#saying I'm “behind” by 50 books when I'm two days into the new year is driving me crazy

[libertyreads]

This is completely fine and I see no possible issues coming from this change. Perfect update, GoodReads, no notes.

[readychilledwine]

Dying thinking about rhys literally pining and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just. completely clueless about it 💀 and she thinks it's just rhys being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!"

Subtle

Summary - Rhys is ready to lay it all onto the table when he gets home from his time in captivity. He just hopes you're as ready as he is.

Warnings - fighting, drinking, inner circle board game night, implied smut

A/N - Cassian would absolutely dominate Risk. I almost felt guilty using it as my inspiration for the game night piece. This was fun to write. Definitely going to have to do some more in terms of family game night with the Inner Circle and my readers/ocs

Ps - gif is how I imagine Cassian and Azriel.

He promised himself when he came home from the mountain, he would court you. Truly court you. Gifts, dates, everything. 

The bond had snapped for him a few years before Amarantha took them all hostage, but you had just recently been saved from a temple, and he wanted to give you time to heal before he advanced. 

In the time you two spent together, he discovered you enjoyed similar things. During your time at the temple, you had begun to study the stars, the solar system, theories on the galaxy. He used that to his advantage, claiming he just wanted to meet with someone who shared his passion and hobby. 

You were welcomed into the Inner Circle as his head scholar within a year. There wasn't a single thing in that library you could not transcribe or find, and it proved to be quite helpful for the Shadowsinger and his studies of old court alliances and traditions and for Cassian as he began to study ancient warfare. 

You all sat at your first family dinner in 50 years, enjoying the free flowing wine, the light conversation. You were watching Rhys subtly, and he you. After dessert, he stood, walking over to you and offering you his hand before leaving to his office with you.

"About fucking time," Cassian mumbled under his breath, and the table nodded.

Rhysand sat you down in his office. "I missed you," he said gently. "I missed my time alone with you. Forgive me for pulling you away from our friends."

You shook your head, a smile settling on your face. "There's nothing to forgive. What did you want to talk about?"

It was too soon for him to say what he wanted, too soon to be this forward, so he decided to gently introduce you to his affections. "It doesn't matter what we talk about, y/n. I just want to be around you."

Over the next month, he took his time with you. He showered you with gifts ranging from jewelry to new books on the stars, to clothing. His touches when you two were alone became more intimate and lingering. 

You wrote it off as him introducing himself to touch with someone he trusted again, not believing Rhysand, the most attractive male fae in existence, would ever want you or find you beautiful.

He began dropping all subtleties two months into his new behavior. In front of the Inner Circle, an arm would go behind your shoulders. He'd play with your hair. He'd rest a hand on your knee or lower thigh. 

For tonight's family game night, you were in charge of picking the board game, and Rhys stood behind you as you looked over the countless shelves. "Azriel is off tomorrow," you recounted softly. "Amren is actually interested in playing." He watched your delicate finger move over to more complicated games. "But if I pick something too difficult Mor and Cassian will leave." Rhys admired you in affectionate silence still. "And you and I will bicker no matter what we play because," you turned him, one of the Inner Circles absolute favorite battle mapping and strategy games in hand. You deepened your voice, raising a perfect brow at him. "My name is Rhysand, I am the most intelligent high lord, and I can never be wrong." 

He smirked, almost truly purring like a pleased cat, as he replied. "Well, if you believe so, darling, and I believe so, it must be true." You could help but giggle, holding the game out to him. "We haven't played this in years, y/n." 

They had purchased it to teach you battle planning and rationing, not realizing it would soon become a game that your teams 3 would enjoy so much and become so passionate about that arguments would ensue over who was the most capable. 

You were always teamed with Cassian and Amren. Your two friends took you under their wings, for Cassian quite literally, and would use the game and your turns as education moments. 

"Amren said if I picked well enough, she'd stay and play." You smiled up at him. "Maybe you could switch her and Mor so she isn't dealing with such a handicap?"

Rhys made a face of confusion at you. "You are not a handicap, darling," he tilted your face up to his with two fingers under your chin. "I never want to hear those words fall from your mouth again. Now, to the game room."

The two of you went up the stairs, several bottles of alcohol and the board game in hand, and the room went silence when they saw that familiar painted terrain box. 

Cassian was the first to jump up, immediately clearing more space on the table. "I'm fucking you up this time, Az."

The shadowsinger shook his head, rearranging the chairs and staring his brother down. "Over my dead body, Cassian."

Amren immediately took her spot, one one that'd normally be on your right, and Cassian the one on the left. The two of them patted the chair eagerly staring at you despite knowing they were about to lose. 

Azriel and Rhys were making eye contact. A smile ghosting the face of the shadowsinger. Rhys began slowly, setting the bottles down. "I was thinking we could change the teams a little. Mor with you two, and y/n with Azriel and I."

Cassian covered a laugh with a cough and Amren's face turned into that of a feral cat. Mor also wore a shameless smirk as she took your seat. 

Azriel ushered you to the table, setting you in the middle chair. He was near your ear and said softly. "Just follow our lead, study what we're doing, and remember all the books we read, okay? You will do fine." Rhysand and him sat next to you. 

This was not a fair team. You had expected him to switch Amren and Mor, leaving still fairly even odds, but now Cassian's side was stacked. 

The commander of the Illyrian and Night Court's army who mapped battles out for fun.

An ancient being who studied bloodshed and battles for fun, openly commenting on where armies and nations mess up.

And Mor. Mor who lead battalions as a female. Mor who was Rhysand's last resort.

You bit your lip, immediately feeling insecure. Stop it, Rhysand said gently into your head. We have an advantage here, remember?

You kept a neutral face, feeling something being built into your mind. This is cheating, Azriel's deep voice then said. We should do this to beat Cassian more often. You heard soft flows of whispers in your mind, almost causing you to drop the calm face. You get used to them, the two males said together. They're very, very helpful. Rhysand purred. 

You leaned back taking a deep breath and studying the map of the eastern and western contenants and countries. "Y/n," Cassian said per tradition and rules, "you go first as the most traveled fae." 

Take the western isles, Azriel said. Steal where Cassian trained you to go and throw him off. It is exactly where you should start to win, you just typically make small enough errors we could pull everything apart. You took the legion figures in your hand. "I only know one start for this game, Cass." The general's face fell as you placed your allotted start pieces. 

"You-" His jaw tightened. "I see how this is going to be." 

You heard that whisper as Mor began. Night Court. It was ghostly and snake like, predicting her move exactly. Made mistake. No air legions.

A hand found yours under the table, lacing your fingers into calloused longer ones. "Shall we begin?" 

The game turned into what it traditionally turns into quickly. Azriel and Cassian were stood, noses touching as they talked shit about each other battle planning. 

Your team had managed to take 80% of the board through methods you weren't proud of. Amren and Mor were also quietly arguing, the blonde accusing the ancient being of purposely sabotaging them when it was Mor who made the initial mistake that had handicapped them the rest of the game.

Rhysand's hand had moved from holding yours to your mid thigh, tracing small circles into the skin as you two drank wine and watched the fighting with matching cat like grins. He inclined his head to the balcony and you two stood to walk outside as Cassian threw a last straw insult Azriel's way, resulting in the traditional fist fight that came with this game. 

You and Rhysand leaned against the balcony, looking up at the twinkling stars. He had closed the link the three of you were sharing, allowing you to focus on just him. "I can see why Azriel struggles with headaches now," you confessed. "I can't imagine constantly hearing that input of information."

Rhys nodded. "I block it for him when he sleeps. Unless it's urgent. Then I allow them to communicate." 

"That makes sense." 

Comfortable silence fell between you two. At least silence until Rhys accidentally blurted out the words he'd wanted to for years now. "I love you."

"I love you too, Rhysand." You leaned into his arm and watched as his head fell in defeat. 

"No, y/n Darling. I don't think you understood that."

You blinked at his slightly panicked and desperate face. "Rhys, I love all of you, you're my friends and family."

Rhys shut his eyes, turning you so you two were looking at each other face to face, heart to heart. His two large hands came to your cheeks, cupping yout face as a serious expression fell over his. "Darling, I'm in love with you. I have been for a very very long time." Your mouth parted slightly, breath stilling as you blinked at him. 

It all made sense now. The countless gifts. The "dates". The moments spent completely alone where he'd have his hands on you. 

"Rhysand," you watched him nod, taking your silence as rejection. "No." You pulled him back to you, "I. I love you too." 

His eyes searched your face as he searched your mind. "You thought?" You nodded, not needing him to finish questioning your insecurities. "Oh darling." You felt something pull in your ribcage, eyes growing wide as you stared at him. Tears began to form in both of your eyes as he moved to hold you close again. "I could never and would never do that to you, y/n. I have loved you since the time you helped me adjust my Starmap. Our time apart just helped make it more apparent." 

He crashed his lips on yours in a hard passionate kiss. Snaking his arms around your waist as yours went to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

It was fire.

It was the richest of wines you'd ever had.

The coolest water in the desert.

Kissing Rhysand wasn't just an action. It was an experience. You almost melted into his body, allowing him to hold you as closely as possible. 

You two finally pulled apart, his forehead finding yours instantly as you both smiled and laughed softly. 

"HAND OVER MY FUCKING MONEY AZRIEL!" You both jumped at the loud boom of Cassian's voice.

"It's midnight," a cool reply came. You both moved inside just in time to hear Azriel's explanation. "It's a new month now, Cassian. You said two months. I said three. How about you hand over MY MONEY?"

Rhysand made an appalled face, his jaw dropping. "You two placed a bet on this?"

Amren rolled her eyes as Mor was growling and handing over three jewelry boxes. "We all did. Thank you, girl. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Shadowsinger, we make a wonderful team." 

Azriel sat with his hand out, sipping his whiskey casually as Cassian groaned and counted out pieces of gold. "Yes we do, little fire drake, yes we do."

Rhys rolled his eyes, pulling you by your hand to the stairs. "Goodnight," he called over his shoulder. A chorus of Goodnights came in reply before arguing ensued again. 

Rhysand led you to his room, opening the door and leading inside of the luxurious chamber by the small of your back. He pulled you to his bed, laying you back on it gently as he began to kiss you again. Relax, darling. I only want a few kisses.

It was much, much more than just a few kisses. 

[sarahscribbles]

I have a Drabble request!

Loki wanting some cuddles from his gf after a rough day. Saying sweet nothings to each other while maybe eating some desserts! Appease the sweet tooth lol

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐦

Loki x f!reader (can be read as Loki x GN!reader)

Loki Masterlist

AN: Sorry it's taken me 50 years to write this for you! I've kept it as close to the request as I could, but couldn't think of a way to weave in the dessert aspect. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! xx

You know something is wrong from the minute the door closes behind him. It's not a slam, but there's enough force behind the action to make your head snap up from the book you're reading.

He stalks off in the direction of the kitchen without so much as a glance in your direction - that alone is enough to tell you that he's rattled. Exceptionally rattled.

Though, he has just spent the day with Tony in his endeavours to try and fuse Midgardian science with Asgardian magic. Even after all the years that have passed and the many times that Loki has proven himself, there's still barely disguised hostility from the rest of the Avengers towards him. It breaks your heart.

You can hear him aimlessly opening and closing cupboards and drawers in the small kitchen. He's not looking for anything, rather, he's embarrassed. Embarrassed to admit that the jibes and jokes get to him, that he's not the invincible being he'd like you to think he is.

You close your book and set it on the coffee table, ready to give him whatever he needs.

"Baby?" you call and he instantly stills. It's not a term of endearment you use often, only when you know he needs comfort that he won't seek out for himself.

"Yes?" Loki answers, a quiet roughness lacing the single word.

"C'mere," you say gently, already arranging yourself on the sofa.

There's a millisecond of nothing, then you hear the soft rustle of his clothing until he's standing facing you at the other side of the table. His face is expressionless, but you've known him long enough to see the flashes of pain sparking across his eyes and the small flex of his fingers - almost as if he's reaching out for you.

You cock your head to the side and open your arms. "Come here," you tell him, spreading your knees apart on the plush cushions.

You catch the brief second of his lip quivering before he wordlessly moves to settle between your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist and burrowing his head into your neck. You close yourself around him and breathe in his familiar scent.

Home.

"I hope you showed Tony a thing or two today. That man could do with having his ego knocked down a few pegs," your murmur, letting your hand run soothingly along the expanse of his back.

Loki scoffs, his warm breath tickling your neck. "Stark is a pompous ass."

You smile quietly to yourself and press a small kiss into his hair. "He is," you agree, "and he wouldn't have this new Division if it weren't for you. I think he forgets that."

Loki doesn't answer but squeezes your waist in a silent thank you.

You pull him closer and let one hand move to cradle the back of his head. Gentle fingers stroke through his inky curls and you marvel as always at their softness.

"You are extraordinary, my love," you say quietly, continuing to run your hand soothingly along his back. "And Tony will have to recognise that at some point. He won't have a choice."

"You'll forgive me if I don't hold my breath," Loki responds, his voice muffled by how far he's nuzzled himself into your neck.

"Tony will have me to deal with if he doesn't. You know I'm always on your side," you assure him, knowing he needs this more than he'll admit.

There's another heartbeat of silence until you feel Loki's lips press to your skin in a chaste kiss. "I love you," he says simply.

You rest your cheek against his head and he practically purrs with contentment. "I love you. More than you'll ever know."

You keep holding him until his body grows heavy in your arms and his breathing slows down against your neck.

You hold him for as long as he needs you to.

You always will.

Drabble taglist: @cake-writes @the-lady-amphitrite @kinky-faerie @muddyorbsblr @lunarnights95 @fandxmslxt69 @joyful-enchantress @goddessofwonderland @infinitystoner @liminalpebble @ladyofthestayingpower @currish-rosewolfe @loopsisloops @coldnique @fictive-sl0th @mischief2sarawr @simplyholl @mochie85 @littlespaceyelf

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The guest PT 8

Masterlist

Jack Dawkins x fem reader

It was a few days before you chose to leave your room at Government house choosing instead to stay away from everyone if you could help it. On occasion Fanny would come into you, bringing sweet treats and happy news about the other rich people.in the town. The show had not made it clear but there was actually a wide variety of rich men and women living in Port Victory. On this day, belle was sitting with you curled up in your armchair with her book on her knees. Fanny came bursting into the room, happy as ever.

