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billthedrake · 30 days

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MY SON THE PORN STAR (PART FIVE)

I tried not to go wild. I still was married and still had my normal corporate guy life in Kansas City.

But doing porn turned out to be addictive. It was the combination of a deep exhibitionist streak I was discovering in myself and the access to incredibly hot men willing to suck me or get fucked by my big tool. It made me feel like a total stud... less middle-aged, I guess.

And work trips were the perfect cover. I really was doing the road warrior thing for my company, so I wasn't lying to Kate THAT much. But I did sometimes add a night to my travels.

Like the week after Easter. I had a business trip to Denver, but I added an extra evening and squeezed in a quick connector flight to San Francisco on my dime with miles. Muscle Pup Mike, my son's friend and escort/pornstar buddy, set me up with a versatile OnlyFans star there. I shot two scenes with him, actually, one oral, one with me masked as we had a nice, long 50-minute fuck scene. I didn't feel a deep chemistry with Kevin, aka "Jeff Reed," but I felt a deep chemistry with the two cameras that were on us. Besides, sex with a muscular 28-year-old hunk was hard to beat.

Turns out, the next night would beat it. I flew to Denver bright and early in the morning and had my sales meeting all day. I was rolling my business-style carry on into my hotel room right around dinner. I undid my tie and sat down to unlace my shoes before calling Kate to check in.

Yeah, I felt pretty bad knowing I was stepping out behind her back. I'd deal with that guilt later. Either stopping porn cold turkey or making a break or separation with my wife. At this point I wasn't ready to do either.

I wasn't a frequent poster, but managed a video every 2-3 weeks. And I had a growing following of fans willing to pay a modest subscription for just that. Sure, I got some comments complaining that I never took my mask off, but apparently I had the body and blond-furred looks a lot of guys went for. And my cock size helped - a lot. I was careful about not talking on camera, or I just edited those parts out, but I'd learned to be verbal with my grunts, to show appreciation for my sucker/bottom and to let viewers get that thrill. It worked.

I sat, alone in that quiet hotel room, thinking just how wild my double life had become, and I fiddled with my phone again. Chicago was an hour ahead and now would probably be a good time to call. I pulled up Travis's contact and FaceTimed him.

"Hey Dad," my son greeted.

"Hey," I said, leaning back and feeling my boner ride up in the crotch of my trousers. "I didn't catch you at a bad time, I hope?"

"Nah," he said. "Just getting back from the gym." Indeed, he had a workout zip-up on and I could see the familiar kitchen from his condo in the back.

"All sweaty?" I teased.

That got a laugh out of my son. He was surprised how horny I was sometimes, how much I'd leaned into this weird affair we had going on. "Something like that. How'd your shoot go?"

"Real well," I replied. "Kevin is a real professional. Made it easy."

"Just a professional?" Travis asked, with a teasing smile on his cute face.

"Just fucking," I said. "Not a ton of chemistry, I'm afraid, but I think I got some good footage for the next two vids." I'd always sent Travis the digital files via encryption, and he did the editing magic on the material. As amazing as my son was at being on-screen talent, he also had a knack for making great porn behind the camera.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Dad," he said. "But I think you're a natural adult performer."

I smiled. "Is that what the kids call it?" I joked.

That made my son laugh. I loved seeing and hearing his laugh. "OK... you're a natural porn star, Dad.... You know, it's really hot to say that. I get so hard watching you perform, you know."

My throat got dry. Travis knew how to work me up. "Jesus, Trav. You have no idea how much I've watched your videos."

That made my son laugh again, those dimples forming. "I have a pretty good idea, Dad. You've told me before."

"I lied," I teased. "I figured if I told you the real number, you'd get freaked out."

"Turned on is more like it, Dad," Travis said. "Why don't you show me how much you like em. You hard now?"

"Rock hard," I said. I turned the phone down to show off the rod forming a ridge in my trousers.

"Fuck," Travis hissed. "My dad has a real porn star dick. I have a shoot in a couple of hours. I'll definitely be thinking of your cock."

"Who's it with?" I asked. This was the wild phase Trav and I were at now. Father and son, lovers, flirts, and professional colleagues in the adult entertainment business.

"Bud and Spike," he said. I recognized the screen names of two muscle daddies from Dallas, into the more hardcore stuff.

I made a wince of an expression. "Go easy with those guys, buddy," I said. "For real." I felt strangely protective of my son. Which was weird, because in general he was the one looking out for me as I began doing porn more regularly.

Travis smiled. "I will, Dad. Promise. We're planning a more vanilla scene than they normally do." He gave me a wink. "Listen, I gotta go get ready, actually."

"All right, buddy," I said. I wished we had time for some phone sex because just talking to Travis was turning me on big time. "I can't wait to see your scene. And I'll be in Chicago in a couple of weeks. We'll catch up then, OK?"

"You bet, Dad," he said. "Love ya."

"Love ya, too, Big Guy."

We hung up.

I let out a hiss of air. I was horny now. Turns out "Jeff Reed" hadn't drained me. I did have a back up idea. There was some University of Colorado kid who'd been emailing me on the anon account Travis set up for me and linked to my OnlyFans. Call me a narcissist, but I'd been eating up the fan mail, and something about this college dude Bryan won me over. Maybe it was the pics he sent. Cute as fuck, brown haired, boy-next-door looks. And the nude pics that showed a surprisingly built body for a college kid - either a jock or someone who hit the college gym regularly. Smooth body with just a dusting of a treasure trail, creamy white skin, washboard abs, hard cock, amazing bubble ass.

Or maybe it was the request that I hit him up if I was ever in the Denver area.

So far I'd only done pro-amateur porn stars in the OF circuit my son and MusclePup Mike worked in. Some of it was the self-justification that it wasn't fully emotional cheating, just porn I was doing. Some of it was caution. All the arrangements went through Mike and because of my mask, no one knew my identity.

