#wtf mags GO TO HELL

[zabala0z]

Sorry for not posting, school has been wild and I got accepted into an acapella group!!!! I’m at the sleepover for it rn, I got kidnapped

MAG 121: Far Away

OLIVER BANKS??? Okay but this confirms my theory that Oliver Banks was like the same guy from MAG 32 and MAG 42, like I PREDICTED it guys. I SAID IT. He’s actually quite nice and one of the few avatars who doesn’t wanna kill Jon which is a plus. Also best power cause holy shit. GEORGIEEEE 🫶🫶🫶

MAG 122: Zombie

Glad Jon’s awake but he sounds like hell. Can he like sense tapes now? Is that now one of his abilities??? Not very useful but maybe later it will be.

Anyways, creepy ass statement. Is this The Stranger? I’m going to say it is. They haven’t found Daisys body which is making me think…👀👀👀 who knows. But I’m emotionally attached to every character. AND WHAT IS MARTIN DOING WITH PETER LUKAS??? Bro???

MAG 123: Web Development

So Melanie is not super happy and I can’t even blame her. Like she’s so valid cause I’d be suspicious on Jon after 2 people died and he lived. Although she sounds like really pissed and it’s worrying. I need to see a statement about The Flesh because how did it attack everyone??? Sent mangled pigs??

The fact if u don’t follow Peters orders, you go woosh, makes me nervous. Like I can’t tell who’s the worse boss. If you work there, you gotta either have your trauma be resurfaced or disappear like come on 😭😭 fun that the tape recorders keep coming up. Not. Fuck them.

Yay!! the web!!! Don’t like it!! I wonder if Brian from MAG 100 was in the text of code.

MAG 124: Left Hanging

Oh surprise, surprise, it’s Simon Fairchild. AGAIN. At his old ass age. Again, very The Vast core cause duh. He seems like…a nice person to talk to. Like if he didn’t send people to the emptiness of the ocean, space or the sky, I’d have a decent conversation with him. Who was the cable car monster wtf.

MARTINNN :( bro. Get out of that situation, I don’t have a good feeling about it. Peter Lukas already deals with The Lonely like come on. Their conversation was so awkward. Made me awkward. Jesus. I just need them all to be okay.

Okay I think that’s everything! Posts might be slower since I got so much going on this year like my god. But, I’m definitely going to set aside time to still listen because this podcast sustains me. I live it. Anyways!

[herejusttosufferalong]

I’m gonna say it………

The Russian, the fan account, Deuxmoi, someone at People Mag, and the friend group are all connected.

The Russian is doing what the fan account on IG can’t do on X. The IG account has proven they friend group is seeing their stuff and intentionally feeding them info from all other platforms since they can’t be on every single platform all day keeping tabs on stuff.

Deuxmoi has a deal with A’s camp and they have someone at People in on it with them. Backgrid potentially as well. You can tell because she’s literally a nobody yet she takes the spotlight in these posts and articles. Nicola is also mentioned in a way that makes it sound like her and L have zero chemistry, a claim that is easily debunked in seconds by the fandom and video evidence and even other reporters making note of it.

Idk wtf is going on in Luke’s side of the world, but I hope he quickly realizes what he’s in the middle of and gets the hell out. It’s getting ridiculous and messier each day.

.

[kremlin]

helicopter hog hunting right next to that guy (in the town i live in lol) is also really expensive but I wanna do it once i get my degree. they let you full auto belts through an m240 from the skies

man i can almost guarantee you the cost is from the helicopter and the machine gun. anything to do with a helicopter is involved as hell and frankly i'm keen to leave them the fuck alone, i would literally fly a small cessna solo with zero instruction solely relying on my Nerd Ass Flight Simulator skills but never a helicopter. they work in direct defiance of gods will

not having to load a whole mag for 4 seconds of fun doesn't rly offset the whole "$60 of ammo gone in a flash" thing for me. esp. these days

right after i got out of school i worked this really shit remediation job and one of the guys in my crew was this Giant Cornfed Redneck motherfucker who had a bunch of land in central texas with a hog problem, he wanted to start a business doing hog hunting trips & i made him a website or some shit and he took me out. i think the conversation actually started with a dick measuring contest about the guns we owned, he was trying to tell me hogs mean business and 9mm won't cut it. "sure ill bring my AK", he told me itd better be an AKM since 5x45 won't cut it. thought he was bullshitting but nooooope

kinda sucked in the end. me and him did not have much in common (natch) and i do not like to traverse terrain by foot because of wet + hot + gross + computer programmer. there could be a disclaimer here for the tumblr crowd saying "ohhh hogz are so bad, they are invasive, they are extremely destructive, they are nasty creatures" which is all true but i was there from blood lust from computer games

the pack we found, we didn't scout, we heard them fucking barreling towards us, which is when it kinda sunk in, in my mind, "oh wow, this is extremely dangerous, this is frightening, those are huge animals, they are very fast, they are certainly trying to kill me, this is actually gay, wtf". i took an embarrassing amount of shots for hits i landed due to Shaky Hands which never heard the end of for the weekend (city slicker).

they are no fucking joke though, i swear, bullets would either bounce off them or they'd shrug them off, they would never ever seem to stop charging unless you shot limbs off or they lost a puzzling amount of blood. my pal wanted to cook them but he cut one open and it was literally pure blue on the inside which is the effect of some kind of poison the state uses to thin their populations safely while conveying message of "DO NOT EAT" to corpse-finders

to be honest i prefer the computer room. it was scary enough but the worst was laying down to go to bed like "i killed a bunch of mammals today", "those things had brains, thoughts" which ive never shaken off.

[whoopsmorewhump]

It's okay just to say 'I'm not okay' (platonic stobin fic)

Robin and Steve feel each other’s pain more than they’ll admit, even to each other. From Whumptober day 30, “It’s okay just to say I’m not okay” bridal carry; plus, another lovely prompt from pearlravenlapis (not quoted here, as it gives too much plot away!)

Rated T; no warnings; Also on AO3.

***

The day had started more than okay.

This adorable girl rocked up at Scoops, with the latest issue of “UFO Reality” tucked under her arm. Robin blurted: “You read it yet? The story on alien skulls inscribed with teeny, snack-sized messages from Elvis totally slayed me dead.”

Dream-girl’s shy smile turned Robin’s knees to jello.

She introduced herself as Maud, and they chatted UFOs for the next forever. Right until a square-jawed, smug-as-hell knucklehead loped into the store, and Maud announced he was her boyfriend.

Now, Robin watched her latest unrequited crush sharing a Strawberry Sundae Extra with her excruciatingly not-worthy-of-her date.

“Seriously, Robin,” said Steve, levelling at her shoulder. “I’ve seen more electricity between a pair of squashed ants. They’re not even talking.” 

Robin wasn’t in the mood for chirpy delusion: “That’s because they’re mainlining ice-cream, Steve.”

“She’s hardly stuffing her face. She couldn’t stop blabbering with you.”

Unable to endure the sight any longer, Robin swung her attention onto him. He was chewing on… Hmmm, to be fair, that was only his first banana of the day. Unusual. He dumped half of it, uneaten, on the hatch.

“Did she even actually wanna talk to me?” wondered Robin out loud. “I honestly can’t remember if she got a word in edgeways. You know how it is, when I can’t stop talking. It’s a fault, believe me I know—"

“You were fine. You said stuff. Maud said stuff back. And it’s not a fault—your mom spouts nasty bullshit, you should accept that. My point is, that girl you like totally—”

“—hates me.” Robin sighed.

“No. She’s probably confused.” He sniffed, pushed his hair from his brow. “She should dump that moron’s ass. Who hangs out in an ice-cream joint when it's this damn cold? It’s practically snowing out there."

"It's not cold in here, Steve.”

“It’s goddamn freezing! I mean, it’s this stoopid outfit—what fascist dictator makes their staff wear shorts in winter?”

