunch of stories about you for nothing, Agreste. I simply must share. She has to know just what kind of person she’s gotten herself involved with.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows me,” Adrien retorted.

“Oh, but does she know what you’ve been up to all these years in NYC?” Sofia wiggled her eyebrows. “Shoo, Agreste. Let the women gossip about their men.”

Adrien seemed to hesitate and, intrigued by Sofia’s proposal, Marinette assured that she would be fine waiting for him with Sofia.

“Okay,” Adrien smiled. “I’ll be quick and—” he glared at the other girl, “—do not embarrass me, Sofia.”

The girl puffed. “Please, with what? No offence, Agreste, but you’re one of the most boring people I’ve ever met. Can you believe—” she turned to Marinette, “—he lived in the city that never sleeps and still managed to spend all of his time at work or home? Boring! Bland and tedious.”

“Don’t believe her, Marinette,” Adrien pouted. “I did tons of fun stuff.”

“Sure, you did,” Sofia deadpanned. “Like learning to cook with Mama who spent more time teaching you than her own daughter. So much fun.”

“My daughter hates cooking,” Lucia shouted from the kitchen. “And this nice, young man was starving and willing to learn. Don’t blame me for your own choices!”

“I didn’t!” Sofia retorted. “Just pointing out that Adrien had lots of fun here. Also, oh my gosh, Marinette, you won’t believe but he used to read all the time. All those huge, boring books-”

“Those were for my school. I did get a Master’s degree, you know.”

Sofia shrugged. “That doesn’t excuse them being lacklustre. However,” she added with a smug smirk. “Even you’ve had your moments, Agreste, so I can’t promise you anything. There might be one or two stories Marinette would love to hear.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at her. Marinette couldn’t hold back a smile. So that’s how it felt to have a sibling? Even if not an official one, but the thought of Adrien having had someone to care for him those years in the States was heartwarming, and these people, the whole family, seemed to love him as one of their own.

“Oh! I know!” Sofia suddenly stirred up, turning to Marinette with a wiggle of eyebrows and a sly smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you about the time Dad was trying to set us up and how much Agreste was dying to get out of it. You should’ve seen him, Marinette. He was like a deer caught in headlights. ‘I respect you, sir, and Sofia is beautiful and smart and amazing, but she like a sister to me. I could never date her.’ That was hilarious.”

“Please,” Adrien puffed. “You wanted out even more than I did.”

“Duh! You’re like a brother. Like, ewww? No way. Plus, Peter and I were a thing already—” she glanced across the room at a man holding a baby, “—I just hadn’t told the folks about him yet.”

“They got married a year later,” Adrien added. “Almost eloped, but we managed to talk her out of it.”

“Edward did,” Sofia laughed. “You were a picture of misery the whole time.”

“I was not!”

“Yup, you were,” Edward chuckled, walking closer.

“Hey, I was happy for you, guys!” Adrien pouted.

“Of course, you were happy for our little troublemaker,” Edward laughed, hugging Adrien’s shoulder. “No one denies that. But you were also not so successfully trying to hold back tears at her wedding.”

“From happiness!”

“And every time Edward’s wife had a baby?”

“That’s-”

“Oh, please, Adrien,” Sofia rolled her eyes. “Deny it all you want, but you wear your heart on your sleeve, you know. Yes, you were happy for us, but you were also sad and miserable and refused to tell us why.”

“The most I got out of him,” Edward added, “was that there was someone who he was in love with for years, but whose life he’d ruined, and now that person didn’t want anything to do with him and he still loved them and couldn’t move on. Though, I had to get him really, really drunk for that confession to come out.”

“I hate you guys,” Adrien huffed and glared at the two. “The one and only time I let you take me out to a bar-”

“Sofia! Ed! Leave the poor boy alone!” their mother shouted from the kitchen. “You’re going to scare Marinette away with your nonsense. Come here, Adrien. Bring Marinette with you and leave those heathens behind.” A wave of chuckles and giggles filled the room. Adrien straightened up.

“Thank you, Aunt Lucia,” he shouted before offering his hand to Marinette. “Would you join me in the kitchen, my Lady? Those insensitive individuals did not deserve your company.”

“Aw, come on!” Sofia whined. “We were just having fun. Leave her with us.”

“Too late,” Adrien pulled Marinette to himself and stuck his tongue out. “She is all mine and I don’t share with bullies.”

“We love you, Adrien,” Sofia retorted, stepping away herself to check up on her husband who seemed to be having troubles with getting their baby to sleep. Edward got distracted by one of his kids as well, so the pair effortlessly sneaked away.

“Adrien is a nice boy, don’t listen to them,” Lucia mumbled under her breath as soon as they entered the kitchen. “He's kind and smart, hard-working and an amazing cook. Those tactless kids of mine just like to tease him, and he is too nice to play their games. That’s their father’s doing. I told Richard to stop doing that because the kids would learn it, but does he ever listen to me? Here—” she passed a bowl full of ingredients to Adrien. “If you don’t mind, dear. Your Bolognese is the best and we’ll retaliate by not sharing.”

Adrien chuckled and headed to the stove.

“They weren’t so bad,” Marinette said. “I can tell they love Adrien- in their own special way. Plus, I got to learn something new about him.”

“Want to learn more?” Sofia peaked through the door. “I have tons of stories left.”

“Shoo, you evil child!” Lucia cried out. “Go set the table if you have nothing better to do. I’m almost done with dinner.”

“I can help,” Marinette offered, seeing as she wasn’t going to be very useful at the kitchen with Adrien and the older woman seemingly having everything under control.

“See? She wants the stories, Mama! Come with me, girl. I’ll tell you all of his secrets,” Sofia quickly pulled Marinette out of the room to Lucia’s discontent huffing and Adrien’s laugh. Marinette giggled herself. It was chaotic. Overwhelming even, but undeniably those people cared a lot about each other and about Adrien. It could be felt in the air. She could see it in their eyes. It must have been such a contrast for Adrien to get into this family after his lonely childhood life.

The table setting didn’t take long, seeing as Megan, Edward’s wife, had finally managed to escape from her kids and lend them a hand. Together, they told Marinette about Adrien’s life in the States, starting from the time their father dragged the depressed, lonely model into their house, and ending with him surprising them with the news of Emma and Marinette. There wasn’t much in between - just a few silly NYC adventures when they practically forced Adrien out.

“He liked to stay at home when he didn't work or study,” Sofia said. “We tried to get him out but the stubborn ass would usually refuse, and even if he did go out with us, he'd just sit there with that look on his face.”

“I always hated it,” Megan added. “He looked like a kicked puppy. There was always that sadness in his eyes, you know?”

“Especially when Dad tried to set him up those few times. Poor guy looked even more depressed after a date than before it and never went on a second one. We gave up on that pretty soon. I think he suffered through three?”

Megan shook her head. “Nope. Two. You were supposed to be the third one, remember?”

“Oh right,” Sofia sighed. “Well, we’re sure glad it's in the past and he has you now, Marinette,” Sofia smiled and out of the blue wrapped her arms around Marinette. “Thank you so much. I know it might sound strange coming from a complete stranger, but Adrien means a lot to us, and we are very thankful you appeared in his life. He looks happy. Really happy. Genuinely so. Please, be kind to him.”

“I will,” Marinette whispered, holding back tears. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. Adrien got free from the kitchen pretty soon but was snatched up by a horde of kids who insisted that Uncle Adrien was to play with them. As soon as he complied, the level of laughs and squeals in the house rose significantly. Marinette could hardly keep her eyes off Adrien as he wrestled and carried the kids around on his shoulders. The children loved him and he was terrific with them. No wonder he was so good with Emma; he had a lot of practice here. It explained perfectly why he was so happy and eager to be a father as well.

Then followed the loudest dinner Marinette had ever attended, yet in a fun and wholehearted way. Adrien seemed to be right at home, even if the stories about him never ended and more than one of those were told with the sole purpose to tease him. He quickly retaliated, though, telling Marinette his own tales about the people around the table, causing the whole room to erupt with laughs. By the end of the evening, Marinette, in a way, felt a little guilty taking him away from them, but they approved. Adrien was loved here and his happiness stood above their own wishes.

They left late evening and Marinette felt as much a part of their family as was Adrien. Sofia proclaimed her to be her new sister. Richard and Lucia invited them over whenever they would be on this side of the Atlantic. Edward shook Adrien’s hand and wished him well as an older brother would. Everyone hugged, and from the corner of her eye, Marinette noticed lingering tears in more than one pair of eyes.

“I see you weren’t as lonely as you’ve told me,” Marinette teased him as soon as they left. “They’re great people, Adrien. I really enjoyed this evening.”

“They are awesome,” Adrien replied with a bittersweet smile on his face. “But... over the years… looking at them- it was just- you know when you see your friends- family almost,” he corrected. “When you see them fall in love, date, get engaged, get married, when you hold their newborns in your hands and help them choose the right name, when you help cook and share those amazing evening together… all while knowing that you most likely will never get to experience that with the woman you love… that you perhaps will never have a family of your own… That—” he lightly squeezed Marinette's hand, not making eye contact, “—that was the lonely and miserable part.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered and stopping, wrapped her arms around him.

“I'm sorry too,” Adrien whispered back, returning the embrace. “I can imagine it wasn't any easier for you.”

“I had Emma. And my parents. I had Alya, and Nino. I was still back home with lots of friends and even your father. He helped us too. You were all alone over here in a foreign country. And while Richard and his family are amazing — and I’m so, so glad they took you in — but if I understand correctly, they were your only friends here?”

Adrien nodded silently.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien,” Marinette whispered burying her face into his chest. “All because of me. Me and my stupid mistake.”

“I thought we agreed that it was my mistake too.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’ Marinette. I’m not lonely anymore. I have you and Emma. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” Marinette protested, pulling away and catching his gaze. “It’s been years, Adrien. Because of me-”

“Because of you,” Adrien stopped her speech, gently placing a finger to her lips. “I’m not lonely anymore. I have a family now and feel like the luckiest man alive. Because of what had happened we’ve become people we’re now. We’ve learned; we’ve matured. We’ve both messed up, Marinette. Not just you or me. We both did, and there is nothing we can do about it now.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he continued to gaze upon her. “We’re together and happy now. We know what we should work on, so let’s leave the past in the past and focus on the future. Okay?”

Marinette’s eyes filled with tears. Was there a limit to how much Adrien loved her? She didn’t know, but when he leaned closer and put his forehead to hers her heart fluttered.

“I love you,” Adrien whispered. “And I don’t want you blaming yourself for the rest of your life for something we both did.”

“I love you too, Adrien,” she barely breathed out, loud enough only for his ears. “With all my heart.”

“That's all that matters,” Adrien smiled at her and let his lips brushed against hers in a gentle touch. “Let's go home,” he added. “I need to show you just how much I love you.”

“Same,” Marinette replied quietly.

Saturday morning Marinette met with a smile on her lips. There wasn’t much planned for today: some last-minute packing, maybe a lunch out somewhere nearby and perhaps another walk at Central Park. The evening was reserved for a movie, cuddles and early bedtime since their plane was leaving first thing Sunday morning. So, not rushing to open her eyes, Marinette cuddled closer to Adrien, still flying somewhere between reality and dreamland as she relished in the warmth of being close. In response, Adrien wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her closer.

This. This felt nice. Marinette hummed satisfactory under her breath. This felt like something she’d really enjoy for the rest of her life. The whole last week was something she’d love to have for the rest of her life. Waking up cuddling to Adrien, spending their days in close proximity, working together, sharing their meals, relaxing in the evening watching a movie or just talking, falling asleep in his arms… It only needed Emma added in, and it would be perfect. Perfect enough for her to eagerly anticipate his promised proposal to come.

Adrien’s arms suddenly tightened around her as he whispered her name. He must have awoken already, but Marinette didn't rush to turn around to wish him good morning - the way he held her right now was way too comfortable for that.

“I love you- love you so much.” He tugged her closer.

“Love you too, Adrien,” Marinette replied quietly, softly stroking one of his hands on her stomach.

“You are my everything, Marinette,” Adrien murmured against her skin. “You and Emma- everything-”

This time she wanted to respond, but Adrien continued to whisper.

“Love you so much… Can’t live without you… Marinette… I’ll make you happy… I promise… Marry me…”

The breath in her chest hitched for just a moment, a smile splitting her lips. They really were meant to be. Otherwise, how could Adrien read her mind and know one of her greatest desires a few minutes after she’d wished for it?