"Are good you're both here. Dr. Sneed has been invited to join us for dinner. We'll be in the second dining room, which fits the evening for its intimacy. I'm being served on a platter for him. I hope it's not too pointed."

Your eyes jump to her as she speaks knowing more than you should.

"No man wants to feel trapped, even in the spoils of the colony." She chuckles.

"You want to marry sniffly Sneed, the boy who cried when we used to tease him?" Belle asked turning to her.

"He's grown and very ready for a wife. I always forget you're unwell." She sneers at her.

"It is only asthma." Belle calls as hed sister storms out. She spins round to you, will you come outside with me today? You have been hiding out here and it can't be good for you." She says.

"Belle-"

"No, you forget I listened to your heart, I heard it, that unnatural beat. I've been looking it up, trying to find what it could be." She says waving the book in the air.

"Belle, I know what it is, what it could be at least and there is nothing you can do. But yes okay, I'll come outside if it will make you happy."

"It will, come on."

The day after your encounter with Jack you had taken ill with the pains in your chest. Your heart clamping in on itself. You had insisted that no doctors be called and that you could simply sleep it off.

You followed Belle out onto the front lawn where Belle practised her archery, you had sat down at the table with a book. You couldn't lie, it felt nice to be out in the fresh air, so much so you began to drift off. You were asleep by the time Jack appeared behind a tree.

"Dr. Dawkins, I have a front door." Belle joked walking over to him.

"I have a patient with a carotid aneurysm. What do you know?" He asks.

" Astley Cooper performed it twice 50 odd years ago." Belle explained.

" He did? That's encouraging." Jack said happily.

"Not really. Half the patients died." Belle shrugged.

" Ah."

"What about with ether and carbolic acid, does that change the odds? I've never done this before." Jack asks.

"Few surgeons have. But yes, it might." Belle agrees.

"We'll need a fresh cadaver to practice with." Jack muses.

" I can find the means if you have to pay for it." Belle informs him

" No, we don't pay for cadavers, Belle. We just borrow them. Has your father had anyone recently hanged?" Jack laughed. His eyes caught sight of you resting back in the chair, "Is she, is Y/n okay?" He asks. Belle glances back at you and blows out a big breath.

"Honestly, I don't know."

Jack screws up his face unsure if he should explain himself to Belle.

"I may have upset her somewhat." He admits.

"Yes well, whatever you did she seems incredulous about it. She won't say anything about unless it is to point out what a good match you and I would be." Belle says.

"Yes, she said something similar to me."

Belle's attention is grabbed by her father and Gaines chatting as they walk out of the house. She turned to look at them and by the time she looked back Jack was gone.

Later in the day Belle asked if you were going to come to the hospital with her. She and Jack wanted to practise a procedure. You had declined her offer stating that the two of them should take the time to get to know each other. You opted instead to spend some time alone reading in the parlour.

Lady Jane walked in and sat across from you.

"I hope you are enjoying the comforts our home provides." She said, pulling your attention from the book.

"Oh, yes, you have all been so accommodating for me. I do not wish to outstay my welcome though." You say feeling intimidated by her presence.

"Oh, of course. My husband and daughter caused you pain, we are obliged to keep you until you are better." She said with a false smile.

"But...?" You ask.

"But...you are a bad influence on my daughters. I think tomorrow we will have an apartment found for you in town." She suggested.

"Oh, I'm, I have no money to pay for, I'll look for somewhere-" you start.

"No, it's alright, I want you out of here and the easiest way to do that is to pay for it. We can call it an indefinite loan if you'd like, but you'll be gone by the evening."

"Yes Milady." You look to your knees.

"say nothing of this to the girls and I'll make sure you are compensated for the rest of the year." Lady Jane stood and walked to the door leaving you alone again.

*_*_*_*

You dressed for dinner in a royal purple silk dress, your shoulders on show as the sleeves perched just below. Fanny and Belle had helped pin your hair into a beautiful circlet of curls and plaits. You stood alongside Belle as a carriage pulled up to the house. Sneed climbed out followed by the professor. He greeted lady Jane, fancy and then the governor before.moving over to you.

"I know they have expectations of me this evening, and that you have expressed a disinterest in me but my offer still stands." He says quietly to you.

"And should we run away together Rainsford. Find somewhere that would marry us quickly? I thank you, for your interest but my position is unchanged." You say, looking first to the Fox family behind you then to Belle as she looks at Jack. He was walking up from the road, dressed in his navel uniform.

"What's Dawkins doing here?" He asks across you to Belle.

"Why wouldn't he be?" She quips back at him

"Dawkins isn't quite the man of medicine you think he is." He sneers, "yous should both be careful."

The dinner began almost immediately and you followed the others into the room, finding yourself placed directly across from the Professor between Lady Jane and Belle. Edmund stood.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to thank you all for coming this evening on this thunderously balmy evening. And to give our medical men a really terrific nod for their surgical exploits. It's not for the faint of heart. Anyway, enjoy the evening." He raises his glass to everyone. You flick your eyes to Jack he was removing his gloves as a quail egg was placed in front of him.

"Looks quite yummy." Edmund mused.

"Dr. Dawkins, you've recently joined us in the land of the misbegotten?" Lady Jane asked.

" No, I've been here some time now." Jack corrected her.

" You washed up ashore, did you?" She laughed.

"Doctor Dawkins was decorated for gallantry at the Siege of Sevastopol." Belle interrupted.

"Just as a Surgeon Lieutenant. It's nothing more than butchery, Milady, and I grew tired of that, so... "

"And before then? Your people?" Lady Jane asks.

"English. But I found myself searching for more modern solutions in medicine. And I know I am out of favour with some in this audience, but I do believe that death rate could be halved..."

He is cut off again as Prof says, "The pain itself is God's work."

"Quite right. It's very corrective."

"Too many patients die on the slab. There has to be a better way." You interject.

"There's a reason Galen's precepts are still in use 2,000 years later."

" Yes, that's all very interesting, but," Edmund pulled the attention to himself, "you know, it's not often that one gets front row seats to real brilliance. Which is why we're here. Yesterday, one had the privilege of seeing Dr. Sneed's skill with the local woman."

"Rotty's still kicking. Happy to say." Sneed beamed.

"She calls herself Rotty, or was that given posthumously?" Lady Jane asked.

"She isn't dead, darling. At any rate, Prof's not immortal. More's the pity." All chuckled except Jack, Belle and yourself, " And we must plan for the future, when the position of Head Surgeon will become available. Dr. Sneed..."

" Wasn't Dr. Dawkins responsible for the second surgery that saved Rotty's life?" Belle stated.

A second surgery? He did what? I thought you said you'd fixed her." Edmund gasped.

"I most certainly did, sir. There's no accounting for what he did after that."

"I believe Dr. Dawkins successfully treated the first carotid aneurysm in history." Belle sarcastically smiled at Sneed.

"We haven't even started on the soup." Lady Jane sighed.

"I'm intrigued. How is it Dawkins stumbled on Cooper's case notes and then used those to operate on my patient?" Sneed sneered across the table.

"We have the finest library of medical texts." Belle took a sip of her wine.

' I practiced on a cadaver." Jack tried to answer.

"From the little I know, Doctor Dawkins followed Cooper's lectures, word for word, with remarkable success." She continued.

"How was he able to draw from the lectures without the rather requisite skill of being able to read?" Sneed Chuckled.

" You operated on the old girl and you can't read?" Edmund coughed out.

"It's nonsense. Of course Jack can read." Belle laughed.

You see Jack about to stand.

"It was me, I read it to him. We worked on it together and then he did the operation." You say, making everyone pause,"I was witness to the operation last year and I had my teachers notes on it. Jack pulled from these to successfully operate."

Sneed narrows his eyes on you and you feel Lady Jane's distaste bedside you.

Masterlist

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @mydeputyghostwagon

[definitely-not-iorveth]

a couple days ago, a stream featuring andrzej sapkowski came out, supposedly announcing a new book in the witcher series (see link below).

i've watched it, and personally, considering the context, i would reign in my enthusiasm until some kind of official announcement.

i'm including the notes of what he speaks about, for anyone interested.

the first short story started with the title: a male form of the polish word wiedźma (witch) doesn't exist, so sapkowski came up with one. the idea for the story came afterwards.

the first short story was supposed to be a one-time thing. he never expected to write a continuation.

he didn't do any research for the witcher books beforehand because 1/ it's a fantasy book, so he's allowed some leeway & 2/ he already accumulated a lot of knowledge throughout his life by the time he started writing. some research on things was needed during the process, but not a lot of it.

he did do beforehand research for a different, more historical series he wrote afterwards (trylogia husycka).

he once again stresses that the book series is not based specifically on slavic mythology - that was something made up by journalists. he took inspiration from various mythologies indiscriminately, and the plot was more important to him than using any specific sources.

he doesn't remember how many short stories he wrote for the witcher.

back when he started, there was no point in sending manuscripts to publishing houses, because the publishers were not interested in polish fantasy books, preferring the foreign ones. instead, an aspiring writer's best bet would be to send a short story to fantastyka (means fantasy, but only as a literary genre), a magazine that published fantasy & sci fi short stories. at some point he got tired of publishing short stories though, and he sent his manuscript in (he says he doesn't remember what book that was). it was successful, and it encouraged more authors to do the same.

he regrets writing under his real name and not under a literary pseudonym.

nilfgaard's similarities to ancient rome are accidental, and nilfgaard should not be interpreted as based on it. sapko came up with it as an aggressive fantasy nation that wants to take over the world, with no deeper meaning behind it.

first map created for the witcher was the work of the czech translator, and most subsequent maps were based on it (or, as sapko puts it, stolen.) "why i never created a map? pettiness." all fantasy books of the time had a map, so he decided his wouldn't have. and so it doesn't.

the witcher comics were parowski's idea (a witcher fan & comic book author). sapkowski didn't participate in its creation. he tried to give his input about the drawings at first, but the artist basically told him to go fuck himself.

he has a cat

he used to be a senior sales representative, and it gave him some knowledge about sales, banking, currencies and economy which he was able to work into the plot of his stories

he reads at least 50 books per year. of recent works, he recommends madeline miller's circe, steven king's two new books, v.e. schwab's the invisible life of addie larue, peng shepherd's the cartographers, herve le telier's the anomaly, r.f. kuang's babel, holly black's book of night. he considers the above the literary events and fantasy milestones of the past few years.

his commentary on people who study and analyze the witcher and its themes: "they come up with things i never could have come up with." he claims he never assigned any specific philosophy or meaning to his works, but he's happy to read the works of people who do.

he says he didn't base any of his characters on himself in any way. at the same time, his opinion is that it's difficult to write a character that doesn't retain some of the author's qualities. however, the characters are in their own setting and their own story. in his words, "you don't write books about yourself. you write books about characters that you come up with, and you give them their own qualities. […] who cares who i am? the reader is interested in who the witcher is, or who the other characters are."

when asked why geralt is different than the other witchers (more sensitive, kinder), he responds that it's because he's a made up character that's supposed to be interesting for the reader, so he needs to be distinguishable from others. a book is supposed to be interesting, and creating an interesting character is one of the ways to achieve it.

when asked why the smell of yennefer's perfume is so specific, he just says that he made it up and perfume like that doesn't exist.

witchers, although they use magic, are a completely separate group from the sorcerers in the book. there are no common points between them. witchers are also not a reference to any specific mythological archetypes or characters.

he doesn't like announcing what he's doing, because he changes his mind a lot, and doesn't always finish what he starts.

he does say that he is working on a new witcher book and that it should come out within the next year or a couple. considering the context of his words, however, i would consider it as more of a 'maybe' than an actual announcement.

[elysianwing]

Context

Around two decades ago in the final days of my senior year of high school, I discovered my love for writing. For poetry. For prose. I bounced around on several blogs(which were the fucking raddest things on the internet at the time) but I couldn't find any that felt comfortable enough to make my home. Until I found a site called Xanga, that is. I took to it immediately, and began what was the most prolific period in my life, artistically. Through Xanga I found about 15 (or so) aspiring writers that impressed/inspired me enough to want to be a better writer - and we knit ourselves together a fairly tight little community...which we kept to varying degrees until the site crawled under the porch and died quietly. I haven't really been able to recapture that same comfortability, nor have I been able to rekindle the fire that burned so hot back then inside my breast - to capture every thought as it occurred to me, and study them....doggedly searching for my truest self, that I was so sure I would find.

I'm hoping to push through these barriers, here, because if nothing else I fucking miss writing. I miss creating something that is *mine*. I miss the ritual of it. The truth of it. The catharsis. Moving forward, in addition to (hopefully) new pieces (and maybe some art here and there), I will begin posting many very old pieces(from the Xanga period) here, because they are the first third of the chapters in my book. They are the context behind who I am today. They are the map I've drawn as I've navigated the scenic route of my self. I warn you all though - the oldest pieces are fucking rough. I was an unabashedly angsty boy back then, and the earliest stuff I was writing was completely saturated with a potent cologne that smacked of smugness, narcissism, and self-deprecation(all of which constantly locked in a sort of 3-way death match to be crowned champion of my most unlikable traits). Last note regarding context - If anyone reading something of mine ever wants more context/explanation to a piece or a thought or whatever, feel welcome to ask me to clarify. I will happily answer. Posted 6/13/2003 at 3:50 AM

Pour your life into my hands as if it were the cup holding that which could change your past. I'll force it down, a toast to new mistakes. for I've learned nothing from the last.  drown your dreams in my ears I want nothing more than to be there when they fail to follow through. I will smile, and hold back my laugh. for a change in your luck is long overdue. dry your tears in the sound of the music I am sure you will need to hear. not long after, I'm confident you will say you had never seen things so clear. By Alexander Learmont https://www.patreon.com/Elysianwing

[natedogx15]

Miraculous Descendent Chapter 50: Bird and Dog of Justice

Previous Chapter

Within his office, Mr. Damocles looks out the window as the school's students enter the school at the start of the day, like an owl watching from its perch in the wild. His hands are behind his back as he watches them prepare for the day.

After a minute of watching, he releases a heavy sigh and walks toward his desk.

"Albert." Mr. Damocles says while looking toward his computer.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Damocles?" A robotic male voice asks from his computer.

Suddenly, a circular pixelated cyan face with a mustache, black eyes, and eyebrows appears on his screen, smiling at him.

"I'm fine, Albert. Just anxious about my students' safety. Did you send the staff emails like I asked?" Mr. Damocles asks.