But I was horny now and sent this Bryan kid a message. I didn't expect a reply, but it was worth a shot. I set down my phone and undressed to take a quick shower. It was only 6:30, but it had been a long day.

There was a message waiting for me. "God yes, man," Bryan wrote. "I could be there in about an hour and a half," he wrote. Then almost nervously, there was a follow up. "God, I must seem overly eager. But fuck you're so hot. Let me know what works for you."

"How bout 8:30?" I typed back and gave my hotel name and room number. I wanted to get some food in me.

"Awesome. Yeah. See you soon," came the almost immediate reply.

I had only business casual clothes packed, so I got dressed to grab a bite at a restaurant near my hotel. I got back to my room with about ten minutes to spare. I brushed my teeth and checked my appearance in the mirror. I wasn't crazy about getting older, I had to admit, but I could see the "DILF" look that Travis and Mike were always raving about. Well-preserved was the expression, I suppose.

I was actually a little nervous when I heard the knock. I had no business fooling around with a guy like this. Not making a porn vid but actually having a cheating hook up. The messed up thing is that most guys would consider the videos a worse infraction, but this felt naughtier in a way.

Bryan looked great. Better than great. He was cuter than his pictures, and I think his nerves made him more attractive to me. He forced a smile but was shaking.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I smiled. "Come in, bud."

He was shorter than me, and his size made his collegiate muscle look more compact on his build. Maybe not collegiate wrestler exactly, but definitely that wrestler body type. A little thick, even. MusclePup Mike would have called him a twunk.

"I didn't know what you'd look like," Bryan said softly. His gray eyes were taking me in.

I remembered now he'd never seen me outside of my videos, all masked up. "You came over anyway," I observed.

"Oh yeah," he enthused. "You're my favorite porn star, hands down." He blushed but didn't stop gushing. "You probably know this... I guess most guys don't pay to watch your videos, but I subscribed to your site so I could email you."

"For real?" I laughed.

"Yeah," Bryan replied, that nervous smile growing bigger. "You're not on Twitter or Insta," he explained. His eyes swept up and down my frame. "God, you're even hotter in person. I knew you'd be hot, but... wow."

I was eating up his flattery. "You're not so bad yourself, buddy... bring it in..." I held up my arms to gesture him to come in for a kiss. He did. He was nervous and that turned me on for some reason. But once we started making out, Bryan got real into it, meeting my tongue with his, before practically sucking me into his mouth.

His hands were feeling it up, tentatively at first, then all over. He chuckled as he pulled back so he could feel me up better. I stood there and let his hands roam over my button-down shirt and the gym-toned muscle underneath. At that moment I was VERY glad for the personal trainer Travis set me up with.

"I hope you don't mind my saying," Bryan said, "But it's so wild to be with a porn star."

"Don't mind at all, buddy," I hissed. I was now experiencing the other thrill of doing porn. I knew I was into the exhibitionism of it all, but now I was feeling the hero worshop, the adoration of a young guy like this. I was rock hard.

He gulped as I reached down to undo my khakis, unzipping them and reaching in to haul out my dong. "I guess you really like my cock, then, huh?" I growled.

This wasn't me. At least it wasn't Brad Connors. Married father of three. Road warrior corporate guy. But being MaskedDaddy gave me the sexual confidence and freedom to be someone else.

"Fuck yeah," Bryan gasped as he saw my prick. "That cock's so fucking big..." His eyes were wide, taking in my size before he looked up at me. "OK, if I touch it?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, buddy," I said. "That's why you came over isn't it?"

He nodded, like a chastised kid. Then tentatively he stepped in again and reached forward, like he was afraid of being branded by a hot poker. But once his fingers made contact, the hesitation was gone. The college dude circled his fingers and round me, griping my hardon and gently stroking a couple inches of it to get a feel of the girth and heft. "You don't know how much I've jerked off to your videos," he said. "I wasn't gonna admit to that you, but fuck...." His voice was heavy in his ragged breathing but still had that frat-bro collegiate kind of tone.

"I think we talked about you sucking that dick," I grunted. In our texts, Bryan had offered a blow job, and his presence now was making me really want this. In a surprising way, his realness was making me click with the college kid more than I did with a megahot porn star. Maybe it was the opposite of what Bryan was feeling, where he was living out his porn dream.

"Yeah," he nodded. But he gave me a sheepish shrug. "I, um, don't have a lot of experience."

I patted his cheek. "Give it your best, bud. Please. Daddy's really fucking horny." Yep, this was porn me talking, but it was the magic words for Bryan, who couldn't get down on his knees fast enough.

The young stud actually whimpered as he pulled my dick to his face and began licking it. It was slobbery and impetuous, and his attempt to take me into mouth was more urgent than skilled.

"Easy, buddy..." I urged as he choked a little on my size. "Daddy's got a big cock... take your time."

He nodded and moaned around my prick, flashing those gray eyes up, a little teary. Fuck.

I wouldn't say he got the hang of, but he got a lot more comfortable. Slowly, he sucked me, a few inches at a time, working up the focus to get an extra one back into his throat. The young dude was so excited to blow me, and I was loving this. Slowly I stroked his hair and encouraged him. "That's it, sport... you don't need the training wheels do ya? You go right for the big ones. OH FUCK, that feels nice."

"Yeah?" Bryan asked as he spit out my cock and swallowed the excess spit. I could tell he wanted to make sure he was sucking me right, but more than that he struck me as a young man who craved positive feedback in sex.

"You're doing great, buddy," I said.

There was something about this connection which was night and day different than "Jeff Reed." Bryan was a real guy, a college stud eager for me and not just playing out sex for the camera. And yet...

"You interested in filming this, Bryan? It's SO hot to watch you, buddy."