“Marinette,” Adrien murmured against her bare skin, his voice raspy and deep. “My Lady… My Princess… I love you...”

“I love you too,” Marinette finally replied, swirling around, “Of course, I’ll marry you, Chaton, you silly kitty. There is nothing I want more right now than this.”

With that, she pulled Adrien to herself and kissed him. Kissed him slowly and tenderly, lingering in the sweetness of his lips, lavishing in the warmth of his embrace.

She pulled away a few moments later to meet Adrien’s bewildered eyes, as he blinked before letting a sleepy smile stretch on his lips. Ignoring his dumbfounded expression, Marinette leaned in again for another kiss. This time he responded.

“Didn’t know the cuddling ceremony was replaced by a kissing one,” Adrien purred once they parted. “Not complaining, though. I might even prefer this one. You have the best ideas, Princess.”

“Well, isn’t it what you do after you get proposed to?” Marinette said, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy. “You kiss your fiancée.”

Adrien pulled back. “I proposed to you?”

“Yup.” Marinette’s grin stretched wider. “You did.”

He blinked. “When?”

“Just now?”

A silent whimper escaped Adrien’s lips as he stared back at her in disbelief. After a short while, he said barely audible. “Marinette, I woke up being kissed. I don’t remember anything before that.”

They stared at each other in silence before Marinette gave in, snorted and erupted with laughter. “Really?”

“Yes,” Adrien whined, closing his eyes.

“You’ve missed your own proposal?” Marinette continued to giggle.

“That’s not funny, Princess.” He flopped back on the bed, a sad puppy look on his face. “Weeks of practice down the drain.”

“Awww. I almost feel sorry for you, Chaton, but I’ll let you know that you were very cuddly and sweet. A swoon-worthy proposal for sure. I couldn't refuse you even if I wanted to.”

Adrien chuckled. Raising himself over her on one elbow, he tucked away some stray hairs behind her ear with his other hand. “Then maybe, you’ll allow me to ask you again? It would’ve been nice to remember you saying Yes to me.”

“Sure.” Marinette nodded. “But I’ll agree again only if you can beat the Sleep Adrien’s proposal.”

“I see. So, I’ve got my work cut out for me?”

“Undeniably.”

“Well then—” still raised on one elbow he leaned down and nuzzled her jaw, whispering in her ear. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I love you. Will you marry me?”

“That's it?” she chuckled when Adrien refrained from adding anything else. “No big words and promises to beat your rival?”

“I’m sure Sleep Adrien already said all the words and promised you everything,” Adrien said, his voice husky as he traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, following the trail with his eyes. “But in the weeks that I’ve spent practicing my proposal speech, I’ve noticed that the simpler words are, the more effective and sincerer they are as well.”

“I suppose,” Marinette replied with a smile, placing her hand atop of his. “But you’ll need something extra to top Sleep Adrien because let me tell you - he was fantastic.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Adrien replied bringing her hand to his lips. “I’m sure he was great telling you things, but did he do something like this?” He let his lips brush against the inside of her wrist.

Marinette shook her hand.

“How about this?” Leaning down, Adrien peppered the curve of her jaw with tender butterfly kisses before moving on to her neck, gently sucking at her exposed skin.

Closing her eyes, Marinette let a sigh out. “No.”

“And this?” Adrien nibbled at her earlobe. “I’m sure Sleep Adrien was big on words, but I offer you my actions. So, what will you say, Marinette? Will you marry me?”

“Tempting,” Marinette whispered, locking her gaze on him. “You drive a hard deal, Chaton.”

The corner of his lips curved as Adrien’s eyes fell to her lips. Watching them for a short while, he caught her eyes again and added. “I have a lot more to offer to Mme Adrien Agreste, though. Would you like to become her, Marinette?”

“Yes,” Marinette whispered, tugging him closer. “And very much so.”

“Excellent,” Adrien smiled and capture her lips with his.

It had been well over a year since his son came back from the States. Sixteen months since Adrien had discovered he was a father and cleared all of the misunderstandings not only between Marinette and himself but between them as well. About fourteen months, Gabriel would guess, since the duo came back engaged from NYC - of no surprise to anyone and just as he'd predicted. Exactly a year since their wedding. Unnecessary delay where Gabriel’s opinion was considered, but Adrien and Marinette had insisted on enjoying the engagement stage for at least a few months, which, to be fair, that did give him the time to create a custom wedding dress for Marinette and allowed their friends to arrange some time off work to attend their tropical wedding gateway. Sunset beach ceremony wasn't what he personally would've chosen, but Emma was happy and so was Gabriel. In the end, his preferences aside, the fact that Marinette had decided to take Adrien’s last name and change Emma’s in the process as well, was most pleasing of all.

Emma Agreste sounded perfect.

Emma Agreste had too much of a hold on his heart, and he acknowledged it without shame. Even now, as Gabriel carefully inspected her drawings, he couldn't hold back a smile. Emma clearly inherited his fantastic fashion sense.

“Father?” Adrien’s voice split the silence of the room. Gabriel lifted his head, confused as for why he hadn’t heard the door opening.

“Oh, you are back. I assume the date went well?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” Adrien smiled, pulling Marinette into the office. “Where’s Emma?”

“She went to her room ten minutes ago.”

“You mean my old room?” Adrien teased. “I still can’t believe you removed my zip line because it suddenly isn't safe anymore.”

“We already discussed it, Adrien,” Gabriel replied nonchalantly. “Whoever visits more gets the room. Emma wins by a long run and if you want that zip line so badly, install it in your own house and stop bothering me.”

“I’ve been robbed,” Adrien mock pouted. “Stripped of the place I’ve spent most of life in.”

Gabriel sighed. Marinette giggled.

“We appreciate it, M Agreste,” she said, putting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “And Emma loves it. She’s still ecstatic about the princess treehouse and the royal carriage bed you put in for her. Even started bugging Adrien to buy her a similar one for her room at home.”

“I see,” Gabriel smirked in satisfaction, looking at Adrien. “So, remodelling the room to suit her particular tastes wasn't that unnecessary after all.”

“My climbing wall is still her favourite feature, though,” Adrien countered. “You can’t deny that.”

Gabriel sighed. “I suppose I can’t. She is your daughter after all.”

“She is,” Adrien grinned proudly. “And as unbelievable as it sounds, she takes a lot after me.”

“Maybe, but she undoubtedly inherited her mother’s fashion talent,” Gabriel added. “You can't deny that.”

“I suppose I can’t,” Adrien chuckled and looked at Marinette. “And I don’t mind in the slightest.”

“Speaking of which,” Gabriel leaned back into his chair and looked at Marinette. “Would you to bring her to the office next week? I want to start with that line I promised her. She has some interesting ideas already.”

“Wait.” Adrien frowned. “I thought co-creating a line with Emma was a joke.”

“I don't joke about such matters,” Gabriel replied. “Emma has a talent, and she is at the age when her imagination has no bounds. I want to explore that. She has a bright future if we nurture her from early on.”

Adrien glanced at Marinette. “We’ll discuss it over the dinner on Friday. We need to consider everything before we agree or decline anything.”

“Fair enough.” Gabriel nodded. “Now, should I call for Emma? It’s getting close to her bedtime, and you still need to get home.”

Adrien suddenly grinned and grabbed Marinette’s hand. “Not yet. First, we wanted to tell you some exciting news-”

“Oh. Did Marinette finally tell you she is pregnant?” Gabriel cut in, his face calm as he watched Marinette’s eyes widen and Adrien’s jaw drop to the floor.

“Wha- But- How? How do you know?”

The man let out an amused chuckle. “Can you guess what is one of the perks of being your boss, Marinette?”

The woman shook her head.

“I get to hear all the rumours about you early on,” he continued. “You are an Agreste now, Marinette, and people pay special attention to everything you do. When they notice stuff, they gossip, and every gossip about any member of my family makes its way to my office sooner or later. I suspected a pregnancy a few weeks ago when you were spotted feeling sick in the bathroom three days in a row, constantly seemed tired for a while and started consuming an impressive number of salty snacks.”

Adrien chuckled to himself and looked at Marinette.

“Then, of course, your father called me a week ago because he couldn’t congratulate Adrien yet, but he was eager to share the news with at least someone.”

“You father knew?” Adrien turned to Marinette.

“And Maman,” Marinette said apologetically. “She noticed the symptoms when I was over a few weeks ago and asked me. I couldn’t lie, but they promised not to tell anyone until I surprised you.”

“Unbelievable,” Adrien pouted. “Why am I always the last one to find out things in this family?”

“You should’ve been the first one to notice something was up,” Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Seeing how she is your wife and you live in the same house, and you—” he addressed Marinette with a stern look, “—you should’ve made it short days if you weren’t feeling well. We don’t want my grandchild to be born prematurely.”

“That’s why you kept sending me home early?” Marinette smiled. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful and very much appreciated.”

“Left behind,” Adrien whined and dramatically plopped on a chair. “Again. By my own father and my beloved wife. How could this happen to me?”

“Awww.” Marinette smiled, lightly ruffling Adrien’s hair. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you in a special way and our anniversary seemed like the perfect day to do so, but here—” she leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Feeling better?

“A little,” Adrien pouted. “One more?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Adrien,” Gabriel huffed, standing up. “I’ll go get Emma.”

“You won’t call Nathalie to bring her as usual?” Adrien asked.

“It seems you two need a few minutes alone,” Gabriel said with a straight face, heading for the door. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, settle everything by then.”

He closed the door to the pair’s stifled laughs and Adrien’s unmistakable “Come here, Princess” and walked up the stairs. Soon Gabriel stood in front of Adrien’s former bedroom. A soft knock on the door gave him no response. He tried again and entered the room, calling out his granddaughter’s name. The room looked empty, the lights dimmed and no one answered him no matter how many times he called. Just for a moment, his mind stirred with worry, but then his eyes fell on a sleeping girl in the extravagant treehouse he made for her. Snoozing peacefully amongst the countless pillows and plushies, she was hugging a Chat Noir doll Marinette had made for her, swaddled in a ladybug-themed blanket Adrien had insisted was a must in this room.

Gabriel smiled. Emma was a surprise. For her mother. For her father. For him. Unexpected and bewildering. She looked mind-blowingly similar to his late wife, but that wasn't the most surprising thing about her. How much she’d accomplished in her seven years was astonishing. She inspired him every day and brought smiles to everyone around her. She’d gotten her parents together, something they were too childish to do themselves. She’d managed to melt his heart and prompted a reconciliation between him and his long-estranged son, something that just a little over a year ago Gabriel had never thought it possible. That was more than most people accomplish in a lifetime. Unexpected? Surprising? Not really. She was an Agreste, after all. Emma Agreste to be precise.

That's it, guys. I hope you've enjoyed this ride as much as I did. I hope Unexpected Surprise was as special to you as it was to me. I'm very thankful to my betas KryallaOrchid and EdenDaphne for helping me to polish this gem. Thank you so much, guys!!! Without you, this story would never be as amazing as it is now. Also, I'll be posting a separate Unexpected Surprise bonus story in a week where you'll get your questions about kwamis answered and be able to glimpse the future of the Adrien and Marinette's family. Hope you'll love it just as much as the main story. <3

Please note: English is a strange and wonderful language where many words have multiple meanings and slang can change depending on your country of origin. It is my third language so while I will do my very best, there may be mistakes made along the way.

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Jill’s timeline of Dean, 1936-1979. She said something about working on an 80s timeline too but I didn’t find it: 

Robert Dean Stockwell was born on March 5, 1936, at Cedars of Lebanon Hospital in Los Angeles.

His father was Harry Baylis Stockwell, age 30, an 'artist' employed by motion picture studios. His original birthplace was Missouri. His mother was Elizabeth Margaret Veronica, age 24, a 'housekeeper' employed at home. Her original birthplace was New York. This was her second child. [Me: Jill somehow got his birth certificate. I guess this was in the days before they got a lot more secure about who got birth certificates?? Either way, it’s not really something I approve of because that’s applying genealogical methods to a living person, which genealogists generally frown on doing.]

1953 - 1956: The mystery years. Jill: “Dean left college in the spring of 1953, and disappeared for awhile until he showed up doing live television in 1956. When interviewers asked him what he had been doing, he spun quite a fanciful tale. There is no way for any of us to know how much is true, and how much he was making up. According to him, he changed his name several times, and began an odyssey of traveling across country doing odd jobs and living with the laborers of the land (Woody Guthrie, anyone? Bob Dylan also made up his own past when he hit New York. Must have seemed quite romantic at the time). “Dean says that he worked in the mailroom of a large company in New York....but when people began to figure out who he was, he hit the road. Worked on the railroad in Texas....in Mexico.....worked as a fruit picker.....worked in a bakery in New Orleans.....eventually ended up in New York again, and decided to try acting once more.