"Please repeat. I was unable to understand." Albert tells the principal robotically.

"It wasn't a command. I asked if you sent the emails out to our school's staff like I asked." Mr. Damocles tells the computer program in a louder, more forceful tone to try and make the program understand.

"Yes, the email has been forwarded to the school parents," Albert states obediently.

"No, not the parents! I asked you to forward them to the staff, the staff!" Mr. Damocles groans into his hands at Albert's mistake.

Taking a deep breath, Mr. Damocles looks up while trying to calm down.

"I need to calm down, maybe escape from my worries for a bit." He tells himself before standing up and heading toward his office's portrait of the city.

Grabbing the portrait, Mr. Damocles takes it down to reveal a secret compartment containing various owl-themed superhero memorabilia, including a self-made autumn plaid-chest owl-themed costume with grey limbs, an owl-themed boomerang, a grey and dull orange grappling hook, and different comic books.

After grabbing one of the comic books, Mr. Damocles places the portrait back over the secret compartment and sits at his desk. Taking a deep breath before opening the comic book, Mr. Damocles mutters.

"Please give me the strength to get my students through this day, Owlman."

With the students of Miss Bustier's class. They're surprised when the by-the-book, responsible Sabrina walks into the room. 

She's wearing her usual clothes. A light blue blazer over a white short-sleeve shirt, grey jeans, and white shoes with black soles. However, some notice something new around her neck. It's a metallic orange collar necklace.

Alix, one of the more outspoken classmates, grins at Sabrina when she sees it.

"Where did you get the jewelry, Sabrina? Is there a special someone Marinette and I didn't meet while we were project partners?" She asks the girl goodnaturedly.

Hearing these words, Rose excitedly rushes out of her seat toward Sabrina. When she sees Sabrina's necklace, her excitement amplifies.

"It's so pretty! Where did you get it?" Rose asks her excitedly.

Blushing from Alix's earlier implication, Sabrina gives Rose a nervous smile while saying.

"Dad got it for me, saying it was to make up for not being able to get me much for Christmas last year," Sabrina tells them.

"Oh, that's so nice of him." Rose gushes as she continues to look at Sabrina's collar necklace.

"Thanks." Sabrina smiles at her.

"It looks lovely." Juleka quietly compliments Sabrina from her position next to Sabrina.

"Thank you." Sabrina thanks her, blushing at the attention she's getting.

At that moment, Marinette and Nate come running into the classroom.

"Phew, we made it," Nate says in relief as he takes a moment to catch his breath.

"Yeah." Marinette sighs in relief.

The two head to their seats before Alix calls over to Marinette.

"Hey Marinette, Sabrina's got a new piece of jewelry," Alix tells her while pointing toward the girl.

Hearing this, Marinette gains a smile and quickly rushes toward her friend to see what Alix is talking about.

"Wow, it's so beautiful, Sabrina. Where did you get it?"Marinette asks her with a sweet smile.

"My Dad got it for me," Sabrina tells her, blushing slightly again.

"Well, it looks amazing on you. It suits you." Marinette compliments her, causing Sabrina's cheeks to blush a darker shade of red.

"Thank you." She tells Marinette.

"What are you losers crowding around my desk for?" Chloe's annoyed voice rings throughout the room as she walks into class.

Hearing her voice, Rose and Juleka quickly shuffle back to their seats while the others either look away or glare at her.

"Oh, relax. We're just complimenting Sabrina on her new accessory." Alix tells her while glaring at the other girl.

Chloe raises an eyebrow before focusing on Sabrina and seeing her collar necklace.

"Hmph. Where did you pick that up?" Chloe asks her with a raised eyebrow as she walks over and inspects the necklace.

"It was a gift from my dad," Sabrina repeats for the second time, getting slightly tired and nervous from having to repeat herself.

Chloe doesn't say anything for a few seconds as she inspects the necklace with narrowed eyes. Finally, she scoffs and takes her seat while muttering.

"Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous."

Things seem to calm down after that, with Sabrina receiving no more compliments and everyone taking their seats, waiting for Miss Bustier to arrive. But in Sabrina's bag, Barkk is smirking as she sees the various actions of her wielder's classmates.

"Ah, this is shaping up to be an entertaining ride. I wonder how many people from this school will get Miraculous?" Barkk idly wonders as she relaxes in Sabrina's school bag with a box full of strawberries under her.

Back in Mr. Damocle's office, the man is letting out a content sigh as he finishes his third comic book and finally seems to be calming down.

"Nothing puts me in a better mood than reading Owlman. Oh, how I wish I could follow in his footsteps like Knightowl." Mr. Damocles sighs as he sets the comic book down and imagines himself fighting with the heroes.

While imagining himself as a hero helping Ladybug and Cat Noir against Hawkmoth's Akumas, he suddenly gets a phone call.

"Who could that be?" Mr. Damocles absently wonders as he picks up the phone.

"Principal Damocles here?" Mr. Damocles answers.

"I think that title isn't quite fitting of you, Denis Damocles." Gabriel's cold voice states over the phone, causing Mr. Damocles to tense abruptly as he realizes who's on the phone.

"Mr. Agreste. What a pleasure to hear from you. What did you mean when you said I'm not fit to be called a principal?" Mr. Damocles asks nervously.

"I am saying that I find your abilities to watch after my son and the other students of Françoise Dupont questionable at best. If you haven't noticed, most of the Akumas Hawkmoth's created have been students at your school, whether school is in session or not." Gabriel's words cut through the principal, causing him to flinch.

"Well, yes. You are right about that. And I'm sorry we are having trouble keeping our students safe. We're doing our best, but we don't know how to protect them since Hawkmoth targets negative emotions. Children are very emotional and impressionable, you see." Mr. Damcoles nervously explains to the stern man.

"That's just an excuse. The bottom line is that you and your staff have failed to protect the children under your care." Gabriel tells Mr. Damocles sternly.

"I'm sorry, sir. Rest assured, we're doing everything in our power to keep the children safe. That includes your son and his friends." Mr. Damocles promises Gabriel, only to get a grunt in response.

"That is not a very comforting statement when you and your staff have no power," Gabriel Retaliates to Mr. Damocles' words.

Anger bottles up in Mr. Damocles because of Gabriel's words, but he manages to calm down before he can say something he might regret, and that anger turns to fear when he remembers the power Gabriel has behind him.

"Are you still there, Damocles? Do you have nothing to say for yourself or your school's failure to keep the children safe?" Gabriel asks over the line, his tone conveying his annoyance of possibly being forgotten.

"U-uh, sorry, sir. May I ask if there's anything else you need?" Mr. Damocles politely asks the man, wanting to end this conversation.

"We're not done here, Damocles. I want to know how you plan to keep the students safe from here. If my son wants to keep going to your school to be with his friends, I want to make sure it's somewhere they'll be safe." Gabriel orders the principal in an aggressive tone.

Mr. Damocles' eyes widen in surprise and panic. He doesn't say anything for a minute as he tries to figure out something to say. He then remembers something important about tomorrow.

Coughing into his fist to regain himself, Mr. Damocles finally answers Gabriel's question.

"Mr. Agreste. You know what tomorrow is for your son's class, correct?" Mr. Damocles asks the man.

"Yes, it's when the children will bring their parents in so they can talk about their careers. What of it? I will be having Nathalie go in my place." Gabriel states.

Coughing into his fist again, Mr. Damocles goes on.

"Well, maybe you could come to my office, and we'll talk about this face-to-face. This type of conversation is best done in person and not over the phone. Plus, it'll let you spend time with your son and his class after we're done." Mr. Damocles suggests.

"I have no openings in my schedule tomorrow. Unlike you, I am busy running my company and don't have much free time." Gabriel explains to the principal.

"I see. Well then, I suppose we'll have no choice but to reschedule this conversation for later, as I'm also busy." Mr. Damocles says nervously.

"Excuse me?" Gabriel asks the man, anger evident in his tone.

"I am sorry Mr. Agreste. But I have other business to attend to regarding my school and don't have enough time to discuss this with you today. But rest assured, we are doing our best to protect our students. We might be able to discuss this later if one of us makes an appointment with the other." Mr. Damocles nervously explains to Gabriel.

He then grows more anxious as Gabriel doesn't say anything to him. Finally, after what feels like hours, Gabriel says something.

"Very well, I'll see when my next opening is and inform you so we can discuss this then. I expect a satisfying answer." Gabriel tells Mr. Damocles.

"Of course. Keep in mind that even the mayor's stepdaughter goes here, and he hasn't pulled her out. I feel that proves our school is trustworthy enough to look after your son." Mr. Damocles promises the man.

"We shall see. Please know that despite my attitude, I am calling you as a distressed parent. I am willing to do anything to protect my son and will not tolerate incompetence with his safety." Gabriel states.

"Of course, Mr. Agreste. You're not the first parent to call me like this. I understand your and every other parent's worry for their child's safety. After all, the children are the future and proof of your love for each other." Mr. Damocles smiles into the phone.

"Yes, I'm glad you understand my feelings on this matter. I will see when we can discuss this later." Gabriel tells him before hanging up.

Upon hearing the click signaling the call's end, Mr. Damocles releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and falls back into his chair with his shoulders slack. After a few seconds, he lifts the phone and stares at it.

"He didn't even say have a nice day. How rude." Mr. Damocles mutters before going to his secret safe full of Owlman merchandise.

"I need another set of comics to calm my nerves. Hopefully, Miss Bustier's career day goes well and eases some of my worries." Mr. Damocles says as he pulls out a cloth and wipes sweat from his brow.

With Miss Bustier's class at the end of the school day, the teacher in question is bringing up tomorrow's event.

"You all remembered to tell your parents about what tomorrow is, correct? Be sure to let them know if not so they can show up and tell the class about their jobs if they have time." Miss Bustier tells her class in her usual kind and supportive tone as she examines the room.

After seeing no one speak up, Miss Bustier releases a happy sigh.

"I always love career days. I think having students learn about different jobs will do nothing but help their futures. Remember to keep an open mind tomorrow. You never know what kind of job might interest you. But no pressure. You're all still young and have plenty of time to decide what you want to do with your lives." Miss Bustier encourages them before letting them leave.

As the students are leaving, Alix calls over to Marinette.

"Hey, Marinette. Are you finally going to come to the art club?" She asks the other girl.

Marinette turns to ALix and gives her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I have to head straight home. I'm grounded, and my mom will kill me if she thinks I'm trying to avoid it by going back late." She apologizes to the girl.

"Ah, too bad. Welp, see ya tomorrow." Alix tells her before walking away to head to the art club, Nathaniel following after her.

"Bye." Marinette waves back before looking toward Nate.

"Shall we go?" She asks him with a smile.

"Yeah, we better. Before they get suspicious and send Jean-Yves after us." Nate faux shudders as he says this before leaving his seat to follow Marinette out.

The two walk silently for a while before they feel they've gotten far enough from the school and any prying eyes.

"So, how did your talk with your parents go? Did they do anything in particular with your punishment? Dad took away my video games and is having me work in the hotel without getting my allowance this month to teach me responsibility." Nate tells Marinette now that they finally have the chance to talk to each other.

They weren't able to talk about what they actually wanted to since there were too many people around them.

"I'm sorry you got in trouble too." Marinette winches and apologizes to Nate for causing him trouble.

However, Nate quickly waves it off.

"It's cool, really. I don't think there's a way I could avoid it even if I didn't know you were Ladybug. At least I know what you're doing to get me in trouble. Otherwise, you'd probably be dealing with me as an Akuma. I'd be so pissed if I got in trouble because of you, and you wouldn't tell me why." Nate tells her while giving a joking smile.

Marinette shudders at the idea of having an Akumatized Nate after her and being unable to transform to protect herself without Hawkmoth finding out she's Ladybug.

"Yeah, that's lucky." She finally agrees with him.

"Anyway, what did they say?" Nate changes the topic back to his original question.

Marinette winches and looks at the ground nervously.

"They said I'm grounded until I can get Ladybug to prove I'm not lying about helping her. If I don't, the punishment might get worse. Right now, I'm not allowed to hang out with you or our classmates." Marinette explains to Nate.

"Dang, that's rough. I guess if you do that, we'll get off scot-free." Nate says with a shrug.

"Yeah, but I'm worried they'll figure out I'm Ladybug while I talk to them," Marinette tells him with a panicked expression.

"That's true," Nate mutters as he thinks about Marinette's situation.

"This is so confusing. What should I do?" Marinette anxiously asks him.

"Why are you asking me? I would tell you to do it so we're both out of trouble. What did Tikki tell you? You did talk to her, right?" Nate asks her with an inquisitive expression.

"Yeah, she told me that the Miraculous should keep my identity a secret. I'm still worried, though." Marinette explains with the anxious expression still there.

Nate doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. Tikki appears from the earrings to smile at Marinette.

"You're at a difficult fork in the road on your path as a hero. Would you rather have your parents believe you're a lying delinquent by not doing anything? Or would you rather risk having your identity discovered so they'll believe a lie close to the truth?" Tikki wisely narrates as she smiles at Marinette.

Marinette digests Tikki's words and looks deep in thought as she tries to figure out what to do.

"Well, if it's any help. I think you should go through with it. I'd rather not get in trouble for you constantly disappearing. Plus, it'd probably make your life easier if your mom and Uncle Tom think you're trying to help one of Paris' heroes." Nate tells her with a shrug.

Marinette takes in those words with a slightly guilty expression before Nate decides to change the subject.

"Enough about that. Is your mom going to the career day tomorrow? Dad isn't since he's too busy, and I doubt Uncle Tom has time." Nate asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh, o-oh, y-yeah, she's going to be there," Marinette says, caught off guard and stuttering at the sudden change in topic.

"Cool. I think Alya's mom works with her in the kitchen, too. Maybe they'll do a demonstration together." Nate nods.

"Well, that should be interesting." Marinette smiles as she imagines her mom showing off her cooking ability to the class.

The two walk in silence as Nate lets Marinette think about what to do, though secretly hoping she'll go through meeting her parents as Ladybug so they don't get in even more trouble.

In his room later, Adrien and Nathalie have a similar conversation about career day tomorrow.

"So, I'll be the one to talk to your class tomorrow. I'm sorry, Adrien, but this came up too soon for your father to fit it into his schedule." Nathalie gives Adrien an apologetic and sad look as he releases a sigh.

"It's okay, Nathalie. I figured it would turn out like this." Adrien tells her in a defeated tone.