I could see two reactions in his face at once. A fearful shock at the idea. And an excitement to even consider it. "Oh man," he responded, not giving me a hint which one was the bigger emotion.

I slowly stroked my rod in front of his face, working in his spit over my dong and letting it get steel hard for his gaze. I had toyed with using viagra for my shoots, but even with my size I didn't have an issue getting real hard erections like this. I just loved sex too much.

"If it helps, I packed a spare mask," I offered.

Maybe another dude would have wondered why I had a mask with me, much less more than one mask. But Bryan had been used to seeing me in one, so maybe it just seemed normal to him.

"This is crazy," he said, his fearful look breaking into a smile.

"Is that a yes or a no?" I asked, gently tapping his cheek with my dong.

"Yes," he muttered excitedly before taking ne into his mouth once more.

I let him work me for a few seconds then pulled back. I went to my carryon back and retrieved the masks. I wouldn't need one, I suppose, but I tossed both over Bryan's way while I got my portable tripod, a compact digital camera, and a spare cameraphone, an old Iphone I used for extra handheld footage.

I was worried I was killing the mood setting everything up and fiddling with the lights. But I loved shooting porn, and if anything my dick was harder in anticipation with shooting a different kind of scene. Me with an amateur costar. Even if Bryan wasn't an experienced I just knew this would be a hot video. And if not, I'd enjoy jerking off to it.

Fortunately, Bryan seemed excited too. I could see the excitement in his eyes, even behind the mask. He'd taken his shirt off, maybe to be less identifiable but was on his knees still, hands braced on his thighs. "I can't believe I'm going to be in one of your vids," he said. Yeah, the dude was into this.

I sauntered back, my dick leading the way. "If you're not comfortable with the results, we don't have to post anything," I said, remembering how important that veto power was for my comfort level for my first vid with my son. "Otherwise, I'll take this as your consent."

"Got it," he nodded.

The second his lips touched my prick again, I let out a gasp. He looked up at me, excited, and I took in his green eyes looking up through the mask holes. I pointed the phone camera at him to capture that. I wasn't gonna shoot that angle the whole time, since I preferred to enjoy getting head instead of playing cameraman the whole time. But the snapshots of him looking up would add to the effect.

Bryan's technique wasn't better this time, but his enthusiasm had tripled, at least. I set down the phone and eased my stance back, my posture upright. I was still in my business casual attire as this horny college kid blew me. I urged him to go slower at first with a quick deep grunt.

I heard the guy moan around my meat as something relaxed in his throat and he was able to more steadily take more of my dong into his throat. Working me up and down, I reached behind his head and massaged his scalp through the mask, gently urging him deeper.

"Yes," I choked in response. "Suck me." I'd gotten pretty good at deguising my voice. Using my porn voice. "Suck Daddy."

That did it. Bryan pulled off for a quick breath, then descended all the way down. I'm a big guy, and even some of the OnlyFans studs had a hard time swallowing my sword. But they weren't feeling the crazy sexual thrill this kid was.

He held a second then it was too much, and he pulled off with a sputtering cough. I could see his eyes watering even through the mask holes.

"Sorry," he breathed, as he tried to regain composure.

"It's OK... take your time," I said in my normal voice. Travis would have to edit that out. All for the best. I gave Bryan a second to catch his breath and then I leaned down and met him for a sensual kiss.

"You're doing real good," I said. Then leaning up, I offered my hard dong again. It had gone down a little, but was still pretty heavy. "Ready for more?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah," he said, his gray eyes looking back up at me.

His mouth on me got me rock hard once more. I pulled out some to let the camera catch my full hardon, then pushed back in between his wet lips. Bryan was novice, but that was OK. I was turned on from a change of pace from the OnlyFans dudes. This was a real guy, young and eager. I let him suck and get into sucking.

"Yeah," I grunted, I ran my fingers through his hair again and took the chance to push him down on my meat some more.

Byran was up for the challenge. He grunted around my prick but his throat relaxed and swallowed more of my thickness.

I started cumming. I wanted to ride out the orgasm in his college kid's throat but instead I pulled out and shot a couple of jets onto his mask and his lips before pushing back in just a few inches to let him suckle the remaining dribbles of semen.

I caught my breath a half second then picked up the cameraphone again. I hadn't taken too much handheld footage, so now I got a good view of Bryan slurping on my sated meat, licking up and down and outright worshipping my cock. Thankfully I wasn't too sensitive after nutting, and even if I lost a little of my rigidity, my dick kept a heavy firm meatiness that looked good.

I finally pulled back and turned both cameras off. "You were amazing, buddy," I said with a smile.

Already Bryan was pulling his mask off. I was glad. The guy was real fucking cute. "Dream come true for me," he said.

I could tell he was still horned up and at full sexual arousal from servicing me. "Get on the bed, kiddo," I urged. "Lie back."

He didn't seem to know what was going on but he complied. His body was shaking some as I undid his jeans and yanked them down.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked with some apprehension. Still he raised each leg to let me pull off his jeans. And his boxers showed a thick boner beneath the cotton.

"Your turn to get off," I said, not really answering his question.

Still, Bryan nodded and hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers to slide them down. I let him take them off as I stepped into the bathroom to get lube out of my toiletties bag.

Bryan was now lying back on the bed, fully naked, his creamy white muscle looking even better than I anticipated now that he was stripped nude.

"You an athlete?" I asked as I flipped open the cap on the lube.

Bryan's eyes were nervously only the lube. I think I knew what he was worried about, and a part of me enjoyed playing with his nervousness. I'll give him credit, he put on a brave face as his eyes met mine to answer me. "Yeah. Wrestling.""

My guess had been spot on. "It shows," I said. "You have an amazing body."