Jill: “Here are a few facts I've been able to find: Dean attended the University of California in Berkeley from 1952 to the spring of 1953, when he dropped out. His brother Guy was attending the university at the same time, and when Guy graduated (probably 1954), he became a schoolteacher in northern California. A former pupil of Guy's recalls Dean coming into the classroom occasionally to read Shakespeare to them (how cool would that be?). Also, Dean himself has stated that he was in 'northern California' when James Dean was killed in an automobile accident (which was the fall of 1955).

“Because of these few facts, I get the feeling that Dean was with Guy during a lot of these 'lost years.'

“However, he definitely was in New York during 1956, as that is where the live TV shows were originating from that he appeared in. He attended a few classes at the Actor's Studio, which is where he met Suzanne Pleschette. Since she is a real person, I will take that fact at face value.

“The rest is a mystery.” [K: I think there’s some truth to Dean’s claims- he was in NYC during the summer of 1955 and acted in a religious show, The Wise in Heart, to get money to go back to LA, according to Nature Boy. Nature Boy’s author confirmed this was pulled from a magazine interview with Stockwell. So, between the summer of 1955 and up to fall/winter 1955 at the earliest, spring 1956 at the latest, he was with his brother in Northern California, working as a logger, before going back to LA. Between spring of 1953 and the summer of 1955? I’m sure he found work elsewhere, was recognized there, moved, changed jobs, and that’s why he went through so many, but he may have exaggerated as well. After moving to LA, Dean soon met Berman. They had certainly met well before 1957- Dean wrote a poem that mentioned Berman’s son Tosh blowing out the candles on his 21st birthday cake.]

1957: A new adult Dean Stockwell emerges. Sometimes Dean says he went back to Hollywood in 1956, but another time he stated he returned to Hollywood on his 21st birthday, in order to collect the money that had been held in trust for him (it wasn't very much.......I'm thinking around $25,000, but I'd have to look that up). Dean turned 21 on March 5, 1957.

This is the period when Roddy McDowall took that photo of Dean's that shows up on the mantel in the QL show "M.I.A." [Me: Dean doesn’t look that young in the picture, based on his hair. I’m thinking the picture that’s in Roddy’s art book was taken around this time, while the MIA picture was taken in the early 1960s.]

There is so much happening between 1956 and 1957, that I have a feeling he was traveling between New York and Hollywood, rather than staying put in one place. He makes his first film as an adult, a western, titled "Gun for a Coward." "The Careless Years" will follow that one, plus countless appearances on TV dramas, plus a run in a Broadway play "Compulsion" with Roddy McDowall from late 1957 to early 1958 (while rehearsing for Compulsion, he appears in live TV dramas from New York........he was busy!).

Also, in 1957, he began to hang out with the beatniks living in Topanga Canyon, above Los Angeles. His address is listed as an apartment building in Hollywood (there's a photo of that building in our Files section), but he eventually buys his own home up in the canyon (I have no idea what year).

Dean states in the recent Neil Young biography that he spent a lot of time with the artist Wallace Berman and his family, and that Berman's revolutionary way of thinking was a profound influence on him. Berman was an avant-garde artist who worked with collages and symbols, often incorporating Hebrew letters (having to do with the Kabbala). When Berman's art exhibition was closed down due to obscenity, it was Dean Stockwell who bailed him out of jail (this was still 1957).

1957 - 1959: This is the period of time that Dean is hanging out at Jazz clubs, and is referred to as a Hollywood Hipster (with the likes of another child star, Bobby Driscoll), when he's not being compared to the late James Dean. He shows up in a documentary about the 'Beats' in California (a film I would love to get my hands on. :-) It's also the time when Dean's name is being connected to quite a few Hollywood starlets (Janice Rule, Diane Varsi, Ina Balin, Suzanne Pleschette, Sandra Dee).

1959 - 1962: At this point, almost every interview/article about Dean Stockwell centers on his relationship with another quirky personality, Millie Perkins. They were young, they were different from the mainstream, they were 'hip' without being obnoxious, and they made a cute couple. It's difficult for me to even figure out what else Dean was doing at the time, because everything centers around his marriage to Millie (1960 - 1962), and their efforts to hide from the press. They are married shortly after he finished "Sons and Lovers" and are going through a divorce by the time of "Long Day's Journey Into Night."

A brief glimpse into Dean's character is provided by Katherine Hepburn, during the filming of Long Day's Journey - he showed up for filming on the first day, an outdoor scene, without a coat during cold weather. That bothered Kate so much, she went out and bought him a coat, and had it there for him the following day. The director stated that Kate Hepburn had a soft spot for heavy drinkers. Apparently Dean arrived for work with a bottle of vodka close at hand. Sounds like he was getting a bit of a reputation.

1963: This is when Dean runs into Dennis Hopper again (they first met in New York in 1957, through their mutual friend Roddy McDowall). They become lifelong friends. Dean is mentioned in 'Andy Warhol's Diary' as being one of the guests at a party at Hopper's house, with Russ Tamblyn and Suzanne Pleschette. [Me: According to Semina Culture, this is also around the time when Dean met his longtime girlfriend Toni Basil.]

A photo of Dean from these days was taken by Dennis Hopper, and can be found in our Files, as well as in the Photo Album on our Website. [Me: That picture- with the egg on Dean’s face- was taken in 1965.]

1965 - Makes frequent appearances as a continuing character on the TV series "Dr. Kildare." Stars in a black and white film shot in France, titled "Rapture."

1966 - creates a short art film titled "Moonstone" with his artist friend George Herms

1966 and 1967 - in a sense, we can call these 2 years as 'lost years' or 'mystery years' also. Only called that because Dean's life at the time cannot be discerned by movies or TV appearances. Instead, we find Dean creating collages for Art Showings, living in Haight-Ashbury (verified by the beatnik poet Charles Plymell, who became a friend of his at the time), and perhaps sojourning in London for awhile. While in Haight-Ashbury, he attends parties at Plymell's apartment with the likes of Neal Cassady and Allen Ginsberg. [Me: There was Mr. Paracelsus, Who Are You? early around this time, but after that, nothing until late 1967.]

1968 - appeared in the psychedelic hippie movie "Psych-Out"; according to sources, the only actor in the film who actually lived in the Haight district at the time. But not for long, because now he's reappearing in Topanga Canyon with Russ Tamblyn, and eating breakfast at the local restaurant there. He befriends the female owner, who introduces him to her new boyfriend - Neil Young.

Also starred in a British TV mystery drama (which puts him in London, if only briefly). [Me: This was Thirty-Minute Theatre: Before Breakfast.]

Also made appearances on The Danny Thomas Show, and FBI.

Finishes the decade by performing (most charmingly) in a Bonanza episode....... and writing a screenplay titled "After the Gold Rush." Introduces George Herms to the music of Neil Young during an acid trip.

1970 to 1973 = Dean continues to make short art films with his friend George Herms. Also makes a short documentary about the making of "Breakaway," which was an art film created by the artist Bruce Connor, starring Dean's girlfriend at the time, Toni Basil.

1970 = stars in the film "Dunwich Horror" with his friend from the 1950's, Sandra Dee. Asks George Herms to paint the hieroglyphics on his torso for a scene in the film.

1971 = Joins his friend Dennis Hopper and other "Misfits of Hollywood" in Peru for the making of Hopper's film "The Last Movie." LIFE Magazine does a cover story about Hopper down in Peru, and stories circulate about the wild times on the set. Hopper spends a year editing the film, but Universal refuses to distribute it. The title of the film is almost prophetic regarding Hopper's career. [Me: His stepmother Nina Olivette passes away this year.]

Also in 1971, Dean stars in two television movies - "Paper Man" and "The Failing of Raymond."

1972 = stars in a low-budget biker-on-the-road flick titled "The Loners." The press release for the film states that Dean Stockwell has 'been living in England.'

1973 = Stars in "The Werewolf of Washington." Dean later says that the script was funny, but he knew by the very first day on the set that he was in a stinker.

1974 = Appears in a play in Albuquerque called "Relatively Speaking," and tells an interviewer from the local paper that he is tired of being typecast as a murderous lunatic who guest stars on television dramas. He would like to try comedy. [Me: There’s a 1972 newspaper article about Win Place or Steal that says he’d love to do more comedy, but I think his first comedic role as an adult was in his 1964 episode of Burke’s Law.]

Also around this time he is showing up in Taos quite a bit, getting drunk and stoned in bars with Dennis Hopper. But even though he was getting quite a reputation in Taos (and not a good one - Dean quotes, with good humor, a person saying "I always thought Dennis Hopper was the biggest asshole in Taos - until I met the other guy....,"), that isn't his entire existence. He is also still living in Topanga Canyon above Los Angeles, and the magazine "Fighting Stars" does a cover story on Dean about his newfound interest, Stickfighting.

Dean comes across in the interview as an eager, enthusiastic man, younger than his stated age (the photos that accompany the article look like a man in his 20's instead of a man approaching 40), who has discovered the martial art Stickfighting after appearing in a low-budget film in the Phillipines. He is so involved with this sport that he brings his instructor over from the Phillipines, Remy Presas, to stay at his house. He also tells the interviewer that he really doesn't care if he never acts again, as long as he can be involved in this martial art.

At the same time, though, Dean is happy to give his blessing to an official Fan Club, started by a woman named Geordie James (whom our member Claire was corresponding with at the time). Dean even telephoned Ms. James when he returned from the Phillipines, and he sounded just as eager and enthusiastic over the phone as he comes across in the magazine interview. Alas, there was a fire at the home of Ms. James, and the Fan Club never got off the ground.

1975 = stars in another low-budget film, this time a comedy, titled "Win, Place or Steal," with his friend and Topanga Canyon neighbor Russ Tamblyn. [Me: This was filmed around 1972.]

Also in 1975, spends a fastpaced summer with his friend David Bowie, who was living in Hollywood at the time. Bowie recalls making the club scene with Dean and Dennis; Iggy Pop remembers them visiting him in the mental hospital.

1976 = Does the photography/artwork for the cover of Neil Young's album "American Stars 'N Bars" (9 years earlier, Dean had contributed a photo of the artist Wallace Berman for the cover of the Beatles "Sgt. Pepper" album).

Also, in 1976, Dean and his girlfriend Toni Basil accompanied Dennis Hopper to the Cannes Film Festival for a showing of the independent film "Tracks," which both Dean and Dennis had appeared in. According to the gossip columns, there were parties on the beach from dusk to dawn, and it was here that Dean meets his future wife, Joy Marchenko. They begin a 5 year correspondence.

1977 to 1978 = Toni is very active in the punk rock scene, and the artist Bruce Conner makes a documentary about punk rock clubs in California, with her in it. Toni introduces Dean to the band Devo. Dean makes a tape of their music and gives it to Neil Young. Then Dean takes Neil to a club to see them.

1978 = Probably the beginning of the breakup with Toni, as she begins an affair with Devo's bass player. Dean moves in with Russ Tamblyn, still up in Topanga Canyon. During a frisbee game with Russ and Neil, the idea for "Human Highway" takes shape. Joined by Dennis Hopper and Devo, they begin filming a movie which will ultimately take 5 years to complete, and will end up being completely different than the original conception.

Stories circulate about the wild times on the set, which began as simple outdoor shots filmed around Taos, New Mexico, but which will end up being a very expensive studio set created by Neil Young's imagination.

1979 = Dean appears in Las Vegas doing comedy dinner theater ("Come Blow Your Horn"). Also directs an avant-garde play in Los Angeles called "Man With Bags," starring Russ Tamblyn (this is where our member Claire gets to meet him). A few weeks later she gets to meet him again at an art exhibition of George Herms' work, which includes a showing of Dean's film creation "Moonstone." A good time was had by all.

[woodywenman-hyde-blog]

Dominique and Me: One Recipe at a Time/BLIMEY, am I actually gonna do this??

BLIMEY, am I actually gonna do this??

Dominique and Me: One Recipe At A Time is almost my love letter to the king of pastry. Dominique Ansel is the biggest innovator to ever touch the surface of sugar, and is single-handedly changing the way we eat desserts. Most well known for the much-beloved Cronut (voted one of the best inventions of 2013), Dominique has since opened shops globally, including two right here in the UK (London).