Nathalie's heart breaks slightly as she hears that from Adrien before she lets out a sigh of her own.

"I'm sorry, Adrien. At least you know your father cares about you and has me going in his stead. I hope you can find solace in that." Nathalie tells him in a comforting tone.

"I know, Nathalie. Thank you for worrying about me and deciding to come tomorrow." Adrien gives her an appreciative smile as he says this, and Nathalie returns it with a smile of her own.

"Of course. It's my job to help your family, after all. Plus, you know your parents and I have known each other for a while. It's my pleasure to look after you and them." Nathalie tells Adrien with a kind smile.

"Yeah." He says with a smile.

In Gabriel's office, he's working on a bag design while thinking about tomorrow.

"We'll see how safe your school is tomorrow when I'm done with you. You should be an interesting Akuma, Mr. Damocles." Gabriel smiles as he puts a hand to his brooch, which seems to glow slightly.

Next Chapter

[mercerislandbooks]

50 Years of Island Books: Our Sales Reps

In this installment, we’re seeing Island Books through the eyes of our sales reps. Dan Christiaens, Christine Foye, David Glenn and Kurtis Lowe all have decades-long relationships with Island Books, with lots of stories to share.

Miriam: Welcome Dan, Christine, David, and Kurtis! I'm excited to talk to all of you. As key sales reps for the big publishing houses, you've all had long-standing relationships with Island Books, and we wouldn't be the place we are today without your contributions. Tell me some stories! It can be about your first impression of the store, how you came to work with us, a particular title that did well at Island Books, or any other fond memories.

Dan Christiaens (Norton): I’ll start off. It was around 20 years ago that I started covering accounts in the PNW. I was still living in SoCal. Island Books was on my account list so on my first trip I stopped by and met Roger. He was pretty terse, made it clear that he didn’t see reps, but would review my stuff and send me an order for anything that he wanted. The store was lovely, well curated, with the typewriters all over and a small music section featuring CD’s, which caught my attention. I would stop by the store when I was in town, say hello, and always buy a CD or two.

When I moved up here in 2004, I started visiting the store more regularly, chatting with Cindy or Nancy, or even Roger—and would buy a CD or order some music that I wanted that they didn’t carry, and began to suggest music they should be aware of. Then our books became the topic of conversation, and I started recommending various books of ours. Roger slowly came to respect my knowledge of our books—and we became friendly, and then MAGIC HAPPENED! And he started ordering from me!

Christine Foye (Simon & Schuster): Here's one of my favorite photos of all time, a picture of Laurie, Taylor Jenkins Reid, and me on tour for the hardcover of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. Which leads me to.... 

A book that did especially well at the store and why—The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo! Laurie and Victor came to the prepub dinner that I had for TJR in Seattle. Laurie immediately embraced the book and shared it and hyped it and talked nonstop about it until finally pub day came and by gum, Island Books was outselling all of my other accounts within a month. This was the perfect storm of great book, passionate reader and responsive customer base. It's wonderful to find a book one can really get behind, and Laurie and the whole staff did that with this marvelous novel. Also, don't we look lovely in green? 

Remembering my first days selling to Island Books—I started selling to Roger in 1993. I knew nothing about anything, I was fresh out of the St. Martin's Press office in New York, selling trade paperbacks and mass markets and children's books and perfectly confident in my ignorance. Roger made short work of my inexperience but was kind about it, and commented on how I tidied up the store shelves and faced out titles. Had I worked in a bookstore, he asked. I sure had, and after that things were always affectionate between us in the Roger way. Which is to say, he let me sit and chatter for probably 10 minutes longer than he would have otherwise. And often I got a laugh out of him, which was wondrous. We did bond over having both been to Newfoundland — did you know he co-edited a book about it titled Outport: Reflections from the Newfoundland Coast? He did. (It's out of print.) I always loved Island Books, it was a pleasure to visit and see what kind of books Roger had decided to buy for the community. What a lucky community. 

David Glenn (Penguin Random House): Durn, my first visit to the store was so long ago I’m not sure I can even dredge it up from my addled brain. If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably way back in the mid-90s? Of course that was back in the “Roger Days,” and I think it’s fair to say that, within our tightly-knit rep community, Roger was known as kind of a tough buyer. He relied a lot on jobbers and didn’t particularly like being “sold,” especially if it was by someone he felt perhaps didn’t necessarily measure up, or wasn’t sufficiently prepared to defend a title if questioned about it. Roger did not, as they say, suffer fools gladly and, quite honestly, I was pretty intimidated by him at first. He gave me a bit of a rough few seasons there at the beginning—always good-naturedly, for sure, but also making sure I understood who the buyer/owner was. Early on, though, I decided that I was going to do whatever it took to win Roger over. I was gonna get a belly laugh outta that guy one way or the other. So every season I made sure to bring my A-game, and began my campaign to be “welcomed” by Roger. It took me a lot longer than I thought it would—at least a couple years—but eventually, the respect I had for Roger as an owner and businessperson, was replaced by just the simple goodness of the man. I loved his dry sense of humor, and if you could coax it out of him, he had a truly impish grin. So Island Books at that point became one of my favorite stores to visit.

When Roger decided he’d had enough and it was time to sell, I was pretty bummed. And in what was an odd quirk of fate, the fellow that helped Laurie come to a decision about buying the store was an old fraternity brother of mine who lives on the island. Happily, Laurie and Victor have been the ideal stewards to move Island Books along, post-Roger. The store has always had a wonderful vibe, a superb staff, a great location, and a tremendously supportive community.

As far as books go, I have to mention a title I feel is perhaps the finest novel any of my imprints have published during my 34-odd years with Penguin Random House: The Heart’s Invisible Furies, by John Boyne. Full disclosure: Island Books has sold a solid, if unspectacular 40-plus copies of it since it came out in August of 2017. So, not a real barn-burner. But more than the “zero” it would have sold had Laurie not been willing to take a chance, and an example of the fruits of the give-and-take between a rep and a buyer. It may not have set the world afire, but my fervent hope is that it will remain a staple at the store for years to come.

In January of 2018, I hosted a dinner for three PRH authors: veteran Amy Bloom, and newcomers Tara Westover and Karen Cleveland. Both Laurie and Victor attended that dinner and, at one point, Victor noticed that while nearly everyone was chatting away left and right, Karen Cleveland was looking a little lost and forlorn (whoever the rep host was that night should have been paying more attention). So he marched right over and began chatting her up. Well, cutting to the chase, Victor read her debut thriller Need To Know (based on the author’s own experiences as a former CIA counterterrorism analyst) and made it his own personal crusade to make it an IB bestseller. In short order, IB sold over 70 hardcovers, and another 100+ more in paperback, which is just an outstanding result for a debut novel. Tara Westover’s singular memoir, Educated, also struck a chord with Laurie and Victor that night. And while it’s true the book was a massive bestseller for nearly every bookstore in America (spending over two years on the NYT hardcover bestseller list in hardcover no less), IB more than held their own and, in fact, really punched above their weight, selling nearly 600 copies in hardcover alone. This is the power of the independent bookstore in general, and the superpower of a store like Island Books. Every community in America should be so lucky to have such a store, and I can’t help but believe that if this were actually the case, the country would be a far less frightening and chaotic place.

Kurtis Lowe (Imprint Group): When I started as a commission rep back in 1997, I did not work with publishers that ranked for a meeting with Roger Page. However, in early 2001, I joined Book Travelers West, so Roger was ready to meet with me to scrutinize the lists of Workman, Ten Speed Press, Running Press, Watson-Guptill, and more. As I pitched book after book (only the best), Roger would pause before a title, pen hovering over the printed catalog page… sometimes he would he would score a one, for one copy... saved! It would have a chance. Two copies. Looking good! Three copies… just about as high as he would go with me. That is because local wholesalers had no better indie partner than Island Books when it came to restocking a title if it worked, and the high shelves were too full displaying vintage typewriters to make room for overstock.  Roger’s team could be on the phone minutes before the deadline and receive a shipment by the end of the day. An initial order of one, two or three copies of could become 20, 50, or 100s sold over time.

When a title did not make the grade, Roger was not cruel, as he slashed a diagonal across the page, but at least he was definitive: “Not quite,” he would state, and often add a helpful comment of feedback for the publisher.  Perhaps the greatest feeling of triumph as a rep was to throw a Hail Mary, one more point to get that book on the shelf, and Roger would page back, look again, squiggle out the slash and enter a number and circle it for order entry.

The times that Roger really went for a book were beautiful, and he was ready to do something a little special. Back in 2014, Island Books picked The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry for their April store pick. I committed to touring Gabrielle Zevin to 27 Pacific Northwest bookstores in three days to celebrate this gift to the bookselling (and rep) community. Roger loved the idea; he set up a display in front and gave a little speech to the the late morning gathering. 

(Photo Credit: Kurtis Lowe / Roger Page introducing Gabrielle Zevin /The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill) / April 2014 Book of the Month Pick for Island Books / April 7th, 2014)

I’ve observed many bookstore succession stories. Laurie Raisys taking over, respecting traditions, and creating new ones, while bringing her own experience and energy to the store has clearly been a great success. Lillian Welch is my buyer now, and she eerily brings some of that challenging scrutiny that reminds me of Roger, but also a new and vibrant commitment to the best books for all readers in challenging times. Thank you to the many booksellers at Island Books who carry on your great tradition and congratulations to Island Books for 50 years as a shining literary light on Mercer Island!

Thank you to Dan, Christine, David and Kurtis, for giving us a glimpse into how those books get on the shelves at Island Books!

To our Island Books community: In the next 50 Years of Island Books installment, I’ll be talking to Cindy Corujo, who has been a bookseller for 36 years and has the longest tenure of any Island Books employee.

—Miriam

[rebelelegance]

Hiya! First of all, I LOVE your posts! And you really can be soo proud of yourself for 50 followers♡

I'd love to take Part at your 50 followers celebration, and request a ship with someone from the marauders era.

My name is Kiana, and I'm kinda introverted, but if someone seems nice to me, and we get alone I open up pretty quickly. I'm cis female, pronouns are she/her and I'm pansexual. I'm proudly a ravenclaw and live up to the cliché by being creative and a little bit of a know-it-all, and loving to learn new things. Most if my friends are slytherins, wich also affects me a bit by being comfortable with students of this house. I would absolutely never use an unforgivable curse on any living being. In my dr I'm James' little sister, so preferbly I would not be shipped with him tho. I love fantasy books more than people, and I spend way too much money in bookshops and then read the book like one chapter and then leave it for like a month. My patronous is a kingfisher and I have a horrible sleep rhythm.

I hope this is enough information, and not too messy.

Keep up the good work and have a nice day,

☆Kiana☆

PS: sending a virtual hug to you♡

Hiiiii

Omg hug received and reciprocated! Thank youu!!

I was debating for who to ship you with and had to get some expert help from a bestie @darthkitten (yes he insisted i credit him) 'cause I didn't wanna mess it up y'know?

Anyways, I appreciate you telling me no James 'cause he's the first person that popped into mind, you just seem so alike!

Setting Sail:

I ship you with:

Regulus Black

You're James's little sister, in the same year as Regulus and met during the sorting ceremony, when both of your older brothers decided to introduce you two. Although, back then you were hiding behind James most of the time.

Now, you can't stay away from each other. You go to all of his quidditch games, however when it's Slytherin against Ravenclaw, a bit of friendly competition arises between you both.

At first, you both decided to keep your relationship a secret, not knowing how your brothers would react. Though, it's of no use because both of them know something's up and it's no long before Sirius catches the both of you kissing. James doesn't threaten Reggie though, Sirius does that enough for the both of them. Your brother however, just tells you he's happy for you (while glaring at Reggie of course)

On Valentine's:

Slytherin's team won, and you're currently ignoring Regulus.

"Loveeee, I had too!," he says, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You shake your head struggling to keep the smile off your face.

But then suddenly, he's pulled away and disappears before you can turn around, making you worry. Had you hurt his feelings?

However he's back within seconds, a bouquet and chocolates in hand, and you're a blushing mess. "You know I also won because now, I don't have to listen to captain's speech, and we've got the rest of the day to ourselves," he grinned.

You throw your arms around him. How could you mad at such a sweetheart?

He kisses the side of your head. "You're not mad anymore?" he asks, laughing slightly.

You shake your head, "It's kind of difficult when you've got THAT face," you say, taking the flowers and the chocolates.

"Oh it's just the face is it?" He asks teasing.

"Yes, yes it is Reggie," you respond matter-of-factly.

He laughs, gathering you in his arms again, kissing your forehead. "I love you Kiana Potter," he whispers.

You smile into his shoulder, "I love you too Regulus Black."

A/N: Hope you like it! Have an amazing day!

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

What's chronic Lyme disease? Google isn't being helpful, and I'm having trouble finding anything you've already posted about it :)

that's alright, i haven't talked about it in a long time so any explanation is probably buried in my archives.

in short: lyme disease presents in two different ways - acute and chronic.

in acute cases, a person gets infected and within days presents with symptoms, leading (hopefully) to them being treated quickly with antibiotics and more-or-less permanently cured. (even when the lyme is cured, it can still leave behind some issues.)

however, there are other times when a person gets infected and instead of immediately causing symptoms, the spirochetes (the type of bacteria that causes lyme) incubate for weeks, months, or years. at some point quite a ways after the initial infection, when you might have actually seen a tick or a rash on your body, you begin to slowly develop mysterious symptoms.

by that point you've probably long forgotten about the tick or rash, if you have saw/had one (only about 50% of cases develop the classic bullseye rash, and lyme can be spread from person to person, not just through ticks), so when you go to the doctor and tell them shit's fucked, you probably don't think to tell them "by the way i saw a tick on my leg five years ago".

so the doctors run tests, and either say "nothing wrong with you, sorry", pawn you off on another specialist to run more tests, or diagnose you with something else with similar symptoms. regardless, you keep getting worse, and maybe, hopefully, someday, someone thinks to run a different test, and guess fucking what. lyme disease.

the issue here is that antibiotics are the only formally approved treatment for lyme disease, but when the bacteria have had years to spread and entrench themselves throughout your entire body, they can't be wiped out nearly as well as bacteria that are fresh on the scene. personally, i was on six week regimens of antibiotics for an entire year, and every single time they tested my blood, it still came back positive for lyme.

but the real reason it's a shitshow is that, for a lot of very stupid reasons, a lot of institutions refuse to acknowledge that chronic lyme is actually a real thing that exists. the cdc's position is that chronic lyme isn't real. i've heard a real doctor say the words, "antibiotics cure lyme disease, so it's not lyme disease," regardless of the fact that people like me can show the blood tests proving we still have active lyme after completing antibiotics. (this of course means that you can't qualify for disability support, because your disability isn't "real".)

so most of us have to go our own way, trying to find solutions apart from official guidelines, because there are none. there are some doctors out there doing really good work (we call them llmd, or lyme-literate doctors), but you still have to read books, buy expensive supplements, try new therapies, treat your symptoms as best you can... all while being extremely ill and in pain.

lyme disease can attack every single organ and system in your body, from your brain to your joints to your heart to your gut, and it can absolutely end up fatal if left unchecked. the spirochetes responsible are terrifyingly adaptable and hard to kill, and a lot of us will probably never be fully healthy again.

at least 300,000 people are diagnosed with lyme in the usa every year. it's a serious problem and more people need to know about it.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Drawn To You - AU Steve Rogers x OC

warnings: strangers to lovers, art shop owner Steve, pure fluffy holiday winter vibes

word count: 6.9k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1296614293-drawn-to-you-noelle

Masterlist

Hurrying down a crowded Brooklyn sidewalk, Noelle checked her phone. 7:50, the time read. She huffed and continued her trek, trying her best to balance bags and a coffee while she continued her holiday shopping. The last stop on her mental checklist closed at 8 and if she didn't stop in now, Noelle was worried she never would. 