"Thanks," he said, watching me get on the bed, me making a show of drizzling some lube on his hardon. His dick twitched, untouched, he was so turned on. "You have more the football build."

"Baseball was my sport," I answered. "And golf. But my trainer has helped me bulk up."

"You're my fantasy," he said softly. "The whole package. None of the guys know I'm into this, though." I could read in his face that he wasn't sure if he should be getting emotionally open like this.

I patted his thigh and set down the lube on the night stand with my other hand. I was fully dress, with my cock sticking out of the fly of my khakis still. I wasn't sure I wanted to get off again, but I knew I could. Bryan was hot as fuck, and I was grooving on his clear attraction to me.

"A shame," I winked, trying to make the conversation sexy again. "Maybe you could have some fun. With you coach, too."

That got a laugh from him. Bryan had a sexy smile. "I've definitely thought of Coach. A lot."

I rubbed his legs some more more, outright caressing them now. His quads were solid as fuck, hard brawn that contrasted with the soft collegiate fur. I copped a feel of his ball sac, lightly haired and ran my fingers up the lubey length of his shaft.

"Lift your legs, bud," I urged, my tone friendly even as my words were commanding.

He got that deer in the headlights look. "I've never done this," Bryan said softly.

I had a good idea what he meant. "You a virgin?" I asked. My eyes doing their best friendly look I could manage as I played with his hard dick and his balls. Not stroking him, more exploring his rigid younger dick. Getting him excited to play more.

"For fucking, yeah..." he replied. "Sorry."

I don't think I realized till then how much I wanted to tap this hot wrestler's ass. Maybe his innocence was fueling some of my desire, too. "Not gonna do anything you're not ready for buddy," I said. "Come on, just lift your legs for Daddy."

Maybe that was the magic word, because Bryan leaned back and raised his legs up.

"You can pull em back," I instructed, taking a good look before leaning forward and crouching down.

"Holy FUCK!" the kid gasped at the first swipe of my tongue. His hair down there was light, and I enjoyed the contrast with hairier guys or even the OnlyFans dudes who shaved smooth. It was a delight to lick up and down the trench and then focus more on his tight pucker.

"Jesus," Bryan gasped. He wasn't naturally verbal, but I could tell his mind was being blown. Surprised, maybe a little ticklish but he definitely loved getting rimmed.

I pulled back. That ring was drum tight all right. It made me realize I'd never eaten out a cherry hole before. My son's certainly wasn't virgin. "Go ahead and stroke off," I urged. I relished the ability to speak in my normal voice now that the cameras were off, even as some of my Masked Daddy persona came out anyway. "I want you to come kiddo."

I watched as he excitedly gripped his boner and start to stroke it. Then I dove back in. Not just rimming but fully eating him out, munching the tightness of his asshole.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," the kid gasped. I knew his orgasm was starting. I held onto the back of his meaty thighs and even pushed back a little to angle him perfectly to got to town with my tongue and my sucking mouth.

"NMNGGH!" came the grunt of his cum. Bryan's whole body was tensing up and I knew he was giving up his load in a big way.

Indeed as I pulled back I saw that beautiful creamy white wrestler muscle sprayed with splotches of his sperm. I began licking it up off his abs and chest, saving it in my mouth before I finally met him in a kiss to share it.

The snowballing caught him by surprise but he was way into it, accepting his own cum then pushing it back into my mouth, our tongues working it back and forth and frothing it up with our own saliva.

He had a big, content smile on his face when finally parted, swallowing what little seed was left on our tongues. "I thought..." he started then stopped himself.

"I know, buddy," I said. I patted his chest gently. "I won't lie... I came THIS close to pushing your boundaries."

He nodded, emotionally raw. I could tell he half wanted me to. But only half. "I know. I don't know how, but I could tell."

His hand reached up and ran along my arm through my button down shirt. "I'll probably be kicking myself for not going all the way. But I wasn't ready," he said.

"It was all great, buddy," I assured him.

"I should go," he said. "I got a long drive back to Boulder."

I pulled back and gave him one last pat as I eyed up his nakedness one more time. Bryan was the real deal. Not a "jock" for pay. I felt a strange emotional connection even with the sexual chemistry. I'd have to process why I was feeling that.

For now, I let him up and I went to piss while he got dressed again. When I stepped back from the bathroom, he was mostly dressed again, and had a dreamy, moody expression.

"Thanks for that... fuck I don't even know your name."

"Will 'Daddy' do?" I asked with a wink.

"Guess it will have to," he said with resignation. "You've made my dream come true."

I stepped up for a final kiss, then I showed him to the hotel room door.

***

I was glad Bryan didn't sleep over. I needed a good rest and I had a busy schedule with my client visit the next day.

It felt like naughty fun messaging Bryan when I got a chance, though. It started off with "had a great time" kind of texts, but Bryan admitted how he wished he'd gone all the way.

"Maybe if you're in town again, I'll have the courage," he admitted.

"I'm in town another night if you manage to get that courage, kiddo."

There was silence on his end. Like an hour and a half before I got another text, and even then it was a half hour before I had a break after my afternoon presentation.

"Sorry," Bryan wrote. "Was in class and my prof goes apeshit if we're on our phones LOL."

I texted. "I worried I'd spooked you."

This time the reply was quicker. "Dude, you don't know how horny I've been all day. You're definitely not spooking me."

I bit my lip and looked around. I probably looked like I was doing business texts on my phone. But fuck I was getting horny too. Somehing about this Bryan kid got under my skin. "Is that a yes?" I wrote. "You gonna give me your cherry?"

I was pushing boundaries now for sure, but Bryan seemed up for it now, more than the previous night. "I wanna. Yeah."

"Daddy wants to get in your hole SO bad, buddy." Then, "I'll go easy on you."

"God yes," came his reply. "I'm hard as fuck now."