This blog series (?), will involve me creating every single one of the recipes from his book; ‘Dominique Ansel: Secrets From The World Famous Bakery’, from beginner all the way to advanced (and trust me some of the advanced ones are pretty damn scary). Each blog post will involve a different recipe and my various meltdowns along the way. ;)

If you’re reading this and thinking “Wait a second, this concept sounds awfully familiar!”, you’re not having an acid dream (at least I hope not)! I am taking inspiration from Julie Powell, the woman behind Julie and Julia (much beloved blog, turned book, turned movie starring Amy Adams and Meryl Streep). Using Julia Childs ‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking’, Julie Powell worked through the book making one recipe a day (unfortunately, I’m not quite that dedicated and will be working to a far more forgiving schedule). Therefore, I’m kind of calling this my ‘Julie and Julia pilgrimage’ (yesss, I’m a bit of a nerd).

I have been fortunate to visit both of Dominique Ansel’s bakeries in London (the flagship ‘Dominique Ansel Bakery London’ and the newly opened ‘Dominique Ansel Treehouse’), and his creativity, genius and flair never cease to amaze me. He is a French pastry-chef who began his career by apprenticing in restaurants local to him in France, before working in a Two-Michelin starred restaurant in NYC (I mean he’s French so its basically his god given right to be a pastry wizard, right?). Since then, Ansel has become the youngest ever to be named the ‘Worlds Best Pastry Chef’, which basically means he is the Beyoncé of pastry.

Obviously, Ansel is the creator of the world-famous Cronut. A doughnut/croissant hybrid which practically broke the internet upon its release. If you’re unfamiliar with the product; 1) Have you been living in a cave (I mean, it even gets referenced in Gilmore Girls THERES NO ESCAPING IT), and 2) Stop what you’re doing and Google it now! You’re bound to find a Tastemade video after a few clicks ;). However, that isn’t Ansel’s only viral product, he is also known for; the Frozen Smore, Watermelon Ice Cream Sandwich, Blossoming Hot Chocolate (and that’s just off the top of my head), the list would go on and on.

I certainly wouldn’t call myself a pastry chef, and that could be one of the reasons I’m so daunted by this project that I am about to undertake. Reading this so far, you’re probably thinking this writer is a middle-aged loser/pastry chef nerd with no social life and about a dozen pets. And, you wouldn’t be all wrong ;). I am 17 years old, and currently studying a Professional Cookery course at college (but trust me I have ZERO aspirations to be a chef, I swear to god if I have to butcher one more chicken I might just have a meltdown). Instead, I want to work in bakery and confectionary, most significantly cake design/decorating. From the age of 16, I have been running my own registered cake design business in my local area and can only hope to expand upon this in the future.

Okay, so now that I’ve kinda set the scene I think its about time to get the blog series started. Without sounding WAY too needy, I could really do with some of your help (I know, it comes off as really needy). It is super important that y’all stay engaged with this blog (please don’t let me be the blogger who’s only ready is their own mother, that’s not cool), and there are a whole multitude of ways to stay up to date. FIRSTLY, follow me on social media (@woodysbakes on Facebook/Instagram and @curtaincallcakes Instagram), plus you’ll get to see a whole load of other fun content (what could go wrong?). Also, make sure you subscribe to my email newsletter on my website, www.woodysbakes.com ! This way you will ALWAYS be the first to know when a new blog post has been published (usually in the very early hours of the morning when I should be sleeping ;)), surely that’s a win-win.

Lastly, I’d always love to hear your thoughts. Surely I’m not the only one to ever visit one of Ansel’s shops, if you’ve visited let me know what you thought! If you have any words of advice (trust me, the advice is NEEDED) pleaseeee comment down below, any help is always appreciated. Likewise, if you’ve tried some of these recipes and am sure that I’m going to big time fail, crush my heart with that news too ;).

I am planning to produce the first recipes in the next few days, meaning that there is hardly any wait until the first blog posts (woohoo) so I guess I better get back into the kitchen!

Kind Regards,

Woody.

[lilyvandersteen]

Puppy Eyes Chapter 18

Nope, no smut yet, sorry, only more schmoop and fluff...

Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you’re wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)

This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.

The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

Chapter 18: A Lot of Firsts

When Kurt had to leave for a dog walking assignment later that evening, Blaine felt a prickle of dread. Blaine had declared himself now, and handed Kurt his heart for safe-keeping. Did Kurt believe him? Did he want to be with Blaine? Kurt wasn’t going to slip out of his life again, was he?

Blaine didn’t want to seem clingy, but he also didn’t want to let Kurt walk away without any reassurances on this matter, so he offered to come with Kurt and help him walk the dogs.

It wasn’t until Kurt pointed it out that Blaine realised he was still naked from the transformation. It cracked the both of them up, and that bout of merriment instantly made Blaine feel better. He dressed quickly, and held Kurt’s hand all the way to the dogs’ homes and then to the park. It felt amazing. He sneaked a few glances at their joined hands, grinning happily, and that grin only widened when he caught Kurt doing the same.

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out of their own accord for the millionth time that day, yet Kurt’s eyes lit up as beautifully as if it were the very first.

When Blaine gave Kurt the unicorn brooch and the accompanying letter, he got the reassurance he’d been craving. The letter made Kurt tear up and reel Blaine in close, murmuring that Blaine was the one for him too.

Blaine didn’t check if anyone was around before taking Kurt’s face in his hands and kissing him like his life depended on it.

Kurt drew away a few times to gulp in fresh air, and each time Blaine chased his lips as if Kurt provided the only oxygen he needed.

Blaine didn’t know how much time had passed when they finally remembered the dogs and took them back home, but he did know it wasn’t long enough by far.

Kurt was dog-sitting, so Blaine knew he couldn’t come back to Blaine’s apartment. But maybe Blaine could come with him? He needed to be close to Kurt. Preferably till death did them part, but he’d settle for right here right now.

Kurt seemed hesitant about letting him stay over, so Blaine gave him his most beseeching look. The one that even Pam had never been able to say no to.

“You don’t play fair,” Kurt grumbled as they walked towards the apartment where Kurt was staying.

Blaine, happy as a lark now, beamed at him. “All’s fair in love and war, beautiful.”

Kurt shot him a quick look, and a corner of his mouth ticked up. “Is that going to be my pet name from now on? What happened to ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’?”

Blaine shrugged. “Those are generic, and I use them for everyone. You deserve a special name just for you. And ‘beautiful’ suits you.”

That made Kurt blush, and Blaine just had to kiss him again because he was so adorable.

It wasn’t until they were lying in bed that Blaine initiated phase two of his wooing plan, and asked Kurt out on a date. He fist-pumped when Kurt said yes, and nodded off contentedly.

Then Kurt’s voice jolted him awake again. “Just so you know, we have an appointment at The Sweetest Thing Bakery tomorrow at four p.m. Make sure you include that in your date plans.”

“You rescheduled? Mrs Peters wasn’t angry that we missed our appointment?”

Kurt chuckled. “I pretended that you’d written the date down wrong.”

“Clever!” Blaine praised him. “I’m glad. She has the best reviews. And the best designs.”

“And hopefully scrumptious caaaaaake,” Kurt yawned.

“Sleep, beautiful.”

“Sweet dreams,” Kurt slurred, and then laughed, “because of the cake, geddit?”

He turned on his side, his head on Blaine’s chest, and was out like a light.

Blaine kissed the crown of his head. For a few minutes, he basked in the feeling of having Kurt with him again. Then, he started going over his date options. Their first date had to be perfect.

K&B

Of course, mandating that the date had to be perfect jinxed it. From the moment Blaine woke, he knew he’d have to adjust his plans. He’d counted on cold but dry weather, not the rain and cold wind that assaulted him as soon as he opened the window in the kitchen. That meant the walk through Central Park was out. Bummer.

Blaine busied himself making Kurt a delicious breakfast, making sure it would be ready by the time Kurt’s alarm clock went off, but Kurt didn’t even spare the breakfast tray a passing glance when he rushed past Blaine mumbling, “Dogs to walk. Back in half an hour!”

Blaine looked down at the tray he was holding and sighed. By the time Kurt got back, the eggs would be a congealed mess, the toast would be unappetizing, the fruit salad would no longer look fresh but brown at the edges, and the mocha would be ice-cold.

Oh, all right then.

Blaine sat down at the kitchen table and ate the breakfast intended for Kurt, grimacing when he drank the mocha, which was much too sweet for his taste. After that, he showered and dressed, and then made a new breakfast tray, timing it so that it was ready just when Kurt was due back.

Kurt and the poodles returned in the best of spirits, despite the weather, and now Kurt did notice the tray. “You made me breakfast? Oh, you’re the BEST! I’m starving! I forgot to make myself sandwiches yesterday.”

Kurt kissed Blaine square on the mouth before sitting down and wolfing the whole meal down in five minutes flat.

Then, he looked up at Blaine expectantly. “So what are your plans for today?”

“Still raining?” Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded.

“I guess a romantic walk in the park is out, then,” Blaine mused, and Kurt laughed as if Blaine had made an excellent joke.

Blaine praised himself lucky that he’d asked Ashton if there were any good exhibitions in the NYC museums. At least he had that to fall back on.

He looked up, meaning to tell Kurt they were going to the Met, but Kurt had disappeared. His bowl and plate stood in the sink, already rinsed, and his voice floated out of the utility room, singing a French song.

Blaine distractedly petted one of the poodles while letting Kurt’s singing wash over him, and then started on the dishes.

An hour later, Kurt and Blaine were on their way to the museum. Blaine had first stopped by his own apartment for Kurt’s present of the day. He’d had an umbrella made with the same puppy pattern as the book bag, and Kurt could really use that in this weather.

Kurt exclaimed over the umbrella, calling it über-cute. Outside, he opened it and offered Blaine his arm.

Blaine had never shared an umbrella with anyone before, and found it cosy and intimate. The wind still howled, and the rain still beat down on them, but the umbrella was sturdy enough to provide shelter, and the heat from Kurt’s body was a welcome solace against the biting cold.

When they reached the Met, the queue at the entrance made Blaine’s heart sink. He knew that Monet always drew a crowd, but this was simply ridiculous. They’d be queuing for hours, and in this inclement weather, standing still for so long wasn’t an appealing prospect.

He ran through Ashton’s other suggestions, and flagged down a cab to take them to the Museum of Natural History instead. The exhibit there was about newly discovered deep sea creatures, and when a class of third-graders came by with a guide, Kurt’s eyes shone and he followed them, soaking up every bit of information the guide doled out.

Kurt was keen to discover the rest of the museum too, and in the end, he only let himself be led out of the museum when his stomach started growling.

“We can always come back another day,” Blaine promised him.

Blaine looked at the overcast sky and chose a nearby sushi restaurant for lunch. It still wasn’t close enough for them to escape a sudden rain squall that drenched them in seconds, and they ran the last few yards, Kurt squealing and trying to protect his hair when the wind blew his hood off.

They stumbled into Gari of Columbus with dripping coats and squeaking shoes, laughing and shivering a little. In the restaurant, it was toasty warm, though, and Kurt slipped into the restroom to try and fix his hair.

“Ugh,” Kurt said when he came back. “I can’t get it into a decent coif. You’ll have to make do with the hairstyle I had when I was a sophomore in high school. Floppy bangs and all.”

Blaine smiled at him and cupped his cheek to give him a kiss. “You do look younger this way. But just as beautiful.”

After lunch, Kurt had to head back to the place he was staying to pick up the poodles for their midday walk, and then a few other dogs as well. Blaine grinned when Snowball and Summer greeted him enthusiastically. It was still raining, but Blaine hardly felt it as he ran with the dogs. Kurt flashed him a happy grin and upped his pace a notch.

After their run, Kurt was shivering again. Blaine hunted for a blanket in the apartment and wrapped Kurt in it, installing him on the sofa and hurrying to the kitchen to make them both tea. When he came back into the living room, Kurt was watching Casablanca, and stretched his arms out towards Blaine. Blaine offered him a cup of tea, and chuckled when that made Kurt pout. “So impatient, beautiful.”

Blaine kissed Kurt’s pout away and sat down next to him, encircling Kurt’s waist and sipping his own tea.

“So where is The Sweetest Thing bakery?” Kurt asked. “We have to make sure we’re on time today.”

Blaine beamed at him. “It’s not far, beautiful. Four blocks or so. So you can drink your tea and watch Humphrey and cuddle me and get warm again. Plenty of time for that.”