“Stopped caring. I'm too institutionalised into looking like a dweeb.” She peeped back, to where Maud spooned a cherry into that jack-ass jock’s cakehole. Argh! She wanted to scream. Instead, she mumbled: “Shit-birds, do you think Maud thinks I'm a dweeb?”

“Jesus, how many times? Look, she reads dweeby UFO mags. So do you! Beyond that, I’m not an alien mind-probe, so quit bugging me already.” She gawked at him—wtf? He skittered his fingers over his eyes, groaned. “Sorry. This stupid cold is making me cranky. I honestly reckon Maud liked you. It’s just—”

“—horribly, insanely, eternally complicated?” Her fists clenched so tight her fingernails gouged her palms. On top of it all, she’d suddenly gotten this anxious dread, churning in her gut. Huh? Go figure. “I guess I’ll just keep smiling through. See my customer service smile?”

She bared her teeth maniacally.

“Remind me to get a mask of that for Halloween.”

“That bad, huh?”

He smiled, kinda pensively. “Nah. If I was a babe into babes, I’d still be battering down your door.”

She wanted to hug him then—despite his germs, which she was kinda grateful she hadn’t caught. Yet. A bratty little mall rat clanged on the bell, Steve hurried off to serve, and Robin continued feeling really, really shit. Right up until he caught her in the backroom, dabbing runny eyeliner with her knuckles.

She turned her back on him. Habit, really.

“Hey.” His hand landed softly on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing new.” It’s her turn to sniffle.

“Look, I’m sorry I chewed your head off."

“You apologised already, Steve.”

“I’m apologising again. For the whole goddamn human race. I mean, I totally get your thing with UFOs, because, honestly, you deserve another planet. A better one. Worse thing is, I used to think like the dumbest dumbass in this world of crazy, till I met you, and now… Look, things will be better for you someday, because nobody deserves it more. Till then, I know it sounds cliché, but I’m here for you, and I guess… I dunno, when you have this much bullshit to put up with, it's okay just to say you’re not okay sometimes.”

She flung his arms around him and sobbed noisily into his shoulder. He patted her back, then rubbed soothing circles, and she sobbed even harder. She didn’t really know why she was crying. Yeah, what he said touched her deeply. But she’d never been a random public crier, today’s flop was nothing out of the ordinary, and she couldn’t even blame her monthly cycle… Uuuurgh.

She lifted her face, sniffed hard, grimaced. “I made your uniform all soggy.”

“No sweat. I dig your snot.” His sarcasm dropped off: “Any better?”

She shrugged. Superficially, yes, she felt less doom-y. Her catastrophic life remained just that, however, and that weird unfocussed dread loomed ever larger. 

He reached into his pocket, brought out a paper napkin. “It’s clean, honest. Although I guess the cost of that hug was probably catching my cold, so who cares, huh?”

“I care.” Ew! “And yeah, that had occurred.” She still couldn’t quite bring herself to regret the hug. However much she hated them with anybody else, she had to admit that it’d released happy chemicals. She blew her nose noisily. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Uh, you’ll probably need another for the eyeliner. There’s black goop, like, everywhere.”

She whipped out a powder compact with a mirror. Oh yeah. She’d gone for the full-on Joker look. Possibly, this was why she averted her despairing attention and started scrutinising Steve.

“Steve, are you okay? You look kinda—”

“—terminally dweeby? Or terminally dweeby and totally wrecked?” Catching his own reflection in the little mirror, he dabbed his slightly-less-buoyant-than-usual hair back into place.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a bit peaky.”

“It’s just this stupid cold. Plus, the crappy lighting in this dump. Seriously, sometimes guys need make-up too.”

She used her mirror to stare at him harder than herself now. Yeah, he looked pale, the shadows around his eyes nearly as shouty as her make-up malfunction. She snapped the mirror closed, spiralled back to face him.

“Steve, something else is wrong, isn’t it?”

“Woah! You’re, like, witchy when you do that, right?”

“Witchy?”

“Okay, maybe a bit psychic.”

“Alien brain-probe-y?”

“Yeah, that too. I mean, I figured I didn’t want to bother you, but…” He threw his hands up in surrender. “Let's just say my father has been extra cranky and disappointed in me lately, even by his short-tempered standards. That means extra shouty, and…” He rubbed his brow wearily. “Makes me feel even shitter about my life, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” She longed to pay back that hug, though even with Steve, she was too squirmy and inexperienced to initiate one. He left then, anyway, heading back out front.

They were both uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day. He seemed exhausted, and smothered increasingly regular bouts of coughing. She wanted simply to get home, bypass her mom’s daily character assassination, and then sob and bitch to herself about life in general. 

When she finally sank her face into the soon-to-be disgusting and soggy pillow, that feeling of dread overwhelmed her. She simply couldn’t stop worrying about Steve, to the point she felt ill. Which was ridiculous. After all, he was at the end of a phone line, right?

She snuck out past her mom—who was howling her butt off at some screamingly homophobic sit-com—and dialled Steve’s number. When his dad answered, she gritted her teeth, forced herself to be mega polite. 

“Hi there, Mr Harrington. Sorry to disturb you. Is Steve there, please? It’s Robin.”

“Robin? Are you the latest girlfriend?”

“No,” she managed to grind out. “I’m the… friend-friend.”

“Don’t try to be cute.” Seriously, I wasn’t! “If you see him, tell him he owes me a thousand bucks.”

The line went dead. Robin dropped the phone, stared at it as it swung from its coiled wire. What just happened?

She went back to her room, sat down on the edge of her bed. If Steve wasn’t in, was he on a date? He hadn’t mentioned one. That said, given her eternal back-catalogue of disaster on the dating song-list—and her latest episode of moping—he probably didn’t want to upset her. She switched off her lamp, tried to sleep.

Impossible.

What his Dad said rankled, and made no sense anyhow. Why did Steve owe him a thousand bucks? That was a year's wages! Then again, Steve had mentioned something a while back about his tightwad parents charging him rent. It was probably what they’d been rowing over.

By the early hours of the morning, that sensation of dread had flourished to the point where she could no longer stand it. Sleep wasn’t happening, so she pulled on a warm coat and scarf, headed out, and grabbed her bike.

Once Henderson had gotten over the initial shock of her tapping on his window at four a.m., he considered her theory seriously enough: “You reckon his parents threw him out, and he’s sleeping rough somewhere,” he clarified, while he unlocked the wheel of his bike. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“He can be kinda proud like that. Plus, I was having a beyond-horrible day.” She clutched her handlebars ever tighter. Steve hadn’t needed to tell her, anyhow. She’d known, and her anxieties flurried toward panic. He’d been getting up sick, right? As her clouding breath confirmed, tonight was bonkers cold.

Dustin jammed his woolly hat down over his ears. “Right. If you were sleeping rough in Hawkins, where would you go?”

They tried the bus station, the shop fronts on Main Street, even the High School outbuildings. They wound up outside the police station, debating about whether to go in. 

“Nobody will take us seriously,” pointed out Dustin. “I mean, he’s not technically missing. We don’t have any evidence that he’s not at home in his bed, comfortably snoring, while we’ve been cycling around freezing our faces off.”

“He’s not,” said Robin, and creepily—witchily? —she’d rarely been more convinced of anything in her life. “He’s in trouble. I know it.”

“Seeing as we’ve looked, basically, everywhere, I’m going to need something a bit more scientific than that.”

“We’ve barely started!” protested Robin, as a police wagon drew up beside. Chief Hopper got out, bleary eyed and with a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth.

“God, that was a wasted call-out,” he muttered, then, belatedly absorbing who they were, said: “What the heck are you two doing here?”

“Being total idiots!” said Robin, so loudly even the Chief baulked. “It’s so obvious! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Hopper looked crankier. Dustin gesticulated wildly with his thickly mittened hands: “What!?!”