God this was gonna happen. One more boundary to push. "Will you let me fuck you on camera?"

There was a pause now. Then, "Masked?"

"As you like," I wrote, almost hoping Bryan wouldn't wear one, even if I knew he would. To coax him, I added, "I'll tell you my first name if you let me film us."

"Deal. LOL."

I looked up. Folks were filing back into the conference room. I hoped my chubbed cock wouldn't show. "I gotta go. But maybe plan for 8:30? I have a work dinner before."

"God yes. I can't believe we're going to do this."

"We're going to do it, Kiddo." I assured him. "I want you so bad."

I got a blushing emoji in return and had to smile. "All right," he wrote. "Talk later."

I went into my meeting and was able to get my mind off Bryan's creamy smooth wrestler build and his cherry hole. Somehow.

I checked my messages after we wrapped up, before heading off to a business dinner. It was close to my hotel thankfully and these things never ran late. I hoped to see a message from Bryan, but there was nothing.

I did google some instructions for preparing to bottom. With the OnlyFans guys and my own son, that routine was down pat, but a newbie like Bryan could use some guidance, and I wanted the ease and comfort of topping a clean hole. I forwarded the site to Bryan.

I held off to one glass of wine during dinner. I wanted a clear head for later. By 7:40 I'd paid the check on my corporate card and bid good night to my client contacts. I had to laugh at myself by how excited I was to get back to my hotel. I did have time to stop at an office supply store and pick up a spare small camera. I figured this scene would be worth the extra vantage point.

Bryan texted when he was on his way. I stripped down from my business clothes and hung them up in the closet. I was rock hard already, and dripping in anticipation. I hadn't felt this excited since my last time with my son. I took a quick shower and put on the plush hotel robe, tying it to cover up my midsection.

I spent the rest of the time setting up the cameras. The lighting wasn't perfect but it was enough.

The knock made me realize I was a little nervous myself. I'd gotten comfortable doing porn, maybe a little too comfortable, but taking Bryan's cherry felt like a certain responsibility. I wanted it to be an incredible experience for him, and I was realizing I was totally green when it came to easing a guy out of his virginity.

Still, the sight of him made my heart beat. He was just so fucking cute and hunky. Particularly was we realized each other was nervous.

"Hey, Daddy," he said stepping in.

"Brad," I said. "You can call me Brad. Or Daddy," I smirked.

Our kiss was soft, surprisingly soft given the act we were about to do.

"You good for his, buddy?" I asked, running my hands along his outer arms.

He nodded. "I'm nervous as hell, but I'll be kicking myself if I don't do it."

"You feel like stripping down?" I asked. "There's a mask for you on the table."

I pulled mine on and then went around made sure all the cameras were on. I was pleased to see Bryan's naked body, that thick muscle lean and compact with just a dusting of hair. God, even with that build he looked every bit the 20 year old he was. Like I say, the real deal.

And I was doubly pleased to see him throwing hard. That thick five spike standing up from his lightly furred crotch, nerves notwithstanding. I watched him pull on his mask. It was a shame the viewers wouldn't see how cute he was but his body rounded out that college jock look for sure.

I pointed the camera at him. "So... we're about to have sex for a video that will be released through OnlyFans. Do you agree for me to share what I film?"

I half expected some questions, but he just nodded. "Yes."

"Good boy," I said with a laugh. That made Bryan chuckle, too, which made me glad. "Why don't you lie on the bed, face down?"

I could sense his nervousness. Maybe he anticipated face to face for his first time. "Don't worry buddy, I'll ease you into this."

He nodded silently and then complied, walking over to the hotel bed, while I filmed him with his natural jock gait. It was hot as fuck, seeing him strut and that ass of his work. Then his full body stretching out face down.

The other cameras would get a good angle - one angled on each side nightstand, the other from behind where I stood, just a little off to the side. I held the camera phone as I stepped closer, letting the camera rove over his strong back and amazing ass, up and down his legs. Maybe more jock-worship footage than we'd use, but Travis could work his magic.

Finally, I stepped back and propped the camera phone off to the side. maybe it would work for another angle. Bryan turned back to look at me, and I got off on how his back muscle flexed with his motion. Stepping up, I ran my hands along his calves, working up the length as I climbed on the bed.

I knew I'd be in good view of the cameras now as I kissed from one side of his hamstrings to the other knotted leg. I took my time working my way up.

Bryan was ready for the rim job now. Hiking his ass up, he parted his legs enough to let me in. My hands gripped his buns and did the rest.

The college kid's sigh was deep and sexual as I began licking. I wanted to put on a show. I loved rimming a guy and sometimes felt there was never enough of it in porn videos. It was always a quick lick before the top was lining up. I went full in now, eating out Bryan for a solid five to ten minutes, alternating speed and tonguework. Sometimes Bryan relaxed and let me do my magic, sometimes he bucked up against my face to maximize the contact.

I pulled back and with a hungry growl gave him a light pat. "Turn over," I urged in my deeper voice. Spittle wetted down the chin of my mask. I really wished he and I could do it without these, but the masks allowed us to fuck on camera, both of us.

I was amazed to see Bryan's prick hard and leaking clear sap everywhere. He was majorly turned on. I pulled up enough to let the cameras get a good view of his ripped, modestly jacked body.

"How many guys have fucked you?" I asked tersely. I sure hoped the "MaskedDaddy" voice was enough fo a disguise.

Bryan didn't change his voice, but his soft response was sexy as hell. "No one yet," he said.

I leaned in and kissed him. Just enough sexual urge, and enough romantic finesse. Bryan responded in turn, sucking my tongue into his mouth and moaning against me. He was nervous, sure, but also getting the case of the major horns.