Kurt’s answering smile was wide and toothy, and he wiggled a bit closer still. “That sounds perfect.”

They arrived at The Sweetest Thing bakery twenty minutes early, and Kurt used the extra time to inspect the shop window. “I see what you meant about the best designs. These cakes are gorgeous. If they’re yummy, too, I’m sold.”

A gust of wind made them both head inside the shop, and they told the sales assistant that they had an appointment with Mrs Peters.

“Anderson-Hummel?” she asked.

“That’s us,” Blaine confirmed, and he felt Kurt squeeze his hand.

“What is it, beautiful?” he whispered, and Kurt blushed and whispered back, “I like that there’s an ‘us’ now.”

The girl behind the counter cooed. “Aww, you’re too adorable. Have you been together long?”

“Nearly a year and a half,” Kurt lied glibly.

“And you’re already engaged? Wow, I’ve been seeing my man for five years and not a peep about marriage!”

Blaine gave her his most disarming smile. “When you know, you just know.”

A voice behind him made a retching noise, and then hissed, “You disgusting fags, why don’t you get out of here before I break your neck!”

Blaine whipped his head around and saw a burly middle-aged guy, red-faced and looking furious.

Before he could say or do anything, Kurt retorted, “Why don’t you back to the Middle Ages, where you belong? Last I checked, gay marriage was legal. We have as much right to buy our wedding cake here as you do.”

The guy came closer, his hands reaching for Kurt’s neck. Blaine quickly got in front of Kurt and took on a fighting stance.

“Cut this out RIGHT NOW,” a woman commanded.

Blaine recognised Mrs Peters’ voice, but didn’t take his eyes off the angry guy.

“Mr Miller, if you have a problem with my clientele, I suggest you go elsewhere. I’m not having this kind of scene in my shop.”

Mr Miller looked at Mrs Peters, affronted. He’d clearly expected her to side with him. “Oh, fine. Your cakes suck anyway.”

He strode out of the shop and banged the door with all his might.

“Good riddance,” said Mrs Peters. “Now if you two would follow me, please. Anderson-Hummel, right?”

“That’s us, ma’am,” Blaine said. He grabbed Kurt’s hand, and together, they followed Mrs Peters.

Soon after, Kurt was deep in discussion with Mrs Peters about the design he wanted on the wedding cake. He drew several versions on a napkin, and promised to send the baker a digital version of the design by the next day at the latest.

Then, it was time to taste-test the different cake flavours. Kurt took small nibbles and closed his eyes every time a new taste hit him, his brow furrowed in concentration. It made Blaine smile.

Kurt pronounced the chocolate delicious but too heavy, shook his head after tasting the red velvet and vanilla options, made a so-so gesture about the carrot cake, wrinkled his nose at the pink champagne cake, but lit up when he tasted the coconut and lime combo.

“This is it,” he whispered, “This is the perfect cake.”

Blaine nodded. “Okay.”

Kurt took another small bite and moaned. “No, seriously, it doesn’t get any better than this. So good.”

Mrs Peters laughed. “That’s settled, then. So I’ll write down coconut and lime for the cake, and your own design for the decoration. Do you have my e-mail address to send the file?”

Blaine assured her they had the address.

“And what’s the wedding date?” she wanted to know next.

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other.

“We haven’t decided on the venue yet,” said Blaine. “It depends which one we’ll go with. If we pick the Bowery Ballroom, it will be the 7th of June. If it’s at the NY Public Library, it will be on the 14th of July. And the date for the Loeb boathouse is 9 September.”

Kurt cocked his head to the side. “I thought we’d decided against the Loeb boathouse? It’s going to be either Bowery or the Library, Mrs Peters. We’ll let you know as soon as possible. We’re visiting both places again next week, and then we’ll decide.”

Mrs Peters made Blaine repeat both dates and jotted them down with a question mark behind them.

As they filed out of the back room, Mrs Peters put a hand on Blaine’s arm.

“Hey…” she said. “Don’t mind that guy, please. Don’t you worry your pretty head about him. Your fiancé is right. Love is love, and it doesn’t matter to me that you’re two men. It shouldn’t matter to anyone. It’s nobody’s business but your own.”

Blaine swallowed and tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. “I’ll go pay the deposit at the counter, then.”

Nothing like striking while the iron was hot, so Blaine called both wedding venues to ask if he could come by again, this time with his fiancé. For the Bowery Ballroom, he made an appointment for Monday evening. There was no appointment needed for the New York Public Library. “We’re open until 5.45 today, sir.”

That gave them a little over an hour to go discover the place, so they took a cab there. As soon as Kurt entered the building, he seemed to be vibrating with excitement, and that enthusiasm increased with every detail he pointed out to Blaine, in reverent whispers. They stayed until the library closed, and as they went down the steps, Kurt told Blaine, “This is the right place for us. I can feel it in my bones. We can go check out the Bowery, too, but I don’t think I’ll change my mind. I see us getting married here.”

They picked up Thai take-away on their way back to the place where Kurt was staying. After eating, they took out the dogs for their evening walk, and then curled up on the sofa again until it was time for bed.

When Kurt laid his head on Blaine’s chest, Blaine blurted out, “I’m sorry our first date was such a mess. I wanted it to be perfect, but it all went wrong.”

Kurt raised his head. “Blaine, what are you talking about? There’s nothing about today that I would have changed. To me, it was perfect. A wonderful first date. I couldn’t dream up a better one if I tried.”

“B-but the weather…”

“I loved that it rained. That meant I got to share an umbrella with you. That was so romantic. I’d never done that before.”

“Me neither,” Blaine confessed.

Kurt beamed. “I like sharing firsts with you. I want us to share a lot of firsts. I couldn’t give you my first kiss ‘cause that one got stolen, but the rest of my firsts are all yours.”

Blaine smiled tremulously and pecked Kurt lightly on the lips, but then went back to his grievances about the day. “And I meant for us to go to the Met, but the queue was too long.”

“Aww, Blaine. The Natural History Museum was a much better choice. I loved it there!”

“And your hair got wet!”

“Yep. Yours too, and you looked so sexy with wet curls. I wanted to grab you right there and then and make out with you.”

“And then at the bakery, that guy nearly throttled you!”

“And you defended me, you brave knight in shining Armani.”

Kurt batted his eyelashes at Blaine and pouted his lips.

Blaine laughed and kissed Kurt.

When Kurt came up for air, he breathed, “Perfect. I’m telling you, perfect.”

[sarahtaylortraveladventures]

Week 12 (March 25 - April 2)

Gutentag!

This blog post is the week my mom was here in Berlin after Munich (last Monday - Friday) and then a long weekend (Friday night - Tuesday) with her in Vienna! We had the longer break because our classes/internship period switched, so I have another 6 weeks in Berlin and 12 have past. Crazy!!!!

I had the most fun showing my mom around Berlin. She stayed in an airbnb in the neighborhood I live in, so I got to take her to all my favorite spots. 

On Monday, I unfortunately had my internship during the day, so we couldn’t do a lot of sightseeing. But I did get to have lunch with her - we met at one of my favorite spots. It’s been featured in the blog before so I didn’t take a picture. After work, we had dinner at an Italian place. I don’t think I took a picture because I was so hungry! 

On Tuesday, we had breakfast at my favorite cafe where I write most of my blogs! 

That day we also went to the main area in Berlin and walked around. We had beautiful weather! We also went to the Alte National Gallery, which has a lot of Impressionist paintings so I wanted to take my mom there. It was a beautiful building, too!

I took this outside the museum - I love seeing the trees starting to bloom in Berlin!!

These are from the museum:

We also went to an area called Kurfurstendam, which has a lot of stores and shopping. I took my mom to the Christmas store since she couldn’t see a German Christmas Market. 

On Wednesday, I took the day off from my internship so we could do more exploring! We started the day off at the Brandenburg Gate. And then we walked around the main part of Berlin a little. 

Next, we went to the Berliner Dom, which is the big church in Berlin. I think it’s so cool and I’m so glad I got to show my mom!

The view from the top:

Afterwards, we walked over to the Berlin Wall. For some reason I didn’t take a picture this time, but I do have pictures of it in my first blog post! Afterwards we went to Sheer’s Schnitzel, which I think has the best in Berlin so I obviously had to take my mom! 

After that, I had to go to a class for my program. For dinner, my mom took some of my friends from my program out to dinner. I’m so happy she got to meet them and we had a great time together!

On Thursday I had my internship again so we couldn’t do much together during the day, but we did go to a cute coffeeshop near my mom’s airbnb!

Vienna, Austria

We left for Vienna later on Friday because we were waiting for my passport to come back from the Embassy with my residence permit, so we explored my neighborhood in Berlin a little! We went to a couple cute stores and got sandwiches from a local bakery.

This is a picture from the plane because we flew out during sunset!

We got to Vienna late at night, but our Airbnb was very nice and we had dinner at a really cool local restaurant.

On Saturday morning, we went to the Naschmarkt, which is a huge outdoor market a street over from our airbnb. There were outdoor cafes, vendors with all kinds of fresh foods, and even a flea market!

We also saw this gorgeous building with flowers painted on the sides.

Next, we walked around Vienna. It was an absolutely beautiful day!

We found the Hofburg Palace, which is huge and all the carriages walk in front of it!

Afterwards, we went to the Kunsthistorisches Museum, an art museum in Vienna. I was so excited because they happened to be showing an exhibit on one of my favorite artists (Mark Rothko) and we got to see it! It was so cool! The buildings around the area were also beautiful.

We had a little lunch in the cafe in the museum, which had a gorgeous ceiling!!

The inside is also really pretty!

These are some of Rothko’s pieces. I know they aren’t for everyone, but these actually have a really cool story behind them. They were supposed to be a part of a commission for The Four Seasons hotel in NYC, but when Rothko visited the restaurant where they were going to be hung, he thought it was too stuffy and pretentious so he donated them to the Tate in London because he thought the public should be able to experience them.

Next we walked around more and saw St. Stephen’s Cathedral, which is in the last photo.

Afterwards, we found a really cool park. We went toa little cart selling drinks and enjoyed one by the lake! It was the perfect end to the day.

For dinner that night, our airbnb hosts recommended a Mexican restaurant. We were a little skeptical about going to a Mexican place in Austria, but one can only eat so much schnitzel. It ended up being delicious!

On Sunday, we went to the Belvedere museum. I was so so excited! The museum is in the Belvedere Palace, which was beautiful too!

Gustav Klimt is from Austria, so his famous painting The Kiss is in this museum. There are also a lot of other great works by him and other artists!

The inside of the museum is also beautiful and there were great views of the garden from upstairs.

After, we found a really cool street of colorful buildings where we had lunch.

We walked around Vienna more. It was such a beautiful day!

Next, we went to the Austrian National Library. It was really beautiful

That afternoon, we also went to this cool rooftop restaurant and did a tasting of some Austrian wines.

For dinner that night, we found a really cool restaurant and got to sit outside for dinner!

On Monday, we went back to the market and got breakfast. It was so good!

Next, we went to the Albertina Museum. It was also gorgeous on the inside.

This was the view from outside the museum. We couldn’t get over how beautiful all the architecture was in Vienna!

Afterwards we got some gelato too! Yum!

That afternoon, we went to Schönbrunn Palace. We took a little train around the gardens that stopped at the top of a hill where you could see the palace and gardens below. There was also a cool little building at the top.

We also watched a presentation where they showed us how to make strudel! It was so cool and at the end they gave us the recipe. I don't know that I’ll take the time to make it, but they even gave us a “strudel hotline” to call if we can’t figure it out :)

After, we went to this passageway where there are a bunch of shops. It was really beautiful.

For dinner, we went to an Asian restaurant. Again, wouldn’t have thought Asian food would be do good in Austria but is was delicious!!

On Tuesday morning, we took a carriage ride around Vienna! I love carriage rides and it was so cool to see more sights in Vienna!!

The horses wear cute little hats on their ears to block out the street noise :)

Afterwards we went to the airport and went back to Berlin. My mom stayed in a hotel for the night and then flew out early Wednesday.

We had so so so much fun in Vienna! It was one of my favorite cities I’ve visited so far and I’m so glad I got to be there with my mom. 

Miss you!!

[monsieur-darling-blog]

The Stripper in Stuart Weitzman

I met Charlotte under distressing circumstances. I had quit my job at Jimmy Choo in November of 2016 and had just acquired a new position at the department store, Nordstrom, in Nashville. I knew I was over qualified but didn't know what the fuck I wanted to do yet (I still don’t) so I latched on to the first thing that was offered: a part-time salesman, also known as “Stylist”, in the designer shoe department.