“His car! His dad said something like, ‘Steve owes me a thousand bucks.’ That’s about the value of his car, right?”

“Steve Harrington?” asked Hopper. “Yeah. Kid’s got a nice set of wheels. Anybody gonna enlighten me what you’re doing here at this godforsaken hour?”

“Steve’s been sleeping rough,” said Robin. “In his car.”

“What? Last night?” Hopper frowned. “Temperatures have been sub-zero.” 

“Yeah, we know,” mumbled Dustin. “We also don’t actually know for sure that Steve isn’t home, and this isn’t all in her he—"

“It’s not in my head, Henderson. He’s out there. Chief, you’ve got to help us find him.”

Hopper wearily stubbed out his cigarette, swung open the passenger door. “Get in.”

***

Shivering hurt. His teeth hurt from chattering. As the night got colder, Steve curled up in the backseat of his car and discovered everything hurt.

He never knew cold could feel like this, like how his gran used to describe it—creeping through his veins and into the marrow of his bones. Whatever the heck that was. He was wearing, literally, all his clothes. What the hell else could he do?

He'd used the heater the previous two nights, since he’d taken off from his parents’, basically homeless. Now he was out of gas, and there was no chance of getting a refill can till next payday so…

He curled even tighter, wrapping his arms around himself. Like a hug. He recalled how he and Robin had hugged earlier, how he’d felt better after that, about… everything. Which was stupid. Because it’d solved nothing for either of them. He faintly hoped he hadn’t given Robin his germs. If they even were germs. Who needed germs, when you were this damn freezing?

At length, his fingers and toes stopped hurting and turned numb. Then, at last, he sensed some warmth. Which was weird, but then again, he felt increasingly weird—his skin kinda prickly as if he sweated, then suddenly, he was way too hot. Which was totally nuts, and confusing, but he’d take it. He shrugged off his blanket, which slid into the footwell. He might have removed his scarf, which was getting suffocating, but he was too damn tired.

He slept, shallowly, and the darkness beneath his eyelids grew pitted with white. It wasn’t like snow. Nothing was that yielding or soft. He hadn't the strength left to rub his eyes. He threw all his effort into his next, shallow, whistling breath, and… Christ! It suddenly made sense. He could see his lungs, right? Which was insane, but his fevered little mind saw it anyhow. They seemed all brittle, lined with scratchy glass, scraping and tearing with every breath, until...

An ice-toothed gale blasted him sidelong. Robin's scared face veered up in front of him. Uh, he’s definitely hallucinating, right? Nobody knew he was here; nobody should know. He needed her, though. Kinda figured he’d die here without her, and then… he was just plain scared.

He closed his eyes. Too much. Waaaay too much. And, shit, maybe that wasn’t Robin. Maybe it was her aliens, and those were lights from a spaceship—a UFO?

Somebody—some thing —slid an arm around his shoulder, another under his knees. He was scooped up, and felt the sensation of being carried. His stomach performed a feeble flip. Am I dying? Am I dead? Or am I zooming to another planet!?!

Then nothing. Until…

His lungs still felt too tight. He was lying somewhere warm and soft, however, and the air didn't burn or freeze, nor make him prickle and sweat. In fact, it was kinda soothing and sweet, though it still proved a struggle to get enough.

Somebody squeezed his hand. Somebody or thing was holding his hand! Aliens? If so, why wasn’t he freaking out? He pried his too-sleepy eyelids open. Robin! 

"Steve!" She smiled and gave him another squeeze.  There was a plastic mask over his mouth and nose, and he lifted a hand to bat it away. She stopped him, settled the mask again. “I’d leave that, it’s the oxygen. You’re okay now. You’re gonna be just fine.”

He tried to talk, though speech wasn’t happening. Just an embarrassing croak. Her make-up was smudged again. He almost forced his dry lips into a smirk. He must look worse, but with Robin, that’s okay.

A nurse turned up, checking his pulse, and the oxygen machine, fluffing the pillows. She talked, but he was too sleepy to listen. Robin bobbed up again, working her face strangely, and he couldn’t read whether she was about to laugh or cry:

"Look, Steve,” she burst out, “yeah, it's okay to not be okay. Next time, can you please be more specific about EXACTLY HOW NOT OKAY YOU ARE."

"Okay," he wheezed, and she started up talking again. Her voice soothed him, even though he was too far gone to listen. 

He isn’t okay. He feels weak and jittery and everything aches.

From this new all-time low, he can’t even start to think about what his future might hold without wanting to yell. Which he can't even do! But her, and their friendship—it’s good. Which was probably why, even now, he’s feeling her pain again, just as strong as his. He hated how she suffered every single day, keeping her hopes and dreams a secret. Jesus, whatever hurt her, hurt him, too. And he was stupidly grateful for that, which made no sense either.

Perhaps he should tell her, when he’d gotten his voice back? Before or after he’d thanked her for having somehow saved his life. Or perhaps that would sound crazy and a bit creepy. Or witchy and physic? Huh, hadn’t he accused her of that earlier?

Listening to her talking, he ebbed and sank into somewhere safer and warm.

****

Part of this fic series (whump, platonic stobin & steddie fic)

[black-rose-writings]

One post so that I don't have to spam yall about the new war

Look at this cinematic shit.

Fucking be-not-afraid moment from evil birb man.

Cool Grineer is cool.

I hate the faces in this game. Just give me back my faceless warframe, pls.

Dang, Corpus kid is doing good.

Tihi plot is happening.

Evil birb man will not stop me from saving space mom.

Evil faun man can, though, apparently.

Also, why did you stab me, that's so mean.

The logo is unpside down oh no.

Oh no, evil faun man has a cult.

Oh no, what did they do to my Mag.

Oh, look, it's little grown-up me and sad broken mom. And look, Ordis is a little drone, that's so cute.

While I was making myself more tea, I gave myself a similar high braid that my operator has. No reason for sharing that besides "haha, look, same hair".

Also, as always, Warframe has banger soundtrack. Evil "We all lift together" with gospel twist. Fucking brilliant.

Oh, look we get to skate with a human.

Operator (I mean, Drifter) as squishy as ever I see. Wo-hoo for stealthing I guess.

I didn't realize until now that my clan still has the fucking Janus key copypasta as our greet text. Thanks bro.

Dang, I hate taking elevators, I want my no-fall-damage Warframe back, pls.

Who the fuck is this shadow and why are they helping me? Oh, Stalker. And Hunhow.

Oh, look, evil warframes.

We're doing parkour with a squishy little human without a double jump. Sure, why not.

Homework - cue school flashback. Fucking brilliant.

I'll admit, I like having the Stalker on my side.

Oh, look, mom has her face back. And more flashbacks.

I should probably go to bed. Or I can make another tea and finish this stuff.

Timeline fuckery, hell yeah. See, this is what happens when you make deals with an eldritch god. I said, way before the timeline fuckery scene.

First thing I need to do after getting my shit back - pet the kitty. Kitty needs to be petted. It is the law.

Also, I'm still giggling at the Corrupted Vor monologue/copypasta in our greet text. Vor knows nothing.

Mimics posing as Ayatans. And my dumb magpie brain fucking almost fell for it. I am in fact an idiot.

Have I mentioned Sentient ships are freaky as fuck. Because they are.

And now my game glitched and I have to fight through the big evil sun eating ship all over again. No, it didn't glitch, this part of the game is just retarded like that. You die, you do this shit all over again. and you have to do a two minute archwing flight on top of that. Or no? Is this supposed to happen? WTF.

Space mom is back. And we see evil god.

Space mom has freckles on her shoulder.

Let's redo This is What You are, but the other way around.