Flakes of snow melted onto Noelle's cheeks as she approached an old brick apartment building with large windows on its first floor, glowing lights warming the store within. She looked up at the familiar storefront, one that she passed every day while she was on her way to work. This time of year is usually about giving to others, but Noelle thought with the last bit of her hard earned paycheck, it couldn't hurt to do a little something for herself too. 

The wooden door was heavy, creaking loudly as she had to use much of her small frame to push it open. The words "Rogers and Son's Art Supply" shone in the lights, the swirling bronze script proudly declaring the name of the owner. Noelle was sad to say she had lived in Brooklyn her entire life and never ventured a trip inside. A little bell above the door rang, announcing her presence to a bored-looking guy working behind the counter. His dark head popped up from his hand as he flipped through a book, icy blue eyes almost rolling back as he checked his watch.

"Good evening," he said with a little more sarcasm than she expected as she stood in the entranceway. "Welcome to Rogers. Lemme know if you need anything." 

“Thank you,” was all Noelle could say as she slowly entered the cute art store. 

She was overwhelmed by the many art supplies and the beautiful creations hanging on the wall. She didn’t know where to start; she usually wasn’t the creative kind but around the holidays, life in her little one-room apartment could get lonely, so she decided to start a new hobby for herself. 

As she went through the tiny aisle, her eyes stopped on a painting of a decaying snowflake. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the man behind the counter said and she turned her head to look at him, but before she could say anything, he continued, “It’s inspired by the poem Winter by Walter de la Mare.”

“But the North sighed low, Snow, snow, more snow! That’s my favorite poem,” Noelle smiled softly at the worker. 

“Mine too, that’s why I painted it.” A new voice echoed through the empty shop as he stepped in from the back room.

Noelle turned around and was met with another pair of dazzling blue eyes. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a warm smile. Noelle's knees knocked together and she let out a soft exhale as the stranger's smile got bigger.

"Y-- you painted this?"

"He painted it, but it was my idea," his dark-haired co-worker called as he opened a box with an X-ACTO knife. 

The blonde man rolled his eyes. 

"I have to apologize for Bucky, he's our resident asshole."

"Language, Steven!" Bucky called as Noelle burst into laughter. "You can't talk like that in front of customers!"

"I can when I'm making fun of you!" Steven called. He turned back to Noelle with a flirtatious smirk. "It's actually Steve."

"Noelle," she whispered as she stuck out her hand. Steve grasped it gently and shook it. He had a strong grip, but not too overwhelming. She blushed harder and her eyes flitted toward Bucky, who was trying to hold back a smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Noelle," Steve replied. "That's a beautiful name."

Sucking in a deep breath, Noelle returned her eyes to the painting in front of her. She didn't know how to answer that question. It was rare that she ever did something for herself, but picking up a new hobby seemed like the right place to start the new year ahead. It was the perfect time to jump two feet into the deep end of something she's never done before. 

"I don't know, to be honest" She let out a breathy chuckle. "I think I want to start painting or sketching or something, but I don't know where to start" 

"Well lucky for you, I can help with that" Steve smiled broadly. 

Something was calming about his presence that made Noelle feel as though she could trust him. Sure it was just art supplies, but there was just something about his smile and the way he moved about the shop that convinced her he actually cared about what he was talking about. 

"First things first, What's your experience level?" Steve asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She felt her cheeks burn at the question, "Uh, well, I've never really done any real art. Not since grade school," she admitted, feeling embarrassed.

Steve nodded, his face thoughtful, "Alright, alright - were you wanting to paint? Draw?"

Noelle hesitated, she hadn't thought about what she wanted to do before she stepped into the shop, and now she felt flustered in the face of this charming, and handsome man.

"Uh... What do you recommend for a beginner?"

Steve pressed a hand to her upper arm, his fingers curling against her jacket to pull her gently down the row of art supplies. She followed him, carefully so her boots didn't slip against the flooring only to stop as he knelt down on a bottom shelf. 

"We put these together around Christmas," He pulled out a small crate of supplies, rambling on as he pushed things around to show her, "mostly for parents that have no idea what to buy their teenagers but I think you'll find what you're looking for in me...here. Looking for in here," he looked up at her through thick lashes with his endless ocean eyes and his voice trailed off. His rosy lips parted slightly like he wanted to say more but the words had gotten stuck. 

She suddenly felt very warm and very self-conscious about herself, Noelle tugged at the sleeve around her wrist.

Steve cleared his throat and stood, hovering over her small frame with the box held against his stomach, "let me show you," he scratched his beard with his fingers nervously before sliding himself past her in the direction of the front counter.

Noelle followed closely behind him and took several deep breaths to try and calm down her nerves. He walked around the counter and placed the box on the counter and began to take some of the supplies out.

“These pencils here are really good for beginners who are wanting to do some sketches. The numbers and letters here on the side indicate the hardness or softness of the lead. This box has a good mix of them.” Steve said pointing to the box with a soft smile. Noelle stepped forward towards the counter to look at the supplies he has laid out on it. 

“And what kind of paper should I get? Sorry if that’s a silly question” She asked nervously.

“Well.. that would depend on the type of drawing you’re planning on doing. For example, will you be just sketching or wanting to do some watercolor painting after, because those would be different kinds of paper.” Steve replied. Noelle looked at him with a confused and nervous look 

on her face. She really had no clue what her plan was for her little art project.

She breathed out a small laugh, shaking her head as she grasped the package of pencils her fingers gently grazing his. A swarm of butterflies erupted in her stomach, her hand once again lingering just a little too long before taking it away from the warmth of his own. 

"I think I'm already in over my head," Noelle admitted, ignoring the way his eyes felt like tiny bursts of fireworks as they trailed along her features. 

Finally, he smiled, ignoring the soft snicker once again coming from behind them as Bucky began stocking the shelves, "tell you what, we'll start you with a basic sketchbook and if you decide to move further into watercolor or oil-based pencils, we can re-evaluate your paper situation then." He offered a chuckle leaving his lips as he rounded the counter again. 

Noelle nodded, "there are oil-based pencils?" She asked, feeling even more dimwitted than the second she walked into the door. But instead of making her feel dumb, he just smiled again. 

"We'll work you up to those."

She hummed in acknowledgment as she looked around the small shop, shelves packed high from floor to ceiling with anything and everything art-related you could think of. Certain parts of the store were newer, with pristine shelves and plastic-wrapped paints and brushes. But others were definitely much older, resembling more of a high school art closet than a store for shopping. Noelle wanted to know more, about art, about the cute little store, and now definitely more about the tall, broad blonde in front of her. 

She opened her mouth to get his attention, but the tinkling of the bell above the door beat her to it. His head turned towards the front as Bucky appeared breathless from around the corner. 

"Hey, Steve, hate to break this up, but Mrs. Carter is here and you know old ladies creep me out," Bucky whispered frantically, and Noelle bit back a giggle at his wide-eyed expression. 

Steve looked at her apologetically before stepping past them both. His fingers skimmed her elbow as he went by and even through the heavy fabric of her coat, she knew his touch would be warm. 

"Don't go anywhere, okay?" Steve murmured and she nodded, earning a squeeze to her arm that made her heart race. 

Her eyes were fixed on the muscles in his back as he walked quickly to the front of the shop and Noelle briefly wondered if it were possible to just bite through her bottom lip entirely.

She watched Steve talking to the old lady, as she felt someone getting closer to her left. 

“She creeps me out.” She looked at Bucky, who crossed his arms in front of his chest as he looked toward Steve and Mrs. Carter.

“Why?” She asked him. 

Mrs. Carter seemed like a nice old grandma, she thought, even though her smile looked like she bit into something sour and her eyes made Noelle shiver, but...yeah, okay. Bucky was right. This woman was creepy.

Bucky looked at Noelle as if it was obvious why he thought that she was a creep. 

“I just don’t like her. Tries to charm me up with her dry homemade pecan cookies and almost kills me with them. Put cinnamon in there even though she knows very well I’m allergic to cinnamon. All because she wants to get rid of me to have Steve for herself. Stupid little-“

“Oh look. These pencils are also available in pink.” Noelle tried to stop Bucky before he could say something else.

As Bucky glanced to the shelf Noelle was pointing at, Steve hollered from his place by the door, “Hey Buck, do you think you could help Mrs. Carter grab new paints for her niece, Sharon?” 

Bucky went to protest, but seeing the look on his friend’s face he realized why Steve wanted to pawn Mrs. Carter off onto him. 

“Sure pal,” Bucky said as he shoved off the counter. 

Noelle continued to look interested in the line of pink pencils until Steve had come back to the counter. 

“Sorry about that. Now, where were we?” Steve smiled at her as the sound of Bucky and Mrs. Carter’s conversation grew fainter as they moved deeper into the store.

“You were about to show me sketchbooks,” Noelle returned his smile, “and I really do appreciate your help.”

“It’s my pleasure, believe me,” Steve replied and Noelle didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked downwards appraisingly before lifting back to her face.

“Try this one,” he said reaching underneath the counter and producing a black hard-back book. “It’s good quality but not so expensive that you’ll be afraid to make a start. The paper’s got a great texture too, see?”

He flipped open the book and reached out for Noelle’s hand, running her fingers over the page.

"Umm Ye- Yeah," Noelle stammered through her response to him, the way his eyes sparkled underneath his long lashes was mesmerizing. Distracting and captivating her.

He gave her a gentle smile as she felt his hand slip from hers as he walked them to a table while she tried to quell the feeling of disappointment that started to build in her chest when their hands separated.

"Come on, sit." He told as he pulled a chair for her to sit on, placing himself behind the chair as he pushed it in closer to the table for her and leaned over her slightly. The scent of his cologne and his close proximity to her was a dizzying combination, she almost missed his next words.

"I'll show you how easy it is to start." He breathed next to her, making butterflies erupt in her belly at how soft spoken and gentle he was. She nodded.

Steve reached ahead of her, flipping the book open to the first page, and picked up the pencil.

"You want me to show you, or can you follow my directions?" He asked, his voice seeming to drop an octave as he turned to her.

Noelle's voice caught in her throat. He was so close, his breath warm on her cheek.

"Can you show-" She started to say, just as Bucky popped up behind them.

"Mrs. Carter is done - you want me to lock up - uh..." He trailed off as Steve turned away from her.

"You know what - I'll handle closing up on my own tonight. You're clearly busy."

The sound of Bucky closing the shop was muted in the background as Steve, wrapped his hand around hers and slowly guided the pencil along the page. The lights dimmed above them and the shop seemed to hum in the silence between them. 

"Why the sudden interest in art?" His voice was warm against the quiet as he asked her, his breath hot against her neck as the carefully showed her how to buff out the line. 

Noelle chewed on her lip, trying to focus on anything but how her hand felt cupped in his, "I guess I just feel uninspired. Life sucks, and winter makes me so sad."

"Maybe you just aren't looking hard enough," He looked over at her, surprised by their proximity, and smiled softly. "Christmas lights, sledding in the park, family..." he trailed off. 

She pressed her boots to the floor to keep from fidgeting under his gaze, "you have to find the beauty in it. Look past the grey tones and find the warmth," he let go of the pencil and her hand, letting her guide it herself. "Look, all by yourself," he cooed as she curved another line into the paper and the warmth he spoke of suddenly blossomed in her chest. "There has to be something about winter you love," he said.

She thought about it, rolling her tongue against the inside of her mouth. She looked up at him, their noses almost touching and his eyes illuminated by the dim lights above their heads, "the snow. But only the fluffy stuff, before the cars turn it to dirt."

Steve hummed at her response. “When it is light and fluffy and the only marks are the ones you are making.” He replied

“Yeah exactly, I find it peaceful and quiet” she replied.

“Well, I think you might have just found your inspiration” Steve replied with a kind and warm smile.

Noelle looked up at him, his eyes glinting under the warm lights bringing out the flecks of amber and gold woven through the ocean blue. A blush started to creep up her neck as she shifted in the seat slightly, her bottom lip finding a home between her teeth. 

He was gorgeous and kind and every ounce of him oozed what she guessed home would feel like. It didn't help that the spiciness of his cologne was now going to be a permanent memory. 

Realizing that she'd been staring way too long, she cleared her throat, glancing down at the uneven lines on the page, "What--uh, what do you find inspiration in this time of year?" She smiled, "What keeps Steve happy in the winter?"

Steve laughed softly, hand coming up to guide Noelle’s into a gentle arch, then crossing over into a new line. “Oh, the usual, friends and family, the shared love everyone seems to have, and of course, when a beautiful woman comes into the store looking to start her journey into art.”

Noelle flushed a deep red, heart beating faster as her hand shook beneath his, lines wavering on the page. 

“That happen often?” she asked, unable to help to show a slight insecurity.

Steve clicked his teeth, shaking his head as he fixed her with a teasing look. 

"Sadly, no, " Steve said. "Usually the cutest thing in here is Bucky so you are a huge improvement."