I loved this, putting on a show and yet connecting one-to-one with this fine young man. I pulled up and muttered, "nice," patting his chest. I rolled off to the side and undid my robe. My hardon bounded out and both Bryan and the camera could see my exposed body with its blond fur. I pulled him to me and we started making out again.

Silently I guided him down and the kid knew what to do. Slowly he began kissing and worshipping my big prick, wetting it down with his tongue before taking me into his mouth. Practice hadn't made perfect, but he was getting much more accustomed to my size and better at blowing me.

I was determined not to get overheated. I just lay back and enjoyed this, the sensation of Bryan's soft, slow blowjob and the view of his nakedness kneeling in front of me in servicing position.

Soon, though, it was feeling too good. I nudged him off. He came up to meet me for a kiss, taking the initiative now, until I regained the upperhand in rolling him back on his back, with me on top. I could feel his hardon against mine and the warmth from his body.

Placing my mouth at his ear, I whispered, "You like being a porn star too, dont ya kiddo?"

"Yeah," he grunted back.

I knew I needed to be a little verbal with him. If the camera picked up my words, Travis could edit them out. "You're just about the hottest guy I've ever fucked, Bry."

His body actually shivered at that. The time seemed ripe. I lifted off and leaned over to pump out some lube.

He let out a hiss of air the second my greased fingers touched his pucker but he didn't flinch. Instead he spread his legs and looked into my eyes. This was gonna be good.

I pushed a digit in. Bryan was real fucking tight. But I worked him slowly. Back and forth, in and out.

"Another," I said curtly.

"God," he hissed as I penetrated him with two fingers. It wasn't bad-uncomfortable for him, but it was certainly unfamiliar to him. We stood still eyes locked, him lying back, me between his legs. Until I started finger fucking him again. I applied more lube and fingered him some more.

Finally I pulled back and removed my robe entirely, slipping it off my body and tossing it aside. Bryan's hands were on me, excited to feel up my DILF body. I let him. Between his attention and the cameras I was getting real excited. I was the one dripping now. I caught a thick thread of precum in my fingers and brought it down to his virgin hole. I fingered him up with that too.

The third finger was slow going, but I got him to relax.

"No rubber?" I have asked and half said.

"No sir," came his excited reply.

I was gonna get blue balls soon if I didn't fuck. I scooted up and pressed my prick head in place. I pressed super slow against his ring, working against the spit-slick tightness and smearing my precum against him.

I could feel Bryan's body shake beneath me, and he looked up, a real deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes beneath the mask. I worried if I waited longer his nerves would get the best of him. I pushed in.

"UNNH!" he whimpered loudly. I felt bad the entry hurt and bad that he was doing his bravest to pretend it didn't.

"Easy, bud..." I hissed, reaching down to run my hands along his hot body. This fine young man was giving me a major gift. My prick jerked an inch or two inside him, feeling the tightness of his ass clamping down on him, as I held still, then gave the shallowest of thrusts, back and forth more than in and out.

I looked at him, trying to communicate silently. Then I leaned in, pushing his legs back with my body. "You're doing good," I said.

We kissed. My cock slipped out of its toe hold but I didn't care. He needed this, and I wanted it. This was about the only time I lost track of the cameras. When I wasn't putting on a show. I connected with this college kid in a deep, soulful kiss. And kissed him som more.

I pulled back. This time I didn't rush, but I didn't delay. I pushed back into him. Bryan somehow trusted me, because his ring gave way more easily. He was virgin tight a few inches inside, but I gently thrust back and forth, working that knot inside him. I pulled out and added more lube. Now showing off for Bryan and the cameras both. Then I placed his ankles on my shoulders.

"OOH FUCK!" Came his cry when I broke through. But he wasn't in pain, just overwhelmed by feelings he didn't have word for. I plowed all the way in and held it. I could see his muscular chest rise and fall, taking deep breaths.

"Got your cherry, kiddo," I hissed.

"Thank you," he actually replied, his voice heavy in emotion. That got me going. My dick felt like stone inside his warm, tight guts.

"Feel good buddy?" My hands massaged his calf muscle as I looked down on him and restrained myself from just plowing his hot ass.

Bryan nodded.

I pulled and out thrust in. Then again. I was fucking for real now. Bryan's first fuck. Maybe more than he bargained for when he came over the previous night. But I knew this was his deep fantasy and why he reached out to me.

I wasn't hard or rough, but I fucked with a steady determination. I wanted to give this kid the best first time experience possible now. I puffed my chest and used more of a swivel action of my hips, in and out, in and out, as my eyes stared down at him. I'd probably read his facial reactions better without the mask, but his eyes and mouth were enough. I was getting to him, hitting that spot.

I paused just a second and reached to pump out more lube. This went onto his prick. He gasped as I slicked him up then got the picture once I pulled my hand away.

I grabbed a pillow and slid it underneath his hips. It made for the perfect angle, and I took quick advantage, resuming my steady plow of Bryan's no-longer virgin hole.

Turns out his masturbation was just what Bryan needed, flipping the switch to full pleasure now.

"Yeah?" I asked. Fucking heavier now.

"Yesss," the college hunk hissed back. He was jerking faster now, not frantically but eagerly and in synch with the fuck.

I saw his pisslit dilate and a clear spurt fly out. Not his ejaculation yet, but the prelude.

"Fuck yes," I grunted, throwing my hips into harder pounding. I was getting close to the finish line, and I wanted to speed up to catch up with this stud.

My harder thrusts felt amazing giving how much his ass was clenching and releasing on my dick spasmodically. But it really made Bryan's prostate sing. His pale skin grew pink and flush and his wrestler muscle tensed up.

"Shit!" he yelled and timed with each shove his nuts gave it up, and his prick spurted heavy ropes of semen over his perfect body.