[miakoenigspython]

Tim nooo don't be mean to Martin! And a list of people I don't trust (and/or are scary) Supplemental 8 - 10:

Supplemental 8: I get that Tim is angry but poor Martin. He didn't need the tea party comment :( and I feel so sad for Jon. They all need hugs like at least 1000

Supplemental 9: sooo apparently no one can quit or be fired (at least by Jon). The Archives are getting even more spooky.... Also, I need to update the list of "Something is seriously wrong with this family/person" :

The Fairchilds, reasons: way too often the company behind creepy travel statements + funding the institute, that is, as stated above, getting spookier and more and more sus by the episode (secret +: I don't know who you are Simon maybe I do, and I've forgotten that you already were in a statement? But if you are voiced with even a fraction of the happiness your VA uses to voice the adds at the beginning of every episode on Spotify I'm gonna have a problem with you (or rather Jon and the archive gang is going to have a problem with you) because you own a creepy ass company which produces traumatized statement people and sounding happy about that makes you prime sus. I don't know of what, but sus. Maybe of doing some cultist stuff? Where you need to feet people to the creepy places???)

The Lukases, reason: creepy bunch that (and I'm quite sure that they are guilty) trapped a woman in a cemetery + creepy ass boat (Tundra?) + funding the Institute (now that I think of it... the Boat is probably also eating people.... wtf is going on??)

Gertrude, reason: I NEED to know what she's been hiding. What are your secrets, old lady???

Michael, reason: he stabby

Daisy, reason: she scary (nothing wrong with her, she just scares me)

Elias: he sus (owning a creepy company... why is everyone owing creepy companies, what is this? Evil Capitalism, The Podcast?... and I'm almost sure he killed Gertrude, almost)

Supplemental 10: I forgot Salesa in my list!!! Creepy artifact dealing ass. He's like the Leitner of artifacts (only he purposefully scatters his danger assemble to the masses) Also, MAG 65: Binary reminds me of those "Don't Google that" - lists or shock video sites. Guy eating a pc doesn't sound like the worst video, shockwise, but maybe have just seen to much of that shock content stuff. I do however feel really sad about him, stuck in code sounds like hell. I hope someone gets him out, releases him from his pain, like the mummy from the grave robber statement. I think they should be friends.

[talesofsonicasura]

Hank with a Devil Hunter s/o?!

I said I'd be feeding some Hank simps and here it is. As for the type of demons being hunted by s/o, I'll mostly being using Devil May Cry demons. Like the one with 96! Sun Wukong, this is a slow burn. (It's Hank J. Wimbleton.) Can be read as gender neutral or preferred gender.

How you met Hank could be summed up as spontaneous. You were on a mission to clean out a Sin Scissors infestation running amok in a graveyard.

So imagine your surprise seeing some strange creature barely 5 ft with a red arm but a disembodied hand bleeding out by a tombstone. (Hank is in his Mag form for this)

Knowing this wasn't a demon and taking pity, you took the oddity back home to nurse them back to health.

It took the next day for Hank to wake up. You came in to change his bandages only to see them up and on guard the moment you both locked eyes.

He did calm down noticing the bandages and learning you had saved his life. The man definitely went through hell from all of the stitches and scars across his body. You even think he got into a slugfest with some bloody Riots.

You did learn his name was Hank and his bizarre situation. Although his explanation had been written down since he clearly wasn't used to talking, much less with a metal jaw.

Hank was a crossling or grunt, from an alternate version of Nevada where things went complete mad shit by a dictatorship messing with reality. It honestly sounded like an adult internet cartoon. Especially since he escaped a literal zombie clown purgatory. WTF

In exchange, you gave him information on your world. Hank seemed to take it well although he was a bit excited to hear about demon hunting. Guess he's been looking forward to a challenge?

Imagine both of your surprise when the crossling went up in a poof of red smoke. He emerged looking smaller, barely reaching your kneecaps and now two floating hands than one. The former one was still red. Okay...

You can only guess that larger form was still there, like a Devil Trigger. That's going to be an interesting phone call for later.

Having Hank as a roommate is odd to say the least. You had to keep him on bed rest for a few weeks and the asshole kept trying to pull his stitches out.

Every time he undid a stitch, you sprayed them with a spray bottle before redoing his stitches. Hank been given a Rubix cube to see if it deter any more stitch pulling.

Once he was off bed rest, the crossling could be summed up as an inquisitive creachurr. Sifting through your stuff, checking out your weapons and putting random shit in your blender with odd obsession.

He isn't keen on bathing either. It was completely awkward chasing an essentially grown man and forced them to clean up.

You kept your Devil Arms cabinet tightly locked. No way in hell were ya going to risk Hank potentially pissing off demon soul made weaponry.

Then there were taking jobs. Once the grunt was fully recovered, he wanted to join you in demon hunting. And if you didn't take him, Hank would sneak out just to join the current job.

Luckily, a compromise could be made. Hank can come with you IF he went under the guise of a demonic familiar.

A perfect cover as some humans can form contracts with demons and no one could tell Hank wasn't a demon that easily. He had to listen to you, to some degree, to not raise any suspicion.

Thankfully, Hank agreed without much objection. Thus began the oddest partnership in your entire life.

A favorable one as the crossling was quite skilled, preference being knives, swords and near rapidfire guns.

For someone barely reaching your kneecaps, Hank blew out the brains of any demon from lowly Empusa to even Riots. Jobs were dealt with faster and had less property damage thanks to them.

Other than being a skilled hardass who hated bathing, Hank was honestly a nice companion to have. Mainly silent but caring in his own odd way. Often giving you random gifts from a shiny stone to demon parts...

It was only a matter of time before you received the attention of more seasoned Devil Hunters. Specifically the infamous hunting agency: Devil May Cry. This meeting was going to suck, especially since Hank just jammed a demon heart into your blender.

Hank is a feral ass gremlin man who doesn't like bathing and you can't tell me otherwise. I do have a few headcanons of my own considering him.

He's selectively mute but has issues talking. Mainly cause of not being used to speaking with his metal jaw. The same also going for eating. Prosthetics such as jaws are something that takes both practice and time to get used.

I'm also following the mutual headcanon that Hank might have an Improbability Drive. His jaw could be a part of it as every time he comes back from the dead, there seems to be an upgrade done to him via mysterious means.

As for Hank being able to switch between his normal self and MAG form, I think of utilizing that for other stuff than just headcanons. Remember that he's only partially magnified as the process had been interrupted, so what kind of side effects than just lowered IQ could be anything. You could even say he's a WereMAG.

And yeah, from what I could find, Krinkels did say that Hank's IQ was reduced to 85 when the Magnification was interrupted. It was fully restored later on thanks to a certain halo.

Is the Devil May Cry group getting involved with Hank and his Devil Hunter s/o? Oh hell yeah. Some headcanons will feature the group so here's the heads up now. Anything involving Hank Motherfucker Wimbleton is guaranteed chaos especially something like Devil May Cry.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4

Until next time folks, continue to thrive in the madness. For anyone curious, here's the page for lesser demons from the DMC series.

[khaleesiofalicante]

The Shadowhunters Chronicles time travel head cannons because I have ideas but no ideas.

ALSO PLEASE DONT STEAL THESE, BUT I WOULD LOVE ADD ONS

THL Meeting TMI

Charles coming to the future and being really conflicted on whether or not he should check old records to see if he’s council bc on one hand he’s Charles and he has a very big ego but on the other hand he also has a really big inferiority complex.

Matthew realizing that gender roles are very bent now and wearing skirts and make up and nail polish also having several piercings. Because she/they rights.

Also Matthew going to a bookstore in June and seeing the whole pride layout and just how many books there are about being LGBTQ and how explicit they are ans the wide demographics and generas and everything and just being by the way. 

Christopher realizing that there are way more elements in the periodic table now and just about micro organisms and flipping the fuck out. Like DNA was not discovered until 1980 this man would be having a field day.

We know that Alastair would watch so many Disney movies, just every musical he can get his hands on his watching. 

Also Alastair realizing that the Eiffel tower is now like one of the main things associated with Paris and everyone thinking it’s the coolest thing in the world. 