Noelle laughed loudly, an eye crinkling laugh that earned her a blinding smile from Steve. He kept watching her as she took a deep breath, composing her face. Her face started to burn as she realized he was still staring at her with a softness that she can't remember getting from anyone before. 

"What?" Noelle asked with a smaller giggle, looking back down at the dark smudges on the paper from her hand. 

"Nothin'. You have a nice laugh," Steve replied bashfully, a hint of Brooklyn accent slipping through as a dusty blush covered his cheeks. Noelle was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to make him blush further. God, he was gorgeous.

“Thank you…I think I…” Noelle paused, thinking about telling him what she felt, that she could get lost in his ocean eyes; how beautiful his smile was. But something held her back. She played with the hem of her sweater and pressed her lips into a thin line as Steve waited for her to continue.

“What?” Steve asked softly, looking up into her eyes and brushing his hand over hers, calming her nerves. 

Why was she nervous all of a sudden? It’s not like she had never spoken to an attractive man before. But the way Steve was touching her, how warm his hand on hers felt, made her melt. 

“It’s- it’s stupid,” she laughed.

“I bet it’s not. Tell me,” his voice was calm and soft, making her all warm inside.

Noelle continued to play with her sweater as she spoke, “It’s just… It’s been a long time since someone has said anything like that to me. I moved here to get away from a toxic relationship and I just haven’t had anyone as nice and attentive as you have been today. I just don’t know why you would act that way toward me.” 

Steve shifted in his seat to look at Noelle. Grabbing her chin gently, he lifted her head till their eyes met. He smiled and she felt herself beginning to melt, her cheeks heating up and her palms clammy. 

"Well, I like to think I can read people pretty well, and you seem kind and sweet, and you put up with my idiot friend." They both laughed and Steve drew in a breath. "And you've been glowing since the second you walked in here." He leaned in close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her face and Noelle bit down on her bottom lip. He chuckled softly. "And you look really pretty when you do that."

"Do what?" She asked.

"Bite your lip." He swallowed. "Makes me think about... never mind."

Her hand drifted upward, fingers wrapping around his wrist. She could feel the hair tie he kept around it. Despite barely knowing this man, she wanted to hear every single thought in his head.

"Finish the sentence."

His eyes searched hers, bright and shining. Her face was so hot that she thought she might faint for a second.

"Can I kiss you, angel?" 

"Yes." 

Steve leaned in, softly pressing his lips against hers. Noelle melted into him and his hand slid up to cup her cheek. She could feel his thumb gliding along her cheekbone and whimpered at the softness of his touch.

Sparks were flying behind her eyelids, the kiss was the best thing that ever happened to her since she moved to New York. There were no words enough to describe the softness of his lips on top of hers, how perfectly their lips fit each other, and how his hand was holding her face so gently.

He pulled back hesitantly from her, lips slowly leaving hers while she resisted the urge to chase after them.

"Uhh... I'm sorry if that was too forward-" 

"No!" She interrupted him, lowering her voice after startling both herself and him, adding softly "No. It was.. it was perfect."

Noelle buried her fingers into the beard on his jaw and smiled up at him, "You know," she licked her lip just trying to hold on to how he tasted, "I came here in to spend the last fifty dollars in my bank account on something that would spark a feeling."

Steve's chest shook as a soft, warm laugh cascaded from him as he wrapped a finger through her belt loop to hold her close to him, "And?"

"Now, I think I got more than I bargained for," she laughed. 

"Look," he spun her in his arms, and the art shop spun with her until her back pressed against his chest so she could see the front window. The sun was gone from the sky but the street lights illuminate the thick, fluffy snowflakes that blanketed Brooklyn, "fresh snow, what do you say we find your muse?" 

"I'd say how fast can you get your coat on?" She laughed, feeling him loosen his hold on her. She closed her eyes and touched her fingers to her lips, holding on to the memory of their kiss. She turned, slowly coming back to earth, and searched the empty store for him but he was gone by the time she store herself from the snowfall.

"Steve?" Her voice fluttered through the aisles as she stood, brows furrowed searching for him and already missing his warmth. 

"One second!" She heard his voice carry through the canvases and shelves. After another few seconds of silence and Bucky huffing behind the counter, Steve came around the corner, his cheeks red and out of breath. 

Noelle laughed, "you run a marathon back there?" 

A smirk cracked over his features and his eyes crinkled as he stepped towards her, "only to get back to you." He murmured, leaning into her before taking her hand and leading her toward the door.

They stepped out into the cold air, making fresh tracks in the freshly fallen snow. Noelle breathed in deeply, inhaling the crisp clean scent before breathing out a cloud of air. Smiling, she turned to Steve, finding him already staring at her with a soft smile on his face. He held his hand out to her silently, almost shyly, and she took it carefully, hand feeling small in his large, warm grip. 

After walking quietly for a few moments, appreciating the beauty before them, Noelle started to shiver. She tried to hide it but Steve pulled them to a stop outside a coffee shop. 

“Wanna pop in here and warm up for a bit?” he asked, and Noelle nodded quickly, nose and cheeks pink with the cold.

The heat of the cozy cafe was worth nearly freezing to death on the short walk down. Steve held Noelle's hand as he ordered them both. She barely heard him ask her what she wanted, spitting out a robotic answer as she gazed up at his impossibly blue eyes with a silly smile on her face. 

"You still with me, sugar?" He leaned down to murmur in her ear while she watched the perky barista whip up their coffees. 

"You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried," she replied with a smirk, gripping his arm tighter as he laughed, throwing his head back.

“Two hot chocolates for Steve,” the barista said in a voice as smooth as honey. Noelle couldn’t tell if she was trying to act seductively or if that was just her personality, but either way, it made Noelle feel self-conscious. 

She looked at the floor, letting Steve’s hand go, and moved to a table by the window. 

“Good job picking a table. We can still watch the snow fall and keep exploring your muse.” Steve said as he sat down, not aware of the invasive thoughts running through Noelle’s mind. 

Noelle muttered a thank you as she took a drink, looking out the window. 

“You okay, Noelle?” Steve’s voice was soft and concerned.

"Yeah." She forced a smile. "I'm good."

He leaned over and tried to catch her eye, smiling at her.

"Are you sure?"

She bit her lip and then instantly remembered what it made him want to do back at the shop. It made her nervous. It had been a long time since she'd had someone take the time to get to know her like this and to be as sweet as Steve was. Maybe she didn't deserve it, maybe she wasn't worthy of it. Her eyes misted with tears and she tried to blink them away. Shit.

Steve reached out his hand and covered hers. His skin was warm and soft. 

"Whatever it is, Noelle, you don't have to carry it by yourself."

She laughed and looked over at him as she flicked away a tear.

"Who taught you to be so sweet?"

"My ma," he replied. "She also told me to never abandon a pretty girl when she looked sad. We don't have to talk about whatever's going on, we can just sit and watch the snow if you want."

Sucking in a deep breath, Noelle shook her head once and pressed her lips into a thin line. "Well, your mom sounds pretty great" She cleared her throat and took a sip of her hot chocolate. 

The conversation was treading into dangerous territory that Noelle didn't want to get into. Not this time. Despite her distaste for the holiday season, she always tried her best for her friends and family to at least try and be cheerful. But Steve was somehow bringing out her real feelings for this time of year. In the short time, she'd known him, there were already things she would tell him in a heartbeat. But her trust in people had gotten her in trouble before, and Noelle knew she had to keep it in check this time. 

"She was" He breathed out a laugh. "She's actually the one that convinced me to pursue art... If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be where I am today. And I wouldn't be sitting at my favorite coffee shop with one of the prettiest girls who's ever walked into my shop"

Her insecurities were bubbling up inside her, denying every claim he made about her since she walked into his shop. Her own past experience formed a dark cloud over what could be something wonderful.

Her ex-boyfriend always made her feel less than enough, bringing her down over every little thing and pointing out flaws that she didn't even see before, to the point where now all she saw were those flaws.

"Noelle?" Steve's calm voice pulled her from her toxic thoughts into the present, she felt a tear slip down her cheek before she wiped it off quickly, "are you okay? Did I say something to upset you?" He lowered his eyes trying to catch hers as she hid her face in her hands and took a deep breath. 

"No," she murmured as she lifted her eyes to meet his concerned blues, "I'm sorry. I'm - I'm not used to this.." his brows furrowed in confusion, making her take another trembling breath before continuing; "Jake - my ex, he didn't - uhh.. he wasn't the best."

"He clearly didn't look hard enough," Steve smiled, reaching out to brush a rogue tear from her jawline as it threatened to fall to the table. His thumb lingered on her skin, rubbing gently. 

"For what?" Noelle leaned into his touch, confused and growing more nervous with every passing moment. 

"The stars," Steve smiled, "right there, behind the sadness in those beautiful brown eyes, they twinkle. Just begging to be counted."

She sucked in a breath to hide the sob lodged in her throat, involuntarily leaning into his thumb as if trying to steal his warmth. She couldn't do this. Her eyes slid close almost regretting going into the shop today. 

"Noelle," he whispered, bringing her eyes back to his as they opened, his brows softened from the concerned look and the corners of his mouth upturned, "you deserve to have someone make you feel the way you've made me feel today and if you'd let me... I'd love to see you again tomorrow." 

She stared back at him for a moment, the butterflies, the warmth, the anxiety pit in her stomach all crashing in on her at once. Noelle shook her head, pulling back from his touch as she stood, "I--I'm really sorry," She stuttered, her voice barely over a whisper, "I can't do this." 

Before she could watch the light in his eyes fade and his face fall, she turned fisting her hands into balls at her side to hold her steady as she rushed out onto the street, hearing him call her name after her.

Noelle ignored him, running back down the street, past the shop until she was at her car, tears flooding her eyes as she threw herself in it. She bent her head over the steering wheel and cried, overwhelmed by everything and just needing to let it out, the good and the bad. 

When she finally wiped her eyes clear, Noelle drove home, only then remembering she’d left her bag of art supplies on the table next to Steve. 

She spent the night going back and forth between wanting to see Steve again and never wanting to speak to another man ever. When she woke up the next day, she had made up her mind to at least go back and get what she’d paid for.

The entire trip back to the art shop Noelle felt like she couldn't take a deep breath, anxiety coursing through her the more she thought about what she was actually doing. The sidewalk was much clearer as she approached, piles of snow pushed up against the sides of the building and the curb of the street. Her breath poured out in thick fog from the cold and she hesitated to pull the door handle open. 

What if Steve was angry with her?

 What if he told her to get out?

 Would he do something like that? 

She didn't think he was the kind of guy to treat a girl that way, but she thought Jake was a much better man when she first met him, and look how that turned out. 

"You know those only work if you pull, right?" 

Bucky's raspy voice from behind her made Noelle nearly shoot into space, her heart hammering as she spun around to face him. His cheeks were red from the cold and he was gripping a snow shovel, bits of ice and slush hanging from the bottom. 

"I was...I just-" she stammered, gesturing towards the inside of the shop. 

"I know what you're here for and it sure as hell isn't art supplies," Bucky laughed, before growing serious again. "He's in the back, has been all day." 

Noelle nodded and sighed deeply before turning back to the door. As she stepped into the warmth inside, Bucky called her name softly. When she looked back, his hands were in his pockets and he looked down at his shoes, pushing pieces of ice around with the tip of his boot. 

"Steve is a really good guy and I don't just say that because he pays me way more than I deserve," he huffed out. "But he is also my best friend and I'll tell you in my experience, I haven't seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you. And I've never seen him look as fucking sad as he did last night." 

Tears welled up in Noelle's eyes as she swallowed down the lump in her throat. 

"He really, really likes you, Noelle," Bucky continued. "I just wanted you to know that." 

With a curt nod, Noelle turned back and stepped into the store, leaving Bucky to continue clearing the sidewalk for other customers and pedestrians. She walked tentatively through the familiar shelves before stopping by a doorway at the far corner. A dark blue curtain hung over the opening and she could hear soft music filtering out, music that Noelle had only ever heard at her grandparents. It made her smile and gave her the confidence to open the door, chasing that comforting feeling she knew could only come from one man.

Noelle stepped into the backroom to find one wall lined with boxes of new orders, a kitchenette with a teapot sitting on the stovetop, and a console record player that was sending Bing Crosby's White Christmas into the space. Noelle's eyes shifted to the small table tucked in the back corner. There sat Steve with his back to the doorway, dressed in a green cable knit sweater, bent over a sketchbook scribbling away. 

Noelle shifted her weight causing the floorboards to creak, and Steve turned to see what caused the noise. His movement gave her a glance at his project. A portrait of a young woman with long, brown hair with snowflakes starting to stick it. 

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hey." His eyes were rimmed red and he had soft pink splotches beneath them that made them a little bluer. His chest looked hollowed out, shoulders slumped, like someone had carved out his heart. She did that. "You came back."

Her heart leaped into her throat and she felt it twist in her chest as guilt consumed her like a wave. She shouldn't have run out last night. She barely slept thinking about how hurt he looked. 

"Yeah," she whispered. "I, uh..."

"Noelle, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night. I wasn't--"

"No," she replied, holding out her hand. "I was-- I've just... got a lot of, uh..." She laughed as Steve watched her with caution, as though he was terrified to hear the next words that came out of her mouth. 

His body leaned away and he held up the sketchbook like a shield, trying to make it look like he was pulling it toward his body. The small gesture made her want to cry and she could feel her chin trembling before the sting of more tears came. 

She sighed.

"Steve, I'm just really sorry. You didn't do anything wrong. I've got all of this baggage and I didn't give you a fair chance. You're a great guy, and you're funny and sweet, and... I just came to apologize. You don't have to accept it or even like me, but--"

He stood up and walked toward her with heavy steps. She resisted the urge to back away as she looked up at him. Steve held out the sketchbook and let her really see the drawing, the beautiful details, the softness of her features. She sniffled, the tears making her vision blurry.

"What's this?"

"I just want you to see what I see when I look at you," he whispered.

The breath caught in Noelle's throat as her eyes traced the features of the drawing. It was more beautiful than any other drawing she'd seen in the shop. His attention to detail, and the way he captured a certain sparkle in her eye that she hadn't seen before. It looked just like her, but she'd never seen herself look like that before. Steve had captured a side of her that Noelle was sure she'd hidden away forever. 