Like most people, I was really nervous my first day. One of my good friends was a manager in that very department (hence why I receive the job offer anyway) but I still had the feeling that this new opportunity was probably going to end in destruction. Case in point, it was my FIFTH (!) job that year. I had been a waiter at three different restaurants (two with my boyfriend at the time, which is another story entirely), worked for Jimmy Choo, and now this. Was I going to be good? What were the other “Stylists" going to be like? I'm not sure why I cared so much. You would have thought I was enlisting in the Peace Corps and just landed in a strange, third world country rather than started at a shitty department store.

But I had no reason to be nervous. I was surrounded by people just like me. We were all young, reasonably-attractive, completely coddled by our upper middle class parents. In short, we were fuck-ups who had no idea what was going on in the “Real World.” All we cared about was what Alessandro Michele was doing for his next Gucci collection and where we were getting drinks that night. We acted like we were the fashion experts in Nashville, and I suppose, to a point, we were. We were selling the most expensive luxury items (Louboutin, Saint Laurent, Chanel, etc.) to the most stylistically challenged women I’ve ever encountered. The truly wealthy women in Nashville were all the same: White. Blonde. Skinny. Didn't go to college. Trump voters. Into heavy branding. These women were all happy to spend their misogynistic and homophobic husband’s money. And they ate up whatever we told them:

“Oh my god, this new Chanel bag is EVERYTHING! I can't believe it's only $5000!” or “I know these Louboutins hurt, Ms. Henderson, but I really think you're going to be the talk of Swan Ball!” Of course, Nordstrom doesn't have a return policy, so once these ladies ate our bullshit and got home, they realized they'd been played by money hungry twenty-seven-year old's and returned that shit.

Our paychecks were always up and down because of it. One week, I'd make $3000 in commission. The next week, I'd have $20,000 returned in worn stilettos and my paycheck would be about $400. Because of this company policy (where you will always be negatively impacted by returns at any time because Nordstrom wants to always “take care of the customer” - I fucking hate Nordstrom as a company, FYI) my coworkers and I banded together and became very close friends.

That brings me to Charlotte. She was one of the first people I met once I made it through my hellish five day training classes. She was always turtlenecks with Prada Mary-Jane's and her hair messy. Upon first glance, I thought that she was okay. Hipster, yes. A psychopath who enjoyed making everyone uncomfortable at all times, no. But I was so wrong.

“HI! I'm Charlotte! What’s your name? Where are you from?” She said. Her energy level was alarming, but I was the new kid, so I attempted to make polite conversation and a good first impression. I told her my name (Mathew) and where I was from (Vermont). Only two seconds had passed before she blurted out, "Are you gay?”

Lucky for her, I was secure enough being a flaming homosexual that I didn't give a shit about her question. I told her that I was and she said, "Oh, gay men normally don't like me.” RED FLAG.

Weeks went by and I maintained a polite but distant relationship with Charlotte. I would be sympathetic to her stories about her relationship with her boyfriend. I would listen to her talk about wanting to leave Nashville and express the same sentiments. But I always maintained a guarded relationship with her for two reasons:

1) She offended nearly everyone in the department, and

2) I just couldn’t stop thinking she was homophobic!

She would perpetually make these comments to me about how I was her only gay friend. How gay boys never liked her. How she didn't like going to gay bars to watch grown men dress as women. I started to think that maybe, in a past life, she had been a repressed gay man and was taking it out on me. What was her issue with gay men? Did she ever stop to think that maybe gay men didn't like her because she tainted the relationship from the get-go?

Whatever her reasoning, she took my sympathy about her love-life for genuine friendship and started acting like we were super close, even though I definitely did not feel that way. She flashed her tits at me one day at work, and shook them in my face, and asked me what I thought about her body. She called me to discuss how hot a boy we worked with was and how she wanted to fuck him. She started talking to me about her relationship woes, and because I didn't want to be rude, I listened, nodded, and agreed with whatever she said.

Eventually, she moved to New York, and to be honest, I was relieved. I wouldn't have to stand around listening to her anymore. It’s not like I hated her (at that point), I just didn't think we had very much, if anything, in common other than we worked at the same place. She had days where she was an enjoyable coworker, but a lot of the time she just made me feel awkward. I didn’t think we were going to see each other for a long time, even though I had planned to move to New York only a few months after she did.

However, I did see her, much more quickly than I expected. In May, I hopped on a plane and took a vacation here in New York. The trip was meant to scout apartments but it pretty much resulted in me binge-drinking every night and buying bunk cocaine on the street from a black man outside of Vodka Soda. I came to New York with two of my closest friends: William and Lucia. Will and I had secured an airB&B in East Harlem for the duration of our trip. However, we only had one bed, which meant Lucia needed to find a place of her own.

Lucia's relationship with Charlotte's relationship was just as weird as my own. Lucia and I bonded early on over how much we didn't like Charlotte and laughed about all the awkward shit she did to us (like the flashing.) But as time went on, Lucia let go of whatever tension she felt, and accepted Charlotte as she was: the annoying girl who made her uncomfortable, but probably not a completely terrible person.

Lucia asked Charlotte if she could stay in her downtown apartment. Charlotte said yes. Before I knew it, I was in an Uber with Will and Lucia, headed down from Harlem into the thick of Manhattan to Charlotte's apartment building. The area was beautiful. Trendy, hip, and lively, exactly what you should think of when you think of Manhattan. I was so excited to be in New York and in this cool part of the City that I forgot who we were reuniting with.

Lucia called Charlotte to let her know we were outside of her apartment building, standing in the warm 90 degree weather (this was a record high day for May in NYC), starving and ready to get the vacation started. But of course, Charlotte didn't answer. It took Lucia three tries to get through before Charlotte had opened up her apartment to us.

“HI GUYS!” Charlotte said, and hugged each of us. She invited us into her apartment, a fifth floor unit with four rooms (a bedroom, kitchen, living room, and bathroom) but without air conditioning. She kept rambling about her roommate, who let her stay there for free, and said, "Can you believe I have all of this? Can you believe I have this?”

I couldn't believe it. I couldn’t believe how fucking hot it was in that apartment. If it was 90 degrees outside, it must have been 105 inside this place. I wanted to get out of there. I was also, yet again, uncomfortable! Even her living quarters made me feel uncomfortable. She had a sculpture of an erect penis mounted on her wall. Books were strewn everywhere - on the table, on the floor, on ledges, and not in a chic artistic way. In a dirty way. The sink was full of dishes. Don't even get me started on the bathroom. All the while, she was acting like she lived in Buckingham Palace and kept chanting, "Can you believe I have all of this?”

Lunch time was here. Lucia, Will, and myself were all starving after our three hour flight from Nashville to LaGuardia and two hour Uber from LaGuardia to Harlem. As we stepped back outside into the bright sunlight on that one block in Manhattan, Charlotte said, "I know exactly what we should do for lunch. I know the best brunch place and it's totally vegan!"

I don't eat vegetables. I might be twenty-eight, but I still don't eat my veggies. Thank god, Will came to my rescue and said, "Let's go somewhere where we can all eat.”

Charlotte paused and said, "I know just the place! And it’s very New York! The guy who works there is always like 'FATHER! DAUGHTER! SISTER! MOTHER!'" She made strange pointing gestures like we were the father, daughter, sister, mother!

Will and I exchanged glances and silent laughs before proceeding to this magical, "very" New York brunch spot. It turned out to be a small but cute bakery a few blocks down from Charlotte's apartment. Our waiter was also our chef. He cooked me up the most delicious cheddar and bacon bagel. Meanwhile, Charlotte immediately began filling us in on everything happening in her life in New York.

“So I've been working at Barney’s doing freelance embroidery..." yada yada yada… “I’ve been sleeping with this older man…" yada yada yada… but the best part was when she started eating cream cheese with her bagel after announcing that she was vegan and saying, "What! If you're on vacation, then I'm on vacation, so I can eat whatever I want!"

After that, she said, "I've got a big announcement.”

"What?" Lucia asked.

“Well, I really want to go to the strip club tonight. Because I think I'm going to start stripping. I've really been thinking it's probably the best way for me to get some quick extra cash and I want to go to grad school. So I want to see what it's like. There's one close to here. And I don't care about having my tits out.”

Normally, I wouldn't judge someone for stripping. I've had friends in the past who have had to do it. However, there had been multiple times where I heard her slut shamming our coworkers. “She's such a dumb skank,” she would say, or “This is what is killing feminism” after looking at an Instagram post of our colleague in a revealing outfit from the night before. Then she would laugh. No, cackle is the right word. That very moment, when she announced she wanted to be a stripper is when I realized how much I actually disliked this person. In that moment, I realized that all she had was her fake veganism, her fake feminism, and her fake life. I called her a hypocrite under my breath and proceeded on with lunch, deciding that it was probably better to stop discussing her future profession before I really went off. We got our checks and paid but not before Charlotte skipped tipping our waiter. Remember when I said I was a waiter? Yeah, at that point, I was wishing I had never met this person. I dropped a couple extra dollars on the table. We got up, left, and I didn't see Charlotte again for the duration of my trip. Thank god.

I didn't think very much about her very much after that. It was later that I was informed that she felt bad for me and William. Apparently, she didn't like knowing that we would be moving to Brooklyn when she had "all this" in the East Village. I thought about what she had and compared it to my situation. I decided that I would rather live in Brooklyn than live in squalor like she did. I would rather spend 20 minutes on the subway than walk to work from that shithole place she slept in. And I stupidly voiced that opinion to four coworkers one day when I was back in Nashville, while casually mentioning that she wanted to become a stripper and had bought Stuart Weitzman booties for the new job.

At the time, I didn't think anything of it. Or care. So, I went about my day, and the next few months without thinking about what she was up to. I think I only spoke to her twice before I myself moved to New York. One time was for her to rant about her ex-boyfriend and the second time was me asking her tips for finding an apartment. On the day that I moved, she slid into my DM’s. Here is our entire conversation:

“Charlotte: Driving to NYC?

Me: Yep!

Charlotte: Not bringing a car tho right??

Also will is your best friend but he is also gay

Is that not weird? Or are you both not each other’s type

Sorry for ignorance

My questions never bother you so I like to ask haha

Me: No, and haven’t you ever had a friend that is a boy that you haven’t fucked?

Charlotte: Lol ya, you *upside down smiley*

Idk if someone is attractive and we get along super well? It usually develops into something

ESPECIALLY if there is drinking involved”

I never responded. Why did she care what my relationship with my best friend was? Fuck that bitch! I hated her! And yes, Charlotte, your questions DO bother me. I squatted in Bushwick and vowed to never see her again. I figured we would just drift away from each other. After all, we both wanted very different things out of living in this city. But no, Charlotte needed to intrude on ANOTHER first day of work for me.

I moved to New York because of another job offer. I knew that I wanted to get as far away from the South as I could so I was very surprised when I got offered my old job at Jimmy back, but this time in the fashion capital of the world. I was excited, ecstatic really, but my nerves were worse than they had ever been on that first day.  I felt like I had made it. I was at the highest position in my field - RETAIL. Ugh. But whatever, a job in Manhattan is a better job than anywhere else. I made sure I knew exactly what trains to take, and made sure to get on them early just in case I got lost. I had a shiny new title with an illusion of glamour backing it and I was going to make sure it was the perfect fucking first day. The day passed slowly with lots of training. It wasn't until lunch that things really picked up and I almost shit my pants.

I checked my phone to see four missed messages and a phone call from Charlotte. This is what they said:

“Ok A: fuck you

and B: I refer you to things in NYC and you act like my friend and then you go around saying you don’t like me and that I’m a stripper now

How about I just tell people you moved to NYC to be set up by an elderly gay man and that I think you’re a twat, like duh fuq is your problem

And my apartment is disgusting? I hope you rot in Bushwhick and I’ll continue chilling in Manhattan and the Hamptons. PEACE. Fucking fake motherfucker.

”

To which I responded,

“You are psychotic.”

Almost immediately, the phone at work begun to ring. My new coworker answered and then said, "The phone is for you?” His face practically said, you-are-brand-new! You-don't-have-clients! Who-is-calling-for-you-asshole? I snatched the phone from him and checked the caller ID. Area code: 615. It was a Nashville number. I answered, embarrassed as fuck, knowing what was coming, and said, "Hello this is Mathew" while my new boss stood three feet away. Surprisingly, rather than hearing her scream, Charlotte hung up on me! I went to check my Instagram. She blocked me. And then Facebook. Blocked there too. It looked like she was done speaking to me. I was relieved, though I didn't understand why she decided to call my new work.