I propose the idea that Anna Lightwood would be actually be bad at hooking up with modern day women, because this one super hot lesbian would like ask for her Snapchat or something and she would have no clue what that is. 

Also Anna realizing that there are more modern day terms for gender and being able to finally identify as gender queer and maybe experimenting with pronouns. 

I don’t know why but I would love to see Cordelia in modern fashion. Or really any of them just, any of these kids going to a mall would be amazing. 

Lucie creating an AO3 account and immediately posting every single chapter of the beautiful Cordelia on there. Also her reading rpf fanfics.  

Will would later join her and make a Twitter account as well.

Kamala watching Bollywood movies. Also I feel like she get a really cool lesbian experience that she never really got and also I think she would love to know that gay marriage legalized and that there are opportunities for her to have children that don’t involve sex with a man. 

I would like to see what Matthews opinion on abortion would be because of his backstory. I feel like there’s no correct answer to this but I would like to see some ideas.

But also I would love to see Matthew meeting like future!Magnus and either thinking that he’s still the coolest person in the world or have his vision of him be crushed. Because Magnus is a father of two teenage sons, he hasn’t been an aloof party animal for a long time, he’s a full on Dad.

I think Matthew would also try to live with Magnus for a while only for it to backfire the second he comes home drunk. 

I feel like Charles and Matthew would both get arrested, Matthew would obviously try to go to a bar or get drunk or something, English law and American law are very different even today so a lot of the things Matthew enjoys doing he would be banned from but he wouldn’t realize that until it’s too late. Charles on the other hand would probably say something intolerant, because he’s Charles and it’s the 21st-century now, and piss off the wrong person and end up getting thrown out of jail cell. The real tragedy would be for the poor inmates and policeman who have to listen to these two fight until Clary can come and pick them up. 

Also Matthew getting help for the bullshit he’s been through and everyone just being openly gay please I need it.



TWP Meets TLH

Max and Rafe going to the past and being absolutely terrified of what’s going on and meeting Magnus from the past and trying not to have a breakdown because they’re dad doesn’t know who they are and they can’t go to him 

Mina going with Max and Rafael to the past and playing at the Hell Rule because you know she would.

Also Will knowing that she is Jem and Tessa’s daughter because she’s so beautiful just like his Tess and he knows that the only other person Tessa would love enough to have a child with would be their Jem. 

Everyone knowing that Charles is gay and in the closet because they can read this bitch very well.

And Max and Ralph trying to like keep the whole “hey there are new rules now and downworlders and Shadowhunters can share powers thing” on the down low and failing during a big fight and it being reviled with like Max using the seriph blade or some thing and then Rafe just straight up using magic and everyone’s like “Wwwhhaaaaaattt”

They were getting like serious trouble for this in Lake Charlotte with interrogate the hell out of them because wtf was that.

Magness from their present coming back to pick up the kids and seeing Will and everyone again. And Will asking how Magnus is only to realize this man has a family!!

Or even better Alec Lightwood Bane coming back to the past, through a portal, to come get his kids real quick and him seeing Past!Magnus and then flirting with him and Magnus being interested while the kids are like,”Really, this again”.

Kit going into the past and them being confusion because there are two Christophers, also how are you a Herondale?! 

Ty stealing cats. 

I would love to see how Rafe, Tavvy, Max, and Mina react to Church being alive.

Tavvy, who I have somehow not yet mentioned, getting like separation anxiety from his siblings and Ralph just hanging out with him a lot more and cheering him up and just being a good Parabatai .

Also Tavvy spoiling the entire Blackthorne line whoops. 

Also I feel like Max, Rafael, and Tavvy would very much not going to drive to the toxic masculinity of the time, and be super affectionate and nice to each other and respectful of women and it would be quite shocking for people.

Rafe would go to a ball or party and totally teach people either the Cupid shuffle or a bunch of other modern dances.

I feel like someone would make a comment about Max being half demon and a warlock, especially after they realize he can have runes. Not sure what the comment would be, but it might involve Benedick having a thing for demons and it would make everyone super uncomfortable. 

Also just the Lightwood-Banes, and Tavvy, seeing Magnus with another person and being so upset over this.  Bc their dads in love with someone else and that shit hurts.

Arguments over who’s related who and which line everyone comes from because I don’t think the modern gang would know exactly who they’re related to so the relate would be pretty open.

Everyone staying at the institute because no one would take all three of them and then Mina just tagging alone because she wants to.

I feel like Max or Rafe or maybe even Tavvy would screw up and accidentally call Will Dad or Alec and this would cause a lot of panic.

Once again a shopping montage because you never have enough clothes.

The Merry thieves and the modern squad hanging out and just having fun together would be cool. They could all go to each other’s houses or the devils tavern and drink. -Which would probably be Max and Rafe’s first time drinking bc American laws are weird and different and Rafe wouldn’t break the rules.

Or Alternatively him getting in a drinking contest with someone, Matthew, and not knowing that he’s an alcoholic until way later. He would then demand that this boy go to therapy.

OMG THESE ARE ALL SO GOOD WTF FJKHFKADSFKA. AARON THESE ARE PERFECT AND SO WELL THOUGHT OUT I LOVE IT OMG.

[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?"

[fictionkinfessions]

Hello it's time to ramble about past life memories because our source is fairly obscure kin/fictive-wise and our canon means a lot to us sys-wide here we go, get ready for, a very quick timeline for all the bullshit that happened in the game known as The Binding of Isaac as told by one (1) kid who happened to exist during that time while shit was going fuckward.

Isaac fucking disappears somehow. Was there one second, now he's not. Entire family kinda loses their shit.

Mom and dad separate. Lots of fighting ensued before and after Isaac disappeared.

Eden shortly disappeared after, said they were gonna search for Isaac as they had a kinda decent idea of where he went

Eden AND Isaac don't reappear for MONTHS, during this time mom gets even more unbearable but it's fine because she was also not in the house often at all by that point so. ??? yeehaw????

Judas and Laz disappear eventually. Same with Cain iirc? (as it turned out, they escaped and found a man who took them in... Who just so happened to be mom's ex husband. lmao /lh)

Something something it's just me and Maggie in the house by this point

I should mention all of us kids in the house were siblings/cousins btw!! And we knew each other for almost our entire lives so when fuckin EVERYONE ELSE LEFT AFTER EDEN AND ISAAC DISAPPEARING it was pure hell fjsjsjfig

Eden AND ISAAC finally reappear after like. A year???!!! At this point I was like 15 and Maggie was like 13 and mom kinda left one day and also never returned. Turns out she fuckin died somehow. I asked about how Eden knew that (seriously wtf) and they just. Were like "dw abt it :3" I assume they killed her lmfaooo

Eden also came back with +3 more people aside from Isaac? Azazel, Lilith, and Apollyon. Fun ifg /lh

During that year though after everyone left and it was just Mags and I things were hella chill tbh. Not quite sure how we survived but we did ajsjajekdkd

I could go on but,,,, this is long already WHOOPS sorry MPC!!! /gen -Eve (tboi, fictive)

[zabala0z]

Welcome back to “listening to S4 of TMA and sobbing!” I’m your host, you know me, unfortunately. I swear to god-

MAG 125: Civilian Casualties

Am I going insane or was Callum McKenzie mentioned before??? The name is so familiar and I searched through all the transcripts and my notes. Closest thing I could find was in A Sturdy Lock, the old man’s last name was McKenzie but I don’t think that’s related. Anyways, I think this is the slaughter

Also the bullet. And Melanie’s screaming. Is that also related to the slaughter, her increase in violence??

MAG 126: Sculptors Tools

The whole time I was like “is this Michael??” But no this guys name was Gabriel but then he mentioned Sannikov and I was so confused until Jon mentioned the worker in clay and I immediately shrieked. And Gertrude stopped him. What a badass.