"It's beautiful, Steve..." She whispered, and sniffed, a wave of his cologne washing over her scenes and bringing back that sense of comfort she had felt the night before. 

"You're beautiful, Noelle" Steve stated, dropping the sketchbook and bringing up his free hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear before tucking two fingers under her chin and bringing her gaze up to meet his. "You don't have to apologize to me for leaving last night, it's okay. I would never want you to feel like I was forcing you into something" 

A small smile broke onto her lips, as her eyes traced over Steve's. "You're not forcing anything... I came here because I needed to see you again and explain and... Ask if we could maybe try again" She asked, placing her hand softly onto his chest, curling her fingers into the knit fabric. 

"Miss Noelle, are you asking me out on a date?" Steve smirked.

Shyly, Noelle bit her lip as she felt heat creep up her cheeks from the way he looked at her, his eyes clear as the summer sky as they ran over her face in a way that she almost felt like a caress. His low voice woke the butterflies in her belly and she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

She nodded hesitantly, "Yes... If you're willing to give me a chance." 

He held her gaze as he leaned down, his face slowly coming closer until his eyes were all that Noelle could see. His warmth enveloped her, and her hand tightened on his soft sweater.

"It would be my greatest pleasure, Noelle," his soft response was almost spoken like a secret, quietly between their lips that were a few inches apart. "I'm glad you're giving me a chance." He finished.

"I should be the one saying that," she whispered, "I was so scared to come back here, but I knew I had to." 

Steve's warm smile spread across perfect lips as his forehead rested against her own, "I'm really happy that you did," he replied, his hands gently cupping her face as his thumb ran along her cheekbone before tracing over her bottom lip. 

Her heart thundered in her chest, beating against her ribcage as he studied her their lips barely touching and the heat from his breath sending a wave of goosebumps down her spine. 

"Steve," she whispered again as his tongue darted out, wetting his lips and briefly tapping hers. 

The corner of his mouth upturned as she became putty in his hands and he finally leaned in, the anticipation almost too much as he kissed her. Slowly at first and so sweet, her teeth ached. 

Her fingers tangled into the fabric of his sweater to pull him closer to herself. Even if their date failed, she never wanted to forget the way he tasted. But something deep inside of her made her feel like that wasn't going to be the case and she'd get to revel in the way he tasted like coffee and almonds with a hint of chocolate. 

A whimper escaped from between the two of them, both getting carried away and sucked into each other. Steve finally pulled back, his lips bitten pink and puffy, hers undoubtedly looking the same and suddenly missing the feel of his beard against her skin. 

"Can I take you out tonight?" he asked through breaths, "we'll eat overpriced Italian, all the garlic bread and wine we want." A gorgeous smile spread over his features making her laugh. 

"That sounds...amazing." Noelle breathed as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her the way no one has held her in a long time. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes once more, but she fought them back. 

A grunt sounded from behind the curtain followed by a crash as both their heads followed the sound. 

"I'm really sorry to interrupt whatever is happening back there," Bucky's voice boomed through the shop, "But I could really use some help out here lover boy!" 

Noelle erupted into giggles feeling Steve take a deep breath and close his eyes, "I love my friend, I love my friend, I love my friend." He chanted before glancing down at her, "I'm sorry sweetness, rain check on this?" 

"Pick me up at 7 and we'll call it even." She grinned, making him laugh. The sound flowed around her and it was then that she realized she wanted to hear that sound for all of the days to come.

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Teacher | Awesamdude

Requested? yeah by me, cause I'm a teacher

Warnings? Bad writing lmfao

Summary: You and Sam are teachers at the same school who also happen to have a crush on each other

Word Count: 2,184

You juggle a million different things in your hands, trying to balance your water bottle, coffee, purse, and papers as you walk into school. It seemed like a possible thing when you first stepped away from your car. You’re quickly proven wrong by the time you’re stumbling towards your classroom, praying you don’t drop anything.

“Morning (y/n),” you hear from someone behind you.

You turn your head a fraction to see the tenth-grade math teacher, Sam, walking behind you. You try to throw him an easy smile but it’s quickly thwarted by your coffee nearly tipping out of your hands. You make a small noise of surprise before stopping and steadying all of the things in your hands.

“H-hi,” you squeak out, still performing your balancing act as you walk.

When you get to your door, your eyes flicker between the keys on your lanyard, the locked door, and the millions of things in your hands. You’re about to sacrifice your coffee and possibly your water when someone nudges your arm. You find Sam's green eyes staring down at you again and you smile.

“Let me,” he says and you take a step back from your classroom door.

He grabs his master key, sliding it into the lock and opening the door with ease. He swings it open until it locks in place and you offer an appreciative smile towards him. You’re about to take a step but he pulls your coffee and water out of your hands, before gesturing for you to walk in before him.

“You’re the best,” you sigh out, dropping all of your stuff onto your desk. He follows behind you, placing your drinks on your desk with care.

“It’s no problem.”

You had known Sam for two years now, both of you being hired around the same time. Your classrooms ended up being in the same hallway, you being the tenth-grade English teacher and him being the math teacher. You shared the same set of students and found out it’s helpful to know how certain kids acted in your room versus how they acted in his and vice versa.

You two were also the youngest teachers in the building, Sam at 25 and you at 23 showed issues with bonding with your other coworkers who were in their 50s and 60s. You quickly found refuge in your young friend and the two of you spent time in each other’s classrooms often.

That closeness brought a set of feelings you weren’t totally happy with. You liked Sam from the start but had always been warded off from getting involved with a coworker. Still, your pulse always kicked around him.

“How was your break?” you ask, hoping you’re coming off more and more composed by the minute.

“Good, restful. Got to see my family. You?”

“Good. I basically slept all week.”

Sam laughs, knowing how much you valued your sleep to the point where you usually get to school at the last second so you could savor your last few minutes of rest before the busy day. Some days were good for you though, like today, you were able to get to school early and set up your classroom again after break.

“What are you doing today?” Sam asks, finding a seat at the desk closest to yours.

“Uh, I think we’re starting a new book?” you look around your room, suddenly realizing how unprepared you are. Coupled with your racing heartbeat you felt like a mess.

“Mind if I stop by later and see which one?”

“I’d love that,” you respond smiling and Sam returns it before getting up and heading towards his room.

When he’s gone, you let out a sigh and drop your head onto the desk. You’re tempted to let out a muted scream of frustration but try and remember where you are. Just as you lift your head from your desk, you hear a knock on your door before your friend enters.

“Hi!” you greet brightly and she smiles at you, all-knowing.

“Sam?” she asks, taking the seat that he was just previously in.

“That noticeable?” you ask, dropping your head back down again.

“I think we’re starting a new book?” she repeats in your voice, mocking your confusion. “Come on (y/n), you have a Ph.D. for crying out loud.”

“Alright, alright,” you say holding up your hands in defense.

“It’s so obvious the two of you like each other, just do something.”

You roll your eyes and she grins at you before standing and walking out.

“Have a good day!” you call to her and she laughs from the hallway.

The bell rings, signaling the beginning of the school day and you grab your school keys before heading over to stand by your front door. You greet students as they walk in, and before you know it the final bell rings and you’re starting your new unit.

You happen to pause, turning to take attendance when a knock sounds on your door. One of you students stands, letting the person in and you feel your heart quicken as Sam walks in. He shuts the door behind him, offering a sheepish smile as he looks up at you.

“Hi!” you greet like you didn’t just see him moments ago.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?” you ask as Sam steps towards you.

He scans the room, pausing before taking a step forward and holding a paper up to hide your conversation. He leans in and your heart skips, his breath fanning over your cheeks.

“Adam parked his car in the visitors parking so Ray towed him,” he whispers and your mouth drops open, a giggle escaping.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. Ray is gonna make him pay for it too.”

You let out a loud laugh, leaning back and Sam’s grin splits wide on his face. He drops the paper and you realize that you’ve caught the attention of your entire class.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Sam calls and you smile and watch as he leaves the room.

“Uh Miss?” you turn, once again realizing your students were right there, and shake yourself out of your flustered state.

The rest of your classes go by with a breeze, most kids are either exhausted from break, (high schoolers never get enough sleep) or hyper and excited to see their friends. You take it by stride, adjusting your lesson to match each class and making sure the kids are doing alright after the break.

During last period, your favorite period, Sam strolls in, taking a seat at the empty table near your desk. You smile widely at him as your students walk in, greeting both of you before the bell rings for the last class of the day.

The lesson was easy enough, a simple introduction to the new novel the students would be working through for the next couple of weeks. However, your heart won’t slow for a moment causing you to stutter over your words, and shake like a leaf.

When you send your students off to finish up the sheet you gave them, you head over to Sam, the two of you standing to the side of the room.

“To Kill a Mockingbird? Excellent novel,” he comments.

“I haven’t read it since college but I think it’s good for this age group.”

“You’ll do a great job teaching it.”

He touches your arm with reassurance and your skin flames at the simple gesture. He whispers something about having to finish grading the tests he gave weeks ago, before striding out of the room. Your gaze stays on him the entire time until one of your students clears their throat, and you feel yourself flush red.

“Miss (y/n)?” Alice calls and you look over to her.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“What?” you ask, shock coursing through you from your students' questions.

“Yeah Miss, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” you respond with coolness, and the two girls pause.

“But you like Mr. S, don’t you?” another student pipes up and you feel your flush move from your cheeks, spreading down your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your students obviously don’t believe you but leave the conversation alone for the moment which you’re thankful for. The rest of the school day flies by, before you know it you’re at home ready to go to sleep at any moment.

However, your tiredness takes over you in the worst way possible. You wake up the next morning, feeling rested but the minute your eyes land on your phone, you rocket launch out of bed.

The time on your phone displayed 7:30, the start of first period at school. You rush around the house, cursing yourself for sleeping through your alarms. You get ready hastily and just as you’re out the door and headed to your car it occurs to you that you should call someone to make sure they can watch your students until you get there.

You make the call, the office assuring you that someone was already in there watching your students and you let out a breath. You start your journey to school, a feeling of nerves never seeming to leave your body.

When you get to school, you race in and head straight for your classroom. You rush in, catching the attention of your tiny first period. You’ve clearly interrupted a conversation because the room falls silent at your presence.

“Miss, you’re late!” one of your boys, Angel calls.

“Thank you for the reminder,” you respond back.

You turn towards your desk, seeing Sam in your rolling chair. A sigh of relief is let out, and he stands offering a smile.

“I realized you weren’t here so I opened the door and decided to stay,” he explains.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin but Sam holds up a hand. “I overslept and I should have called.”

“It happens. I should have called you when I realized you weren’t here,” he says and you smile.

“Well thank you, I appreciate it. See you during 7th?”

“I’ll be there.”

Sam strolls out of the room and your gaze follows him. The minute he steps over the threshold, your kids round on you.

“Miss! Stop flirting bro it’s weird,” your loudest kid Angel calls.

“I wasn’t flirting!” you defend growing hot.

“Sure Miss,” he says and you roll your eyes.

“For real miss, do you like Mr. S?” one of your sweeter boys asks.

“That is none of your business.”

“Don’t worry Miss, if he tries anything we’ll take care of it.”

You can’t help but giggle at your boy's overprotectiveness. They had always been like this since you started teaching them and you were grateful for the adorable 15-year-olds.

When you get your break at 5th period, your heart still pounds thinking about Sam and his kindness. You decide to head to his classroom, hoping to thank him for this morning.

You knock on the door and step in when one of his students opens it for you. When you look up, Sam is already staring at you and you smile. You gesture for him to finish what he’s saying before stepping further into the room.

You meet him by his desk, and he does a sweep of the room before making his way to you. He smiles, sticking his hands into his pockets and rocking back onto his heels.

“I just wanted to stop by and say thank you again,” you lean up and whisper into his ear.

“It was no problem, really,” he shrugs it off.

“It meant a lot to me. Seriously, thank you.”

You stand on your tip toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he flames under your touch. You bid him goodbye before ducking out of his room and heading back to yours.

One of Sam’s students has to call his name 3 times before the math teacher can snap out of his daze. His students don’t say anything, but Sam doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the period.

By the time 7th period rolls around, you’re fully awake and ready to head home after a long day. Just like the day before, Sam comes into the room and takes his seat.

Knowing your lesson, Sam walks around the room with your students and tries to help as much as possible for a math teacher.

“Alright guys, any questions? Mr. S do you have anything?” you ask and he shrugs.

“No, I think you covered everything perfectly,” he says, smiling at you.

“Mr. S, just ask her out already bro,” your ever-intense sophomore insists.

Sam sputters, flushing head to toe and you giggle nervously. At this, the rest of the class hypes him up and he turns towards you.

“Uh, Miss (y/n)? Will you go out with me?”

“I’d like that.”

The bell rings and your students file out. You and Sam stare heart eyes at each other, and you can feel your heart missing a beat over and over.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he says and you grin.

“Thank god.”

[natromanxoff]

Daily Mail Weekend Magazine - November 18, 2006

Credits to Louise Belle and Queencuttings.com

Star struck

When not performing with stars, there's nothing BRIAN MAY likes more than gazing at them with Sir Patrick Moore. DAVID WIGG hears how the Queen guitarist nearly became an astronomer himself

When Brian May was at junior school, two significant things happened that were to shape his life. His parents gave him his first guitar — which was to lead directly to a career as a rock god. And they let him stay up late to watch a fascinating new programme called The Sky At Night, introduced by an aspiring new broadcaster called Patrick Moore — which sparked off a lifelong interest in astronomy and an unlikely friendship.

Fifty years on, and 'the world's leading guitarist' (Sir Patrick's description of May) and ‘the greatest man in the country’ (what May calls Moore) have collaborated with cosmologist Chris Lintott to write a book called Bang! The Complete History Of The Universe.

The interest of Moore and Lintott — whom the other two call ‘the young gun of astronomy' — is understandable. But how does May, he of the cascading curls and all those years spent standing, legs akimbo, fingers on guitar strings, behind Freddie Mercury in Queen, come to find himself gazing at real stars, as opposed to their more earthly counterparts? What do rockers and astronomers have in common, apart from the fact that, by virtue of their work, they are both nocturnal creatures?

'I've been passionate about music and astronomy since I was seven,’ says May, now 59. 'My dad and I built a guitar together — and then we made our own telescope. I was shepherded towards a scientific career, and, after I graduated with an honours degree in physics and maths, I went on to study for my PhD. I was heavily into writing a thesis on interplanetary dust while playing in a band — and I found the music gradually taking over my life.