But then, one-by-one, my friends starting texting me. Charlotte was apparently "really pissed off" at me. So much so that she mentioned coming into my work and punching me in the face. That's when it clicked. She had called to see if I had started my job yet. She was walking to SoHo right then, I knew it! I probably had fifteen minutes. In another one of her texts during her rampage, she mentioned to one of my friends that she hated “prissy gays.” I waited, very anxiously, for her arrival to cuss me out on my first day of work, punch me in the face, and get me fired. I spent ten minutes shaking. I was angry, nervous, and could not believe some fucking cunt decided to tell her about my stupid gossip THE DAY I STARTED MY NEW JOB. Like! Congrats on your new job! Now let me fuck your world up real quick!!

After freaking out in my head, I decided it would be best to warn everyone working with me that day, so I told my coworker and my new boss about the psychopathic young woman with frizzy hair that might come in and assault me. Thankfully for me, my boss threw her head back, laughed, and said, "I can't deal with this on your first day!”

Charlotte never dropped by that day. I was so thankful she didn't fuck up my first day I almost thought she was a good person. She really had every right to be angry. She could've punched me in the face and I would have thought it was merited. I told people her apartment was disgusting. I told people that she bought Weitzman boots to strip in. And now I'm writing this story. I was guilty of my crime and felt the repercussions as a knot in my stomach. One of these days, she’s going to find me waiting on the train platform and smack me or push me down onto the tracks to be hit. I have yet to face our problem head on (mainly because she's blocked me on all platforms) and for the sake of atonement, I need to. Like Hilary Duff says, I need to "come clean!"

It's not like I didn't have chances to fix this. I had one when another old coworker, Keith, was visiting New York a couple weeks ago from Nashville. Keith was not my friend, ever. I hardly ever spoke to him and when I did, it was because he initiated. He wore funny hats because he was "so alternative.” Basically, Charlotte and he were meant to be best friends because of how much they both sucked. I am not 100% sure Keith told Charlotte that I had announced to all of her old coworkers that she was stripping in Manhattan, but I think he did. I was amazed that he showed up to my work randomly one day during his visit. I did not understand why he would come visit me, considering he was my top suspect that told Charlotte what I had said. Had I not been working with a client upon his arrival, things might've ended differently. I might've said something like, "Get the fuck out of my work space you fucking piece of shit." Or I might've summoned Lauren Conrad's infamous words, "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!" But instead I asked why he was here and what his vacation plans were. I was cold, distant, and felt like I made it pretty clear that now we weren't working together we did not need to have a relationship, but still attempted to maintain an aura of politeness.

What I should have told him was to forward a message to Charlotte. And tell her that I wasn't sorry. Because I am a bad person. I know that I shouldn't have done the things I did. I made another person feel like shit about themselves, mostly because they made me feel like shit about myself! But we weren't ever really friends! She didn't like me and used me as her gay accessory, I imagine to prove to herself that she wasn't secretly homophobic. I used her to show that I could be friends with everyone, even when those people were unanimously disliked. The fact is we were ALL shitty people! Keith is included in this. I will never apologize for being a “prissy gay" and telling people behind her back what I really thought of her. She should never apologize to me for making me extremely uncomfortable every time I was around her. And should Keith apologize for running his fat mouth? Probably, but I'm using this post to let it go.

This whole situation has resulted in the best advice I have been able to give myself: hold. your. tongue. You never know who's around and you never know what people really think about you. I was in a very comfortable setting with coworkers that were friends, but I didn't think about the coworkers that were not my friends. Do I think Keith would've told Charlotte that I was telling the world about her stripper job? Probably not if he had liked me. I wasn't nice to him, so why be loyal to me? But I could've avoided the entire thing if I had just kept my own mouth shut and privately hated Charlotte like I had been doing. I didn't need to get coworkers involved. I'm not sure why I did. Probably because I have a superiority complex and didn't want people to think Charlotte was actually living her best life in Manhattan while I “rotted in Bushwick.”

I am not that girl. Charlotte said she felt bad for me being in Bushwick. I would not let her "feel bad" for me when I was figuring my shit out in New York City. So I ratted her out and let everyone know exactly what kind of person she is. I think, maybe subconsciously, I wanted her to find out what I said. And by doing so, I let people know exactly what kind of person I am: a not very nice one.

I haven't seen Charlotte at all since I've moved here. I know that eventually I will. William saw her one day walking into a Chipotle. That’s been my closest encounter with her. I purposely avoid her neighborhood for fear that she'll be around the corner. I have absolutely no idea what I will say to her when that day comes. Will I say "Hello?" and let the past be the past? Or will I walk forward, pretend I don’t know her, and go about my day?

[magical-canoe]

happy birthday to you - boyfriend!tom

-tom would love your birthday so much but he wouldn’t be insane about it he’d just be really excited and happy to celebrate his favorite lady

-he’d try to whisk you away for a couple days over your birthday, not somewhere extravagant but just a nice relaxing couple of days somewhere probably somewhere close enough to drive and probably somewhere by the ocean because that’s your happy place

-you were out drinking and celebrating but were home by midnight when the date changed to your birthday and he’d blast ‘birthday’ by the beatles and take a video of you dancing and waving your hands around and you’re both yelling “woooooo!!!!!” and he’d post it to his insta story

-you’d both start sucking helium out of the three balloons you picked up from the 24-hour pharmacy on your way home specifically because you were both entertained by the idea of inhaling helium in your tipsy state

- so some stupidly hilarious videos of you guys talking and giggling with super high voices also end up on his insta story before you fall asleep

-tom definitely wakes you up late morning by kissing your shoulder and your neck and murmuring “happy birthday, baby” until you roll over with a grin and give him a real smooch

-he’d hop in shower while you’re answering all sorts of birthday texts/calls and you’d hear him singing stupid corny things in the shower to the tune of happy birthday lol

- “it’s bug’s birthday todayyyy”

- “she’s 24….hooray?”

- “I love her so damn much (eventhoughshesoldnow)”

- “I could shag her all day”

- and you just roll your eyes laughing at him lol what a loser

-you hop in the shower with him after you’ve answered all your texts and he’s surprised like “oh, hello” and you’re like “someone had to come shut you up” and you start kissing him and he’s laughing into the kiss

-he definitely gives you a solid orgasm in the shower, gotta start the day out right

-there’s flowers on the kitchen table of your airbnb which he must have put there really early in the morning, the cutie

-you and Tom go to a little bakery on the corner and buy a big baguette and then you go to a little mom and pop grocery and get fruit and cheese and you bring a blanket and go eat it somewhere outside

-you’d spend the day exploring the cute little seaside town and holding hands and enjoying having each other to yourselves with no nyc paps around

-he totally instas a cute picture of you; caption: ”so damn in love with you, happy birthday”

-he’d take you out to a fancy dinner for your birthday and order a bottle of champagne and toast to you

-after a nice nighttime walk you’d get back to your lil airbnb and he’d have your FAVORITE dessert from your FAVORITE restaurant in your hometown in the fridge that he’d ordered a few days before you left and snuck in with you somehow

-and he’d stick store-bought birthday candles on it and light them and bring it to the living room where you’re sitting on the floor and make you blow them out

-and the two of you would dive in with two forks and he’d give you sweet chocolate-y kisses in between bites yum

-you write him letters a bunch when he’s away and he loves them so much but he’s horrible at writing back so he decided to write you this beautiful letter for your birthday and he gives it to you after you eat dessert

-you’re opening it and he’s like “ahhh I don’t know if I wanna watch you read this” and you’re like “why” and he’s like “I don’t know, it’s really...personal” and it’s not like you guys don’t know basically every personal detail about each other you’ve been dating for like 3 years and you live together so you laugh and are like “alright, weirdo, do what you want” and he’s just kinda studying you as you start reading it

- and it’s just him talking about everything he loves about you

- and he talks about how insanely happy you make him & how lucky he feels all the time

- and he talks about your future together and how and why he feels sure that he wants to marry you someday

-you’re definitely tearing up by the end and you look at him sort of overwhelmed in a good way and he smiles and jokingly but really quietly is like “yes! I got tears!” as he wipes them away from your cheeks with his thumbs and you pull him into the tightest hug and just tell him you love him and he’s just rubbing your back and you just sit there content for a few minutes

-eventually you guys get up and he’s at the sink cleaning off the plate and you rest your head against his shoulder and sigh and say “this was such a perfect birthday”

-he’d turn and run his thumb across your cheek and be like “you’re so old now” and you’d be like “shut up” but you’d smile and lean in and kiss him

-you’d end the night having really amazing sex and tom’s a giver to begin with when it comes to your sex life but that night he’s ALL about you and it’s so passionate and great

-and afterwards you’re laying your head on his chest and he’s rubbing your head and your back and whispering things about how beautiful and smart and kind and incredible you are and how much he loves you and he’s so fricking adorable

-you both fall asleep just cuddling naked

-what a great birthday, man

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

requested by @xoiriexo & an anon :)

HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY EVERYONE

xoxo

[this-brownie]

04.03.20

not feeling super inspired right now to talk about anything so ill talk about my past birthdays. when I was younger, the apartment I used to live in was filled with not only Bengalis but children that were mine and my brothers’ age. we always had people to play with whether that was going to the park, going to each others houses, or simply playing on our block or backyard. we also always celebrated our birthdays together— I remember the first time I had my very first Big Mac was during my 9th birthday. in middle school, the birthdays got a little more sophisticated because we would go out to Thai restaurants instead of mcdonalds. in 8th grade, my family moved to a new house, a block away from the old apartment. the next year we all started attending different high schools and I don't rmmbr much, my feelings from the day at all except that we called it early that night and my mom and I slept on the living room sofa, lights off and everything. two of my neighbors came over to my house expecting that we were gonna go out to eat— i opened the door to see them dressed up and all they saw were me in my pjs, house dark and their faces fell. one of them said ‘we always do something for your birthday, we thought we were going to do something this year’ and I said no..not this year and kind of awkwardly sent them on their way. side note, I didnt really have social skills because I was extremely shy and super uncomfortable about being confrontational. 

the next few years in highschool my birthdays were okay—I had more School friends to celebrate with and we always went out to eat. but I never had the money or enough friends to have a huge bash like the way I always fantasized. I rmmbr in 10th grade, a few of my friends pitched in to buy me balloons and delivered them to me before first period— I had to carry them around all day and I felt embarrassed but also incredibly special and happy. I eventually became close with Fariha and we spent the next two birthdays together, always Thai food--Jen joined me for one of those outings— Fariha always took care of my bill but I realized I never extended the same courtesy to her. 

a certain pattern started developing over the years— my mom started picking fights with me and would always have me feelings miserable on the day of or very near my birthday. In 12th grade, we had a massive fight that I wasn't expecting her to remember it was my birthday or do anything about it. but near the end of the night she designed the living room with tea lights and bought me cake and dressed me up in a beautiful sari. looking back, its fucking manipulative to put me in a bad mood on a special day, and then expect those feelings to be wiped just because im presented with gifts. yes I was *eventually* showered with love but at the cost of feeling gaslighted and having to hide my negative emotions because they were considered disrespectful. my next birthday, I turned 18 but I can't rmmbr it at all. for my 19th, I was living in Toronto but I had visited Levi in Boston and for the first time ever I spent an entire week with him. I had recently gotten a credit card so I decided to buy myself expensive lingerie. that was a lot of fun.

my 20th birthday was one of the worst because I remember it had been a few months since I moved back from Toronto and my mom was especially untrusting. she completely disregarded that it was my birthday so that was a very lovely day. I remember I was working at magnolia that day but I can't rmmbr why I didnt go out with my friends…I don't rmmbr but it was a shitty day.

for my 21st, I had already been living in Boston for a little less than a year and Levi insisted I go out with my friends since I always stay in with him, I went out with two girls from the restaurant I used to work at, and another girl who I used t work at bebe with. regina (bebe) and I arrived earl/on time and decided to grab something to eat while we waited for the other two girls. we went to a Chinese hotpot place and it was a lot of fun trying something new to eat. the other two girls came and we went to a hookah place which was kind of ratchet but I remember my mindset at the time was to not plan everything out so meticulously because nothing goes to plan. however, I was TOO flowy because I was underdressed (it was fucking freezing that day) and the wait line for the hookah place without a reservation was ridiculous. I also didnt like the fact that the girls didnt dress up to the 9s like the way I did. they also didnt drink the vodka I snuck in so that was another bummer. the last annoying thing was that regina had to leave early because she used to Dorm, and the campus closed at a certain hour. even though I had more fun than usual, it wasn't the huge birthday bash one expects for their 21st.