Martin talking to Tim makes me wanna scream. And Peter said some interesting stuff. Isolation. Elias’s ritual. I think Peter is trying to make a ritual for The Lonely before Elias because competition or something. And then the “when it’s over, you won’t want to tell him” like wtf does that mean. This is why I equally hate him with Elias.

MAG 127: Remains to be seen

Very The Eye. I actually never thought much on Jonah Magnus but I should’ve because yeah, that guy is suspicious. I need to pay more attention to old timey statements.Also, “I was trying to see if the statements called to me” like Jon, you know that makes you look more unhinged, right??? And Martins mom is dead now which makes me wanna like strangle myself.

And then there’s the infamous bastard; love Elias’s prison arc, it suits him more.

(EDIT 9/19: forgot to mention, Albrecht said at one point “I don’t read the books, the books read me” which reminds me of MAG 91 when Mike said he couldn’t read that one book but it read him. Think those are related. Okay that’s it)

MAG 128: Heavy Goods

I know they (or he now) are evil but Breekon was low key sympathetic during this. Also, DAISYS ALIVE. Oh so Daisy can be alive but Tim can’t, someone rip out my throat. ☹️ but I am happy. And sad. She sounds like she’s going through it according to Breekon. Or at least Breekon words extracted by Jon, which, by the way, what the hell. He can do that??? Starting to realize the true horror of his powers cause damn.

MAG 129: Submerged

Oh yay, gentrification. The true horrors of the world.

“I miss you” so what if I screamed! I need to like punch a pillow after every Martin/Jon conversation.

Anyways, I think this entity is like the buried? Can the buried count with water? Drowning? You know? Anyways “The Sunken Sky” is like the coolest name ever for The Buried. How do they all have such cool names?? Apparently Gertrude sacrificed Jan Kilbride because he was marked by The Vast and throwing him diwn a pit was enough. That’s the guy from MAG 106. There always seems to be at least one sacrifice to stop a ritual, y’know. Hate it

I have a bad feeling about Jon trying to find Daisy. Because duh. And basira is off on a secret errand which I believe is whatever Elias told her about. The new way to defend themselves. I don’t know who it’ll be. Maybe a new character?? If not, I can’t think of a strong character who could help them, especially associated with Elias

Okay!! I think that’s everything. I’ve been filling my sketchbook with TMA art, I love it. Final thoughts, uh, hate Peter, worried for Martin, worried about Melanie, overly analyzing everything, etc, etc. I hate my brain can’t ever stop when listening to this.

[nlights37]

Fandom Wank Story Hour - Jonerys Edition

This week:  The Case of the Fic Thieves (?)

Hello, gang!

Are you ready for a story?  It’s a good one.  It’s full of angst and drama (mostly self-inflicted, wild allegations based on pure speculation, all sorts of fun stuff.  I bet some of you know it, but this post is for everyone who doesnt.)

But first?  An apology.

It’s hard to admit when you’re wrong.  Especially when you’re so, so sure you’re right.  Maybe it’s just jumping to the wrong conclusions.  Maybe it’s intentional, and you’re just looking for something to be offended by.  Maybe it’s just a mistake and you took someone else’s word for it.  Lots of possibilities.

This apology, however, is not one I’m owed, but one I owe, and in the spirit of acknowledging that it sucks but it’s the right thing to do, here’s mine:

A few months back an author in this particular group I know thought someone posted a fic on ao3 that copied her fic.  Now, immediately, I bet you can guess how it went down.  OUTRAGE!  SCANDAL!  And even yours truly was not immune.  I hopped right on the groupthink train without even reading the fic, just the summary.  In the end, that fic WAS stolen, not from Alice, but from another fandom.

I was wrong, though, to jump to conclusions and take other people’s word on something I should’ve checked out myself, and I’m sorry that I did it.  Truly.

It is that ironic mistake of mine that leads us to today, and other allegations of theft, that stem from some in this fandom and were directed first at @magalidragon.  Was she accused to stealing actual fics?  No.  Goalpost shift.  Now the fandom crimes for which you may be accused, with or without any actual merit, are moodboard posts (for example, apparently it was idea theft when Mags posted a Bones AU moodboard idea too closely to Amy’s Halloween Medical Examiner AU), fic teases that use the wrong word choice, or even just suggesting that you have an idea that is even remotely adjacent to anything any of the Tumblrina chat has written.  That’s what’s going on.  And even though this has apparently gone on for months in the minds of some folks, they never said a word, just unloaded and made all sorts of accusations all at once.

You know, bullying.  A good old fashioned pile-on, done in an open chat, instead of privately.  But okay.

And not a hot week after the other authors Mags mistakenly thought were friends accused her of stealing ideas from all of them, and how they couldn’t talk about fic ideas in their chat for fear Mags would steal them, we get to the collab fic that was teased on Wednesday.

The crime?  Referencing eligible lords for Dany to marry as ‘bachelors’.

Cue all hell breaking loose when all of a sudden Mags and I are both rotten fic thieves out to steal a fic idea from @muttpeeta (This might link for you but it doesn’t for me since I’m apparently blocked lol), her Bachelor fic.

Oh, the accusations flew.  In fact, they were so rampant from @stilesssolo that I reached out to both Amy AND Sabrina like “WTF?  You actually think I’d steal from you?”

At least Amy had the nuts to answer with no before she blocked me, but the drama continues.  Now it’s posting as though the very same people who were out for blood just a few days ago, ready to tell anyone and everyone in vague, passive aggressive posts, how they are the victims of this mean old fandom.

This shit’s gotta stop, because it’s not the first time this has happened.  We all bitch and complain about this fandom and all the drama and all the bullshit but it’s not gonna get better if you are complaining on one hand then actively seeking out drama or things to get offended by or upset about on the other.

If we want things to improve, and genuinely want this fandom to be a better place, then maybe we should start by admitting when we’re wrong, and maybe, just maybe, giving people the benefit of the doubt, or a little grace.  As authors and content creators, it kinda has to start with us, yeah?

Let’s try to make 2021 a little less contentious.  Fanfic isn’t a competition.  We can all exist in our own little niches and never have to have friction again, but that means maybe taking a look inside, too, and seeing how we are all contributing to the general atmosphere.

I know I’m capable of that.  I hope my fellow writers, whether we are friends or we never speak at all, can do that to.  I would have preferred to have handled all this privately, and tried to, but when people block you so they don’t have to face lying about you or accusing you of shit, and still try to milk the pity and act like they’ve been wronged when they were the guilty party, I gotta say, it just doesn’t sit right with me.

I don’t even expect any of the ones responsible will apologize to me or Mags, and that’s okay.  There’s no rule that says we all have to hold hands and sing songs together.  We’re still gonna keep writing fics, and trying to have some fun, and give you guys out there the same sort of stuff you’ve come to enjoy from us, until we get sick of it or GRRM finally drops that new book :P

Until then, I very sincerely hope that, if nothing else, we can all try to be a little more mature about things.  If you genuinely think someone’s wronged you, TALK TO THEM.  There’s no need to make everything a public spectacle - but you can be damn sure that if you start it that way that’s what you’re gonna get.  Being too scared to directly tag people you’re accusing of stuff doesn’t protect you from that.

[high-off-energon]

How would the bots react to a contortionist human deciding to train a bit at the base. Like, they get to the human area, put down a tiny box, cram themself in it, and then climb out like it's no big deal before literally folding themself in thirds and twisting their torso 180 degrees and performing cartwheels like that. Like ???? Bendy human? Where are your bones?

Similar reactions. What the fuck. Where did ur bones go? Excuse me? If June’s there’s she’s laughing hysterically. Miko is also kinda freaked out. That’s some “The Ring” thriller shit.

Ratchet chills out the quickest because of “they wouldn’t do it if it hurt what the frag guys use your heads” and of course, the lovely world of the Internet. He starts finding the reactions of utter horror pretty funny after a while too.