"I'd reached the point where I had to decide between the universe and Queen, because I was either playing or studying or teaching 24 hours a day, and I knew I just couldn't go on. Besides, I had run out of money. Something had to go, so I decided to put everything on the back burner while I went for a musical career.'

His subsequent success is well documented, but he never lost his passion for the night sky, even building a small observatory in the back garden of his west London home. Then, ten years ago, his friendship began with Patrick Moore, who had been his idol since boyhood. 'I had first met him when I was studying at London's Imperial College. He had come in to see one of my tutors, and as he was a very important man and I wasn't, there wasn't much contact between us.

When we met again, through a friend, in 1996, we hit it off. He began talking to me about astronomy as if I was a professional, and I thought, "Hang on, I'm just an amateur", but it didn't make any difference to him — we were speaking the same language."

With their common bond as the serious study of the planets, stars and space, as well as the physical universe, they have even been on eclipse-spotting trips together, to such places as Peru and the Isle of Skye.

For the past two and a half years, May, Moore and Lintott, Sir Patrick's co-presenter on The Sky At Night (which is 50 years old next year, making it the world's longest-running scientific programme) have been working on their book. It explains how the universe was born 13.7 billion years ago and highlights its origins and destiny — the trio calculate that we've only got about three billion years left before the sun swallows us up.

As May's music has made him wealthy enough to afford a £100,000 trip into space when passenger flights start operating. I wondered if he had reserved himself a seat. ‘No, I haven't, but it's tempting. I do quite fancy the idea. But I'm getting a little old for it.' However, Sir Patrick, who is 24 years older than May, wouldn't miss the chance. 'I'd have to go, but it would take a very massive rocket to launch someone my size,’ he says.

It was Sir Patrick's idea to write the book and he persuaded Brian to get involved with the project. 'I didn't take it very seriously, because I didn't think I was very well qualified. But Patrick insisted, and it's been a wonderful journey. I'm so glad I said yes, because, in the end, I felt that I did have a role to play and I think we've become a great team. We hope that we will inspire a new generation, as Patrick inspired us.’

Sir Patrick's house, at Selsey, West Sussex is, he says, 'an Aladdin's cave of astronomy books, instruments and stuff. It's a boy's environment. We turn the phones off and the most stress that ever happens is the cat getting lost! So it's just a lovely place to be.

My father always regarded astronomy as my proper job, because that's what I was training to do. When I gave it up, there was a bit of strain between us and we hardly spoke for a year, but everything worked out okay in the end. I still have the telescope that we made when I was about 12. It's a four-inch reflector and the funny thing is, if you see something in the sky, you don't have time to go out in the garden and unlock the observatory and turn the thing on. What I do is, I drag my home-made telescope out, just like I always did. So I still enjoy my little four-inch reflector.’

The English skies aren't really the best place for pursuing astronomy. ‘There are so few nights that are any good and, generally, I'm in the wrong place. There is too much light pollution, apart from the rain and the clouds and everything else. So I don't do that much stargazing in my observatory. It's better if you're away from big cities. I'm seriously considering trying to buy a house somewhere on one of the Canary Islands, just so I can enjoy the sky.

‘I love to go to observatories and just look, even with the naked eye, or binoculars or a small telescope. But I'm odd. Most astronomers don't do that. I went to La Palma in the Canaries recently, where they have just built the world's biggest solar telescope. I've been invited to play at the inauguration, which is very exciting.’

Pursuing this solitary behaviour has landed him in trouble, however. May says he sometimes gets told off by his wife, former EastEnders actress Anita Dobson, if he doesn't get his head out of the clouds. ‘She's wonderful. She's so good for me because she keeps me human. She says, "Look, you've been sitting at that computer, or that telescope, for 13 hours. I think you should do something else" — and I need that.’

As supportive as she is, Anita does not share the same interest in astronomy. ‘She has an attention span of about 30 seconds when it comes to astronomy,’ says Brian, with a grin spreading across his face. ‘Which is fair enough; she's a different kind of animal. She likes me doing it, but she doesn't really want to know too much about the details. She's involved in her art stuff.

‘She's my greatest critic. She tells me the truth. I usually get angry, but then I think, "Yeah, she has a point." The hardest thing for any artistic person to take is criticism, especially when you've spent God knows how long developing an idea.

‘Getting married put us into a new era and I think we feel very secure and are able to give each other a lot more rope. We've always spoken about this kind of thread that is between us, and sometimes it's got stretched incredibly thin, but it's always there. The more secure you are yourself, the more you are able to let your partner go out on a limb, but still feel the thread is there.

‘Thank God, we have a wonderful relationship now. We came through every kind of battlefield and, up to the point where we got married in 2000, it was always on and off, because my first marriage had ended in divorce and I'd lost both Freddie and my father. I really didn't want to live and I was just coasting along. I felt wounded, depressed, brain-fried, and the feelings of loss outweighed any of my achievements. I checked into a clinic in Arizona in the U.S., and it worked for me and I've felt great ever since.

'My relationship with Anita is the same as my passion for music and astronomy — intense. I can't see it ever changing.’

BANG! The Complete History Of The Universe by Brian May, Patrick Moore and Chris Lintott, Carlton Books, £20.

[intjpersephone]

🧠Since memorizing everything is some hard shit, allow me... 🧠

Science has my entire back on this one...

Now, I'm gonna be talking about three techniques, two of them are gonna help if you have a test really soon the other one is in for a long run.

"The Generation Effect"

being tested is supposed to help others evaluate your progress, but it turns out that testing isn't a very good evaluation tool.

It actually functions better as a learning tool but only if used properly. This may seem Counter-Intuitive but first, you should test yourself before you even know the material. For example, start with the practice test even before you started studying it. You'll get answers wrong, But your brain is forced to generate answers, you'll be creative, panicked and end up priming your neurology to learn the correct new answers. This technique works on "The Hypercorrection Effect": when you make a mistake on some type of general information and later find out you're wrong, you're much more likely to remember the correct answer. For example, you're certain the capital city of India is Mumbai but later find out it is in fact New Delhi, you are much more likely to remember that forever compared to somebody who was just simply told the answer New Delhi.

Your brain Hypercorrects. One theory behind this states that surprise and embarrassment play a role, That's why you probably remember everything embarrassing thing that happened to you so far 😂(😥)

Now My Personal Experience: On this one, in April, I had a 20 marks test every week and so my teachers would ask us questions related to the test during classes and I used to get most of them wrong, and after the embarrassment, the test came I actually did better than my classmates.

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"Spacing"

This one is the one for the long run now...

For spacing, you're gonna wanna practice and then almost forget the material and then practice again.

One particular study had students learning Spanish, each group had eight hours to study. The first group studied intensively for eight hours in one day while the second group studied for four hours one day and then one month later studied for another four hours and an entire month later.

So both groups had the same amount of study time just distributed differently. After only getting 8 hours of practice they tested them 8 years later.

Both groups were tested on their Spanish vocabulary and by now you probably guessed the group that spaced their studying over a month gap performed 250% better. Remember this is 8 years later that they're being tested.

My Personal Experience On This: So, in 4/5th grade, I used to jump from learning greek to french to Spanish and so on, so last year staying inside I picked french again, remember this is 4/5 years later, and remembered all the basics very well! I was surprised but now it makes sense!

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"Interleaving"

So, what studies have found is that instead of studying the same thing over and over again, if you mix up or vary the challenge the benefits are huge. At the moment this process might be a lot more frustrating and you may even think that you are learning more slowly but that's why it's so counterintuitive.

Let's take a look at some examples that could apply to your life. All of which have come from a wonderful book called "Range" by David Epison. if you have any interest in high performance and improving skills, this books will change your perspective so I highly recommend it.

First, we are gonna talk about motor skills like piano, so a particularly tricky thing to do is jump "A", big inter violin-piano really quickly so say starting at "C" and then jumping 20 keys really quickly, it takes a lot of coordination and muscle memories to do that quickly without thinking about it without accidentally hitting other keys along the way.

So this study had one group practised the 20 keys jump over and over and they have gone relatively good at it pretty quickly. But the second group had practised not only the 20 key jumps but also mixing a 15 key jump and 10 key jumps

So, ultimately they had to practise but the 20 key jumps but had interleaved or mixed practised by using a bunch of different intervals obviously it would have been a lot more frustrating to be learning multiple intervals at once the 20 key, the 15 key, the 10 key but when they brought the groups back what they found was that the group that practised interleaved or mixed practised was better every single interval including the 20 key jumps. Even though they technically had less practice with it the same has been shown in mathematics. Rather than practising one type of problem over and over, mixing different kinds of problems in between makes the process harder but develops stronger skills.

It's very shocking how bigger difference this type of interleaving makes.

Looked at math skills in grade 7 students. Those that used interleaving or mixed practice saw an effect size of approving someone's from the 50% of skill to the 80%, that is like being an average student to being someone who is definitely something brown parents will dig, which is an ultimate math god.

If you're using cue cards makes sure you're mixing up different themes within those cue cards.

My Personal Experience On This: Now, I have never really tried this before, so that's why I tried my best to elaborate on it as much as I could. But while researching on this, so far this one deeply impressed me, and my mom was a mathematics teacher before my brother was born (she also taught commerce but that's irrelevant) so, she was a middle and high school teacher and she ALWAYS keeps suggesting me, but hey, there's a reason I say relatable to a meme which is about being a disappointment 😐, anyway, I do really look forward to trying this one.

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All this research is incredibly significant because of evidence-based solutions especially in space like education.

And the idea for today's post was suggested by my wonderful girl, @agents-of-shield-fan

and if you want me to make my next post on something you have in my mind, tell me!

Now go ahead and ✨ S H I N E ✨ babe 🤗🌿💕

[redxblueihateloveyou]

it's not just kids calling adam/tadashi abusive, i've seen adults say the same thing, even fans of adam, that it's abusive and rapey, i'm not sure how to feel because i disagree but their posts sound very authoritive :/

Meanwhile Utsumi is out there like gushing about these two 24/7 bc they’re her faves and says stuff like “originally Tadashi was supposed to say “Woof” after “You’re gonna be my dog for the rest of their lives”, but it didn’t make to the final cut, I thought about his face expression a lot in that moment, but the only thing I was absolutely sure of is how utterly happy he was about what Adam said.” and explains for absolute morons that what Adam said about framing Tadashi was just a bullshit to test him lmao

I once again do not know why people don’t get that this ships thing is that they’re literally what another needs and despite the fact that they both have their own problems, they’re each other’s way out. Because Adam wants Tadashi to learn to stand up for himself, while Tadashi wants Adam to learn that love should bring happiness, not pain. If you don’t want complicated characters, once again, watch smth with a rating 5+ instead. Complicated and problematic characters are not always villains and some adult relationships are definitely not an abuse, if they’re canonically into power play. 

Also I don’t know how a person who so carelessly throws words like “rapey” can be considered “sounding authoritive”, but I highly recommend to try forming your own point of view, based on facts/observations and your own experience. Also in books for example there's always easier to get characters motives, bc they give you to say the whole picture, so depends on how many you’ve read you can learn to detect it without it “being explained to you” pretty easy. If you don’t have such skill or don’t want to develop it, you can wait for the creator’s commentary, you can usually get it to many animes/mangas these days, they will tell you what they meant by some scenes and about their thought process, while creating it, who, why and where. Of course not every creator has that much love and attention to their characters and story, there are some where the creators also know nothing about their character, besides what was shown, but Utsumi is not one of those, so you can always be ready, that if she picked a fave, she thought everything through from the very beginning.

Also this fandom (and pls normal SK8 fans, do not take offense in this, I mean I’m technically also in this fandom, although not really since I had to create just a bubble and don’t go anywhere else, since it’s that bad) is like 90% absolute the most painfully idiotic ppl I’ve ever seen, who can’t even read between the lines and say the dumbest stuff I’ve ever heard, that is so embarrasssing, that they make you embarrassed about even being part of this, and 50% of them are too young to even get stuff, that wasn’t meant for them to get, so just, for real, I’m just suggesting the same thing I did, for your own health, pick ppl for your tl, whose brains are intact and do not even go “out there”, like, you’re only gonna get mad. I mean, if ppl who aren’t even in the fandom get mad about stuff they write, you’re gonna be mad x2 and sadly you can’t do anything about this amount of stupidity, rarely stuff like this do happen to some fandoms. Yes, you can’t enjoy this one, sadly. I tried, but I just felt, like I’m getting more and more mad, until I just sat down and cleaned everything on my tl and was like “that’s it, I’m not in the sk8 fandom, I’m in my own fandom it’s called “his dog by day, his snake by night” lmao

And yes, it did in fact happen after I found out that the girl behind that “concerning adam” absolutely moronically formulated shit that was part of the zine was 23 years old. I think my eyes popped out like in a cartoon, bc everyone who was involved in this drama, wrote stuff like “can i make fun of them or are they 14″, thinking they’re just well, you know, young, but then were shocked too xD. I just wish this person/ppl just wrote “we excluded Adam bc we’re too dumb to get his character we hate him”, at least I’d respect you for your honesty in this case. But no, you had to dig your own grave and become the new official representative of “SK8 fandom is the dumbest”. Congrats really.

I do not know, if ppl lie about their age or not when it comes to those. If not and they’re really adults who think so, it’s fascinating really. Fascinating how this fandom got all the idiots in once. I mean, being a stupid fandom of teens is one thing, being a stupid fandom in general is just sad.

Am I sad that so little ppl got the actual plot and the message creators tried to send? Yes, absolutely. Not the first time tho it happens, with Utsumi’s faves especially, but also in general these days. It is very sad, I agree, but also, I just really started to feel bad, bc I saw some comments and felt like that meme guy, you know: “what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it.” lol

So just find someone who posts the good stuff and doesn’t get involved, listen to VAs, read creator’s interviews and live happily ever after, bc they adore both Adam and Tadaai. They literally told in the last interview what I was telling under my YT vid. This is just also hilarious to me, bc to be honest Tadaai situation wasn’t even that hard to analyse in the first place, even without the creators commentaries. Like we’re not on a Cannes Film Festival here.

And once again you can like or dislike Adam, it’s your choice, ppl have different tastes, but writing the most utterly idiotic things about his character that make no sense whatsoever, considering the canon story, is just plain moronic. Just say that you don’t like him, and pls, don’t embarrass yourself.

[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?"