I went at it even harder, leaning in some, powering my hips in rapid jabs. I didn't say anything but my grunt was unmistakeable as I shoved in and unloaded. My cum threw off my rhythm, but I held deep a second, then my hips jerked involuntarily for another hard shove to discharge my seed deep inside Bryan.

The kid winced at that one, which made me feel bad. I got myself under control and held myself steady, gently massaging his leg and then easing back. He'd been a trooper but now needed a break. I leaned back and showed off my slickened dong, though most viewers eyes would probably be on the cum-covered collegiate muscle of my bottom.

Leaning over I picked up one of the cameras. Time for the money shot.

Even if Bryan wasn't an experienced bottom, he'd watched enough porn to know what I was after. Rather than drop his legs down, he pulled them back, spreading them enough to show me and the camera his fucked and seeded hole. No longer drum tight, it has a slight gape and was thick with my cum. I'd shot a lot.

I got a good shot of it, then angled the camera up to capture his whole ripped and cum-wet body. Nothing would ever top watching my own son in porn, but Bryan was a close second.

I finally set down the phone and pulled off my mask. That was the cue Bryan was waiting for and he eagerly peeled his off.

"You OK, buddy?" I asked. My normal voice returning.

He nodded. "God yeah. I'm so glad we did that."

I gave a sly nod to the camera. "Your first time's preserved as a memento," I said. A little teasing in my voice, but checking in where his head was.

He smiled and god he was so fucking cute with that pearly white smile. "I didn't think I was gonna enjoy it at first," he admitted. "But damn..."

I ran my fingers through the cum that had turned liquidy on his chest. "You shot like gangbusters," I said.

"My cums are pretty big normally," he said. "But your dick did something inside me that made me go wild. I've never felt anything like that."

"I'm glad," I said. I leaned forward for another kiss, this one tantalizingly soft and slow.

Afterward, I let Bryan get up and shower off while I checked my phone. Then I figured I'd join him. The look on his face told me my presence was quite welcome.

"Hey," he grinned, shyly. God, he was star struck and that made me feel like a real stud.

"Hey," I said. Our wet bodies connected and we took the time to soap each other down.

"You married to a man or a woman?" he asked as he nodded to my gold band.

"A woman," I said. "I'm not the best husband."

He gave a nod of acknowledgment. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad you share yourself."

"I have news for you kiddo," I said, turning off the water and running my hands over his wet muscled body. "You've shared yourself now, too."

"Still can't believe it," he said. "When will you post it?"

"In a couple of weeks," I said. I wasn't going to bring up Travis or my process for putting the vid together.

His hands reached up to feel my body too, my chest but also my shoulders and arms.

"I'm hard again," Bryan said. "I can't believe it."

"You're 20," I joked. "It happens."

"Yeah," he laughed.

I patted his arm. "Feel like sleeping over?" I asked. "I have a morning flight to catch but you're welcome to stay."

He nodded, like an eager puppy. We dried off and made our way back into the room. I downed a bottled water to rehydrate and tossed him one. "Remind me to tip housekeeping extra," I said as I pulled down the sheets. "We made a fucking mess."

He slipped into the bed next to me. His body was cooler now, and felt great against my warmer bod. We made out. His dick was a spike and I got hard once more, but I wasn't eager for another fuck. And Bryan seemed to go with the flow.

"So..." I finally said. "No longer a virgin..."

"No sir."

"Any regrets?" I asked, leaning back in the bed against the headboard, pulling my hands behind me. Bryan nestled in, resting his head against my upper chest and running his hands along my fur.

"None. It was hot as fuck," he said. "But even if it hadn't been, I just feel relieved, you know?"

"Not exactly," I smiled knowingly.

"Ha," he said, picking up on my meaning. "I'm surprised your so good at breaking a guy in if you're cherry too."

"I'd like to say I had some secret," I admitted, "But I just did what felt right."

Maybe it was the sex. I mean it was getting late, but not that late. Bryan was dozing some as he rested up against me. I ran my fingers through his hair.

"Ready for bed, kiddo?" I asked.

"Yeah, Brad," he said and rolled off to the side.

***

My son did his magic crafting two separate scenes from the footage with Bryan, as well as a very hot teaser. "Taking College Jock's Cherry" was the title of the second. The on-screen chemistry was real, and it was clear that we weren't faking it. I really did take the young dude's virginity on screen.

"God, Dad, this is fucking incredible," Travis said to me on the phone before he posted the scene. "I've shot three times to it."

I smiled. I was in a semi-public place and had to be a little discrete. "I'm very glad to hear that," I smirked. "A little payback to the one you did the other week."

"Bud and Spike?" he asked.

That one was one was OK, but not my favorite. "No, the other one," I said, cagily.

That got a laugh from Trav. "Oh, MiamiMuscles... dude's a crazy power bottom, right?"

"Yeah," I said, my throat getting hoarse with lust I was trying to hide. "I like watching you in action like that."

Travis picked up on my need to be discreet, though he had no constraints on his end. "You prefer watching me fuck, Dad?"

God, my son knew how to drive me crazy. "I do," I admitted.

I detected a hesitation on his end, which wasn't Travis's normal response to anything. He paused. "Dad... you ever think about, you know, me fucking you?"

Just hearing those words were going make me go from chubbed to boned. "It's a little scary to think about," I replied. "But yeah... I do."

"Oh fuck," Travis hissed. Only then did I realize he'd been dreaming of that very act. Topping me. Taking my anal cherry, like I'd done with that Denver kid. It surprised me actually, given our bedroom chemistry with my son bottoming for me, eager for his dad's cock. "We'll talk about it next time, OK?" he said. Not pressuring me but letting me know this was on his mind.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll probably chicken out, son. But I wanna explore the idea." I was nervous just vocalizing this.

"Sure, Dad," Trav said. "God you know I love everything we'd done together. If I were there right now, I'd suck your cock, you know that." My son was getting into deep lust mode now.