Arcee wants to know more. Like, tell me how you do that I really really want to know. When it’s explained that it’s just years and years of training she’s just like “yeah but wtf”

The scouts + both wreckers are all in all, “what the hell put ur bones back please stop it hurts me watching you do that” They are now traumatized, but they’ll probably forget until the human does it again gonna be honest.

Optimus and Mags hide their reactions moderately. They’re concerned, but Magnus is more likely to ask why the hell you did that. Optimus is just going to watch on with a grimace on his face and everyone knows he’s got like, 3,000 Concerned Dad ThoughtsTM going through his head. Please save them.

[hockeysweetheart]

If it weren’t for the baby reactions.  By everyone 

Peeta’s smirk  ,Katniss is like what is he doing. Haymich Approves, The capitol cry’s out to stop the games 

Now the ones we don’t see  ( Fun Edition) ( These are all jokes  and Likely wouldn’t happen)   Because I personally think that Katniss’s mother and Prim and possible Gale and the Victors knew it was for the act. I will also add some for the hell of it not in here. 

 Gale. I’d personally LOVE to see reaction to this. I’d pay big money just to his reaction.  Now I am guessing it’s like.  “ Are you FREAKING serious” AND Swears does something stupid like Find another girl to kiss.  ( But then crys in a cornor IT SHOULD OF BEEN ME WHY KATNISS WHY.... ( Regina Geroge Scream)  My Name is Gale Hawthrone you Fu**** up my girl Prepare to die.

Their team ( Besides Haymitch). Honestly so happy and like YES!! And those knowing good maybe the Games will change this year.  ( I  beileve there team ships them loll) 

Effie. Oh my god I knew it. But wait your going  into the arena soon shit.. I’ll never get to meet that baby. Unless Katniss makes it out of alive the chances at 23 to 1. 

Cinna Wow. 

Mrs Everdeen When did this happen. Katniss never left the freaking house only to go hunting.  WTF. Mellark you have some explaining to do Mister.... You guys should of used protection I told you.

Prim.  Excuse my french but what the F*** PLEASE STAND BY  You never told me after all we been though. I thought we had more trust then that. 

Beetee.  DAMN guess they start young in District 12...

Mags. OH Shit.... Didn’t see that coming 

Johanna. Guess my telling everyone to F*** off wasn’t good enough. Good Job Mellark.  Holy shit Didn’t think Mellark had it in him. On Katniss’s part tho. I told you to make him pay for it. Girl I didn’t mean this way.. Im Impressed. 

Finnick.  I’m gonna be an uncle ... 

Snows granddaughter OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING.I can’t breathe I LOVE THEM SO MUCH I’M SO HAPPY OH MY GOD.

Plutarch... Well thats a First. Im Impressed.  But  immature  hahah they Fu****. To bad there isn’t this plot to break out the Mockingjay. If only someone had the brains to do that one.. 

Snow... Oh damn... Shit Mellark you will rue this day. 

Others ... 

Delly...  Oh my god. I mean I hope they have a nice life but I really wish it was me deep down. But Katniss is so wonderful and so is Peeta... this child will have wonderful parents. The best ones out there.  They were made for  eachother. I always knew that. I am just so happy for them. GO EVERLARK 

Madge... WOAH... didn’t see that coming. Katniss Everdeen expecting...  I speak for all of us to say. Hello Aunty Madge.. ( I always thought it would be with Gale damn) But LISTEN Mellark you better take good care of Katniss or else... 

 District people wow. OMG, didn’t see that coming. 

Some random guy. So everyone is okay with the Fact shes only 17. Going into the games to be killed anyways just me .. coool 

Ghost of Rue.  Wow that even took me by suprise... Our lord savor up above is shocked too. 

Other Dead tributes... I knew it was bound to happen.

Caesar flickerman. I quit . Oh my god enough of this shi* . I don’t get paid enough for this.. I don’t get the respect I deserve. Damn... If Katniss doesn’t make it out alive. I’ll be next..

Game makers are we even allowed to kill a Pregnant lady? I mean its kinda against the rules becuase that would be 25 people in there... and if she wins two people walk out alive again. Guess we didn’t learn are mistake from last year.

The Baker. oh shit...well thats one way to annouse the bun in the oven. 

District 13 Rebels. They Have no idea of the plot right. Because I’d say they are on the right track...

Coin  You sure we shouldn’t save the boy... See this is what I’m telling you. He’s golden/// but since no one likes my ideas lets go ahead and save Katniss. Its not like the Arena can do much Damage to her.. oh wait... but lets not tell her only her and not Peeta too. 

Okay this is all for Jokes. Nothing taken seriously in here. Its all for the fun of it.

[c4llm3h4ru]

The Restore of our Rotten Souls - Ch. 4 - I’m Magne’s kid

My name is Milli, 15 years old, quirk: Ventriloquism, my villain relative, Keiji Hikiishi, AKA Magne. And no, SHE is NOT my mother, but my aunt (I usually call her Tia, since a part of my family is latino), still she was the closest relative to my disowned ass. Thankfully UA still kept me after my parents told me: you're not Hikiishi anymore. Just because I CRIED due to Magne's death.

After that day, I promissed myself to be the best hero I could be, for her, since her ghost watches over me (some people says she haunts me, but I feel better with her around). But like any older sister, she still cares about the league, and I'm the only one who seems to care about her. So I swore that I'd save all of them.

But now... things are out of control...

A giant villain appeared kinda out of thin air and was with everyone Auntie Mag loves on his back. It was taking a lot of us to take him down... AND we failed... no surprise, not until Oumei started to tremble, pant and tear down:

 - Uh... San?

 - Puppeteer...

By her tone, I knew that something was wrong:

- I think... I need to go up there.

 - WHAT?! San, is there anything wrong?!

 - Oh yeah. Really, really wrong. He's coming, along with a near dead friend on his arms. We lost someone else today, along with your aunt.

"Another one?!" I was paralized, "who's coming?! Which one of us... or them... died this time?!"

 - YOU CAN'T GO THERE SENPAI! It's too dangerous!

Yaoyorozu, the class 1A vice-president suddenly shouted at us, trying to warn, but Oumei knows, as the top and the president of our class, our league's vice leader, and the one with special trainament, she also knows what she is doing:

 - I know, Creativi. But I bear some bad news for someone up there.

 - B-but... then at least, let me go with you!

 - Sorry, dear, but I need you down here, if he's still breathing, you're the one who's the best with first aids.

 - Huh?

But before she could get any explaining, Oumei was already flying to face whoever would recieve the bad news. Yaoyorozu was worried:

 - Puppeteer... who is coming?

 - Uh... I don't k-

At that moment, I was looking around, and I saw something moving in the woods:

 - Wait...

 - Wh-

 - Shh...

I slowly walked near the trees and tried to focus more:

 - Hello? Anyone there?

A long second of silence before I heard a snap close to where I was. At that moment, Auntie's ghost pointed from where she the sound was coming from.

At the pointed place, I saw a silhouete of a man with black suit and blonde messy hair carrying someone on his arms, who was looking really beaten up. I knew who they were:

 - HEY! OVER HERE!

 - Wha- Puppeteer! Are you crazy?!

 - IT'S ME, BUBAIGAWARA, MILLI! MAGNE'S NEPHEW!

 - Ok! He's gone nuts.

I could hear whet they were talking about me, but why in the world Twice isn't with the other... "Oh jeez..." that meant something was REALLY wrong.

I fell down on my knees, that alarmed my other classmates, Elijah Mio (The blind hero: Third Eye) and Nekoshi Hyotora (The night hero: Night Panther). They came to my side quickly:

 - Puppeteer?

Nekoshi started:

 - Why are you... (snif, snif) I smell... blood and... (snif snif) burned flesh... Hyuko!

 - What?! Night, are you sure?

 - I fear so, Inner Eyes.

 - What are we waiting for?