the next year, 2015 at this point, I had moved back to New York but I can't rmmbr what I did that year. the next birthday was one of my favorites. I had finally planned out and executed an amazing girls night out. the day started off with me picking up a delicious tiramisu cake from a local bakery and heading over to nadiyas house in Astoria where Jenifer and Syndee also joined. we pregamed while getting ready. the dress code was black only— I had gotten an amazing sheer black maxi dress imprinted with gold stars from urban outfitters. all my girls looked amazing that night. we did our makeup and curled hair and even just getting ready was such fun. nadiya also put out snacks for us which was super cute. our first stop of the night was dinner at “beauty and Essex” where we had tapas like: tomato soup with a block of fried cheese in it; bone marrow with grilled bread, mini tuna tartare tacos, and shots of soup. the place was fucking fancy— they served us champagne in the ladies room, so extra haha. I knew the bill would be expensive so I covered a good portion of it which I didnt mind because I wanted to have FUN without being hindered at all. it was also a good amount of food where we were satisfied, but not too full that we felt bloated or couldn't continue drinking. we took an uber to the next stop to a placed called “beauty bar” which was a nail salon mixed with a club, that also served drinks. we each got ourselves a manicure and a drink. we danced for a little bit but didnt love the music so headed over to our last stop of the night, a nightclub called Cielo. this is where I made a mistake — I got us there a little after 11 and had to pay a $30 fee. if we had gotten there before 11pm, it would have been half the price. I remember sneaking a bottle of wine in, by squeezing it between my thighs, but it ended up being such a waste because we didnt have a bottle opener to even open it with. I ended up leaving it in the bathroom.  second thing wasn't really a mistake but it took points off from the overall day— the thing about nyc clubs is that there is SO many that they have to be different to stand out, meaning they don't play popular music or top 40. they will play what they think is cool. when you're drunk its fine, but if you're sober (like jen was), its less enjoyable. however because I was super drunk, I did enjoy dancing even tho I didnt act totally ratchet. maybe it worked out haha. I also met a very charming and handsome man that night. apparently he checked me out the minute he looked at me (according to Jen) and came up to me and…I can't rmmbr now what he asked but he offered to buy me a drink and I jokingly said back “haha I think my friends are going to be jealous if I drink without them” and then he actually bought me nadiya and Syndee drinks. I didnt expect that— afterwards we all split up and the girls danced with other people. I danced with this guy, whose name I don't even remember, but he was tall, genuine, and very charming. I met his friends and we went out for a smoke and I remember enjoying his company. I remember telling him I had a boyfriend and he will still ver pleasant and sweet, which I appreciated. afterwards us 4 girls and he, his friend and girlfriend all squished into this tiny car to grab pizza. it started raining heavy at that point and I was super drunk - on our way back to nadiyas place, we ended up having a sleepover that night, I dropped my phone into the water and it went blank. I felt horrible after because I never got the chance to thank him for the night— in his mind, I just became another girl that used him for drinks and then took flight. theres no way to change that unfortunately.

the issue with me is that I really want to execute the way I envision things, and when they don't turn out like that I become very unhappy. I started fantasizing, and still do sometimes, about having a perfect girls group thats made up of pretty girls of different ethnicities. for my next birthday I invited Syndee (Thai but can pass for Latina), Lilian (chinese), and a coworker of mine who I had never hung out with before (Mexican, but extremely pale- looks exotic white) to have a birthday brunch. this was the first time hanging out with Lilian after maybe 7-8 years so it was a bit of a reunion. we went out for drinks to a speakeasy after which was really cool too. even though the group of us looked beautiful in photos, the aesthetics of the restaurant was lovely, the food itself was amazing, and the drinks were strong-- the dynamic between all of us wasn't flowing 100%. I wanted so badly for things to look good that I didnt realize the coworker would feel out of place amongst the rest of us who had known each other for a while. so, while the day was nice and nothing bad had happened, it still didnt feel extremely memorable. thats the last time I hung out with that coworker, and the last time I tried to force things together to make them fit.

the next year I was pretty down about and around my birthday— this was the first birthday after being married. I remember Levi asking me what I wanted to do and what gift I wanted. im not super materialistic anymore so I don't like receiving gifts. we did go out to Indochine for dinner which was nice but not as great as it was the previous time we had gone. instead, we went out to see Jim Jeffereys in Madison sq garden. it was okay— he made a joke about taking a shit which lasted 15 minutes. it was annoying. also Levi got mad at me because I went out to get a drink and missed an entire segment. wooh. I am weird because I want people to show me a lot of love— it doesn't have to constant, or grand gestures but I like when its thoughtful. I hate having to ask for attention or affection, it makes it less special if I receive it after that. even though Jen is my best friend, I have celebrated most of my birthdays without her. she's usually unable to come see me during the school term. this year she was at med school and wasn't able to make it because she was busy studying. she's missed out on a lot of them and it hurts because not only is she my best friend and should do things to make me special, but that I always go out of my way for her to make her feel amazing on her day (I will make a separate post for HER  birthdays). I am relatively low key about my birthday too, ever since 10th grade it hasn't been on facebook profile. I don't tell people about it, if they ask for the date I try to evade their questions. I know its strange, but its because I don't like revealing personal info, or things that are meaningful to me, and have others disregard or forget them. most of my friends didnt remember to wish me but I don't hold it against them because I don't make their birthdays special. I only do that with Jen, so I only expect it from her. however, fimo did make me feel special. we went out to eat at a Sri Lankan restaurant and then got ice cream after from a different place. she printed me a cute celebratory card with a picture of me on it and got a beautiful vase (I told her not to get me anything tho!). she gave me black and white triangular shaped earrings and said, I noticed you like geometrical shapes so I thought you would like these (I did like them a lot). she also did something very sweet and unique- she cut out scraps of paper and wrote little compliments and inside jokes we shared on the. that was my favorite because it showed that there are little moments of me that she remembers, and that she has taken time to think of me and what would make me happy. 

out of all my birthdays, the last one where I turned 26 has been my favorite. im not always moody and a downer! this was one of the first birthdays that I actually DID get to spend with Jen. I become very moody around my birthday- in the past because my mom would pick fights with me..these days because I prefer to isolate myself rather than be happy, or optimistic, and then be disappointed. I would want someone to do for me what I do for them. is that selfish of me? maybe. which is why I like to keep my expectations extremely low. Jen had recently broken up with her boyfriend of a long time and she was actually available to come see me, without being hindered or guilted into spending a part of the weekend with him. she asked what I wanted to do and if I wanted anything for my birthday. I feel embarrassed and shy about being given gifts so I always say no to that— I like to have special experiences instead. I gave her an ambivalent answer, showing my hesitation and hinting that ill be working and ill be pretty busy that weekend. the reason I do this is because 1. im manipulative and 2. I'm an asshole. id rather exaggerate to her and make it seem like *IM* the one whose busy and can't make time for her, rather than have her say yes and hope that she's coming and be let down if she can't make it (which has happened in the past before). I also am…apparently unsatisfied by how people show me love. im a scorpio… meaning I am excessive, intense, and “relentless” (according to levi). when I do something, I do it big and I try my best to make it perfect. when people are very lax, like the way Jen is, about certain things it conveys to me that they are not as serious about me. its not necessarily true but thats how I feel. so I tell her im busy, to test her and see whether she will still come to see me for my birthday even tho it may be inconvenient for her. I was wishy washy, but I wasn't completely adamant about her not coming so she decided to ignore my hesitance and come anyway. good decision.

several days before my mom hinted that she would throw a surprise party for me— she tried to be clever about it, in her defense, but when she asked me for fimos number I knew something was up. I played along— I found it very endearing that my mom would do something like this for me. this was part of the reason I decided Jen should come anyway, it would be more fun with her there after all. she came Friday night and we had dinner and talked for a little bit before heading to bed. I had work the next morning; after I came come we both got ready to go to my moms place. she made it seem like we were going to a wedding so I had to get there, get dressed and then we would all head out together. I knew it was gonna be a party so I tried to get Levi to come but he didn't think it was appropriate. once we got there and opened the curtains, I was greeted loudly with “HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY!!!” it was my two brothers, a couple of my little brothers friends, fimo and her bf, my aunt, and my cousin and his parents. it was very sweet, I was honestly touched to see a room of happy faces all leathered around because of me. my mom was elated, it was so fucking cute. she spent all day cooking a ton of food— making all my favorites ofc— and got this delicious cake adorned with a picture of me. the room was designed with HBD banners and streamers, confetti balloons, and pretty fairy lights. my brothers even got a disco light that displayed different colored lights all over the walls, and champagne candles (the ones that shoot out that pretend fire until they die out). I felt so fucking loved— I feel happy right now thinking back to that night. 

the next morning I had planned to go to the spa with just Levi but Jenifer wanted to join us. I didnt want to at first because I wanted to spend some alone time, but thankfully it ended up being a great time. Levi rented a car and we drove to this luxe spa in New Jersey. it was three floors filled with different temperature jacuzzis, pools, saunas, and steam rooms. the pool on the rooftop was an infinity pool, filled with a ton of instagrammers, but the view was stunning and we caught a delightful sunset. Jenifer being there added a lot to my pleasure and peace— I got to take as many photos as I wanted without being judged and I had fun running around to all the different areas instead of being told to sit quiet. I really do love that girl, but any actions of me being distant or cold are a result of being let down so many times, intentional or not, that I always expect only the worst now. however, her being there that weekend solidified our bond greatly and I appreciated that. we got pizza afterwards which was tasty but not so great. we drove back home and Levi let us off at st marks so that Jen and I could spend the last hour before she had to leave back to Philly. she spontaneously told me she wanted to get a belly piercing, and if I was down. we had gotten one together a long time ago but it fell out and we didnt have it re pierced. I didnt care either way so I went for it. now we have matching bffl belly rings all over again. nice end to a great weekend.

a few days later I met fimo for brunch at an Italian place in Brooklyn, that happened to be near the movie theaters where we planned on going after. brunch was whatever but she got me a fucking $100 Chanel perfume even though I demanded that she not get me anything. the perfume smells heavenly, and I only wear it on special occasions now. but it was too expensive, and I really didnt want that from her. later, we watched ‘Parasite’ at this theatre called Nitehawk Cinema which allows you to eat and drink right while you're watching the movie. we munched on popcorn and drank wine and felt like badasses. Parasite was absolutely amazing and thrilling- a Korean horror/thriller about a family that trick, and uses, a richer family into employing them. the name of the movie makes it seem like THEY are the parasites, but the crazy plot twist is that the rich family’s former employees were doing the same thing. but worse. they were secretly living/hiding out in the rich family basement/bunker. shit gets crazy when current employees find the ex employees. we both really enjoyed the movie, and didnt expect to like it as much as we did. it got nominated for several awards, so we were not the only ones who thought so.

the last person I saw for my birthday was Syndee but it wasn't really a bday hangout. I recently had a falling out with Ivan (more on that on a different post), and had reached out to all my closest friends. Sydnee and I see each other once every couple months so it was time. we got Detroit style pizza at this famous place near my work/home. the food was pretty good and it was nice to catch up with her. I let her know that I would be less busy in the future and that maybe we should start calling each other so that the stretches in person wouldn't feel as long. she agreed, and it was interesting as were catching up that for the first time I had only good news to share and she had not so good news. I told her that I had gotten a new job where I was planning to get promoted, had very recently gotten my green card, and that my mom was finally coming to terms with my marriage. I talked about my birthday, and she casually got the date for my birthday wrong (she was off by two days)— so I guess it really has been a while since we've been thorough with each other. she lamented about having to move out soon from her apt because she and her bf (who pays most of the rent) might be splitting up. she also said she wasn't doing as well at her new job as she had hoped. It was unfortunate that she was going through a tough time but I told her that she wasn't completely helpless, and that she still had options. its difficult for me to hear about people going through a tough time because I want to be able to change that, even if im not always in the position to do so. we did end on a good note and she seemed happy about seeing me which was nice. I am happy and grateful for the friends and the freedom I have. they don't always show me affection in the way I want but they do show it how they can, which I acknowledge and cherish.