"Fuck, Trav, I should probably go," I said. I knew if I kept talking like this, I'd get in trouble. "Later, son?"

"Yeah, Dad," he replied, his voice rich with lust. I knew he was probably going to jack off when I hung up. I was going to find the time myself at the first chance. Pull up one of Travis's videos where he topped and stroke off imagining him pounding me, too.

****

My Denver videos were popular. I wasn't surprised that my fans responded to the realness of them, but I was surprised by the messages I got. They changed my porn career and it's probably not an overstatement to say they changed my life.

The first one came two weeks after the video with Bryan dropped.

"Dear MaskedDaddy, I loved your latest video. God, it's like my deepest fantasy. I'm 23 and live in DC. I don't have that college jock's bod, but I'm working on it. I've been too scared to let a guy fuck me, but if you want to be my first, I'd love to star in one of your vids. I wouldn't even need a mask."

It was a wild email, and I figured the kid's horniness doing the thinking for him. I pawed my crotch and laughed at how forward the offer was. I started to send a polite thanks but no thanks reply.

But then I thought about it, and I figured what the hell. I asked for the young dude's pictures. He was cute as fuck. Not quite as twunky as Bryan but still good looking, kind of that boy-next-door type.

Travis handled the OnlyFans money my site brought in. I didn't do porn for the money, and in any case I didn't want my finances impacted lest Kate find out.

I sent two more texts that night. One to DC guy. "If you're serious, lets plan for something three weeks from now." I knew I had some work travel on the East Coast I could piggy back on.

My other I sent to Trav. "I need your help arranging a DC visit. Gonna pop another dude's cherry."

#drakestories

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skylarsblue · 11 months

Text

✦Bo Sinclair Fluff Alphabet ✦

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Bo’s a bit superficial, admittedly. It’s not something he can really deny, nor does he try to. He’ll readily admit to a few past flings that were insufferable, but pretty. It’s not hard for him to be lured in by plush curves and some simple sweet talking. Deep down, he’s a lonely man with a hard time finding connection.

I will say he’s a bit of a chubby chaser, for one. It’s not required but he certainly likes his plushness. In general though, though he’s got vanity, he’s not picky. Pretty is pretty, there are many kinds. Be it a nice ass, a doe eyed gaze, or an alluring voice.

What’s harder to understand is what he looks for in personality. Again, he won’t be actively looking for a deep, intimate connection on an emotional level. It sort've just…happens. He’s not sure how and he probably tries to resist it. But this is where it stops being about what he wants and more so what he needs. He needs someone with a lot of patience, some sternness, and the ability to read between lines. He’s not good at expressing how he really feels, sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, so he doesn’t know what he should do about his emotions. That’s where you need to be able to notice and take action for him, even if he bitches about it.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Bit of a 50/50 here. He’s never thought too hard about it, because he didn’t see a need to. He never planned on getting tied down in any form, and he definitely doesn’t see himself as the fathering type. But, while he’s unaware of it, he has a soft spot for kids somewhere in that hardened shell. Bo just doesn’t know it’s there. Be it of his own blood or a bundle of joy left on his doorstep in a woven basket. At first, he’s terrified. He leaves, he isolates, he panics. But it doesn’t take much more than an innocent giggle and a wide eyed gawk to get him softening. Somewhere in his ribs there’s a child aching for the care he and his brothers never got. He can’t get a do over, but he can prevent it from happening again.

He raised his brothers, he loves them beyond words. Being in charge of a baby was basically what he was when Lester was born. Even if it scares him to death, he could be convinced.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Bo will swear up and down he’s no cuddler, and he’s an absolute fucking liar. It’s just hard for him to find a cuddling position that doesn’t feel too restrictive, which is why he thinks he’s not into it. But he’s starved for gentle contact, and he enjoys the rare feeling of safe peace. During the day, you’re only likely to get subtler stuff. Getting to sit across his lap, letting you mess with his hands, hug his arm, etc.

But at night, no matter how far away on the bed he starts, he ends up in your vicinity. One of his favorite positions, aside from classing spooning, is when he gets to lay on top of you. Between your legs with his head on your sternum, listening to your heart. It’s one of the few times he lets himself stop being on edge, to fully relax. Bonus if you run your nails along his back and shoulders. Hum a lullaby if you feel like it. Best sleep he’ll ever get.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

He doesn’t really take you on dates. Not that he doesn’t like them or anything, he just doesn’t often have the time or energy to take you places. Especially if it’s early on. He’s got trust issues, for the first few years he’s worried you’ll run. But that doesn’t mean it never happens, unlike the case with most slashers, he has the means, money, and the lack of a wanted poster on a bulletin somewhere.

He probably won’t go for anything fancy, it’s not his style and it makes him uncomfortable. He’s a vain humble man, an oxymoron. The town outside of Ambrose has its local diner, its little shops, a bar. These are the typical places he’ll take you. If it’s an anniversary and you show you want something more conventionally romantic, he’ll take you to Baton Rouge or a picnic, depends on your preference.

E = Everything (You are my___ (e.g. my life, my world)

“My do-over.”

It sounds insulting at first, but that’s not how he means it. Bo has been in a routine his entire life, and every stage, every routine, has always been with big negatives. As a child; he’d act out because of the treatment his parents gave, they’d “discipline” him, he’d do it over again. As a teen; he’d get into trouble, weasel his way out of it, do it over again.

But what he’s never gotten is an actual restart on life. He’s never gotten to, in his soul, start over. He’s always been carrying all his bad decisions and pain with him. So, when you show up, and give him a break in the pattern, it gives him the ability to get a do-over. Nothing will change on the outside, not immediately anyway. However, on the inside, he feels different. You make him feel like a different man even if his behavior hasn’t changed.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

It’s hard to say