And as quick as the blink of an eye, Nekoshi transformed into a panther and they went after the two. But I was still in shock. Yaoyorozu touched my shoulder:

 - Puppeteer... who's hurt?

 - ... Hyuko... he went after Twice due to some personal reason that I don't know...

 - Milli...

 - I feel like... he made a self-sacrifice for Twice... I can't sense why and-

And shortly after Elijah and Nekoshi left, they came back. Bubaigawara and Hyuko were with them at the back travel. I slowly walked near him and:

 - Where is my Oumei? Where is Himiko?

He was crying, and holding Hyuko like a lifeline. It was clear that he wasn't able to say many words. As I was approaching him, his tears were overflowing even more, I knew why:

 - Thanks for bringing him here, Jin.

 - I-I... I'm... I didn't mean, I-

 - Don't worry, I'll take care of him from now, Okay?

 - That's not what I... I mean, this too, but... your aunt... it was my-

 - About that, have you ever heard of the spirit guides? They sat it's been more frequent supernatural events since the 3rd generation of quirks.

 - What...?

 - Actually, there is something I need to tell you later, now, Hyuko needs help.

 - Uh... okay!

But at the moment we were going to start the first aids, my radio was recieving a message:

 - Hello?! Hello?! Anyone on the line?!

 - Keep going, I REALLY need to answer! Hello?! Ushio?! Is that you? What's wrong?!

 - Puppeteer, did the giant crazy villain showed up?!

 - Yes, the heroes couldn't stop it yet, and-

 -  Listen! If there is ANYONE on their back, you must take them of immediately!

 - Wha-

 - YOU HAVE LESS THAN ONE MINUTE! MOTHER'S ON THE WAY! THINGS WON'T END UP PRETTY IF THERE IS SOMEONE ON HIS BACK! LONG STORY, NO TIME, JUST DO WHAT I ASK!

 - Okay! I'm on it!

As I was looking for a way to get everyone that was up there, Elijah said:

 - 5 people, I'll guide the threads.

I just need to attach one thread to be able to take someone's free will to move, and I can pull them like a ragdoll with a rope attached to their neck. I climbed a tree and deatached the strings from my fingers and threw them on the back of the giant creature:

 - NOW! Did I caught one?

 - The one of the mask! You got the spine right away.

This power that Elijah have does allow him to see silhouettes of people and their clothes, he describes as seing points in the middle of nowhere, since his actual eyes are blinded.

 - Go up and you'll get two more, and... San already got Toga for you!

 - GOT IT!

 - THERE! NOW PUSH! THE MOTHER IS COMING IN 5 SECONDS!

With the last drops of my arm's strenght, I pulled them, and to make sure I'd get everyone together, I tangled the strings in the air, and the moment in middle air, a giant dragon appeared and threw itself on the giant villain with all their strenght. The ground even shook with the impact:

 - MACHIA!!!!!!!

 - WHAT?!

The villains' faces were the best faces of "WTF, WE WERE JUST THERE!", but  I needed to get them down.

Since I didn't have any strenght left, to slow the fall, I hung the stings on a tree and slowly took thre strings off. Twice watched everything, and was really relieved. But when they saw him, the reaction was priceless:

 - TWICE?!

 - But you died! In front of me!

 - This must be a trick! It can't be real!

But Jin himself went to Himiko first  begging for forgiveness. It was clear she didn't know everything, until Oumei said:

 - At what moment I said that I was talking about my dad, Himiko?

Oumei's flashback

I pretty much had a tormented flight, but I got a clear spot to fall:

 - Himiko. Toga. You better explain yourself now!

 - What?! No! I don't have snything to explain to you!

 - Oh yeah?! Guess what?! I have some news to you!

I went close and pulled her by her sweater:

 - HE'S DEAD!! WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE HIM ANYMORE?! IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT HE IS DEAD NOW!!

 - WHAT?! You think I'M the one who killed Jin?! COME ON! IT WAS THAT BIRD'S FAULT!!! HAWKS KILLED YOUR FATHER!!!

At that moment, Milli's threads appeared and were attaching to each one of the villains. Something was wrong, I could feel it. Then I ran and got two strings, to me and Himiko, and suddenly we were flying.

Back to Milli's POV

The scene was devastating, Twice was crying on Himiko's feet, unable to look her in the eye, repeating what Hyuko asked him to tell her:

 - ...and then, Hyuko, he asked me to bring his body back! I couldn't leave him! Not there!

He was already proclaimed dead when we were doing the first aids. But I wasn't crying yet. I was trying to think what should I do.

Suddenly I saw a baby blue light, I knew that baby blue light, Auntie Mag:

 - What are you doing here, Tia?

But then I saw the others, their faces, she was visible to everyone, as she was talking to Hyuko's body:

 - You still has a lot to live, young boy, but still, you did something amazing, not even holding a trace of grudge, but I guess, if it's your end, you need to prepare your sister for it.

The other members of the League were in shock, is not everyday you see a ghost, specially from a friend. When she saw everyone safe, she turned to me and smiled:

 - You did it! YOU DID IT!

She tugged and hugged me, but it wasn't cold, her ghost was wasm as if she was alive, this was scarying me, I felt like she was saying goodbye:

 - T-Tia? W-why do they see you? Why are you so warm?

 - My boy, it doesn't matter, thank you! Thank you for saving them!

 - W- well... that's my job... saving people...

 - Even the villains?

 - THEY ARE STILL PEOPLE! Like the two of us! I'm a boy in a girl's body, and you were a woman in a man's body, but we're still people!

 - Yeah, we are... Milli, could you promise me something?

 - I'm listening...

 - Take care of them for me? They're my family and-

 - No need to say anything more. I will. No matter what will happen, I'll do my best.

 - Heh... you're really like me.

Then she pulled back a bit, and kissed my forehead:

 - Take care, my boy...

And then she started to fade, and somehow I knew, she finally found her peace. But this made me so desperate, I started to cry:

 - T-Tia? I-I don't know if-

 - I know you can, and your friends will help y...

And then she were gone. I was a train wreck at that moment. But then a question, coming from the lizard man, Spinner:

 - Who the hell are you? And why could you talk and understand what that ghost? She was our friend!

I recomposed myself a bit, and with the strongest face I could manage, I answered:

 - I'm Magne's kid.

[caricature-of-a-witch]

MAG 170 YAY

I do not like that clock ticking

Is he. Is he talking to the recorder.

What house? What is happening where is he why doesn’t he know what a tape recorder is. ...this is a Lonely thing isn’t it oh hell

Oh this is scary fuckfuckfuck Martin you’re scaring me can I hug you can Jon hear this is he actually with Jon? Is this a past tape? Jon where are you

Okay at least now he recognises it as a tape recorder but... fuck nothing is even happening and listening to this has me on edge like hell wtf

There’s static! AND he remembers Jon Jon where are you

Please don’t leave me, I can’t do this on my own, please, I’m not enough on my own F U C K

Annnd we’re back to square one. Please someone explain to me what exactly is going on

What’s the thing about his chairs being uncomfortable? There’s a point to this isn’t there

No no Martin darling oh gods I’m going to cry I need to murder everyone who hurt you

“you’re a bad son” I’m literally crying now

of course the only face he remembers would be the face that’s fake

okay can we stop this it makes me want to curl up and cry

ok WHAT are the tape recorders I’m still clinging to they’re somehow Jon somehow are they Jon? They gotta be Jon and I need Jon to show up right lnow Martin’s forgetting his own name and I am scared

Someone thin and grey wandering around crying in the Lonely well great now we have creepy things too and. And this is what Martin will be if he doesn’t get out isn’t it oh shit shit shitshitshit

YES Martin you’re doing great I hope you’re ----- YES JON OH HELL THANK YOU please get out of there please get away please please please

Jon no don’t offer that don’t it’s not good at all I’m glad Martin is smarter than you and also please get out of there now --- oh ok episode over I guess you did

Well this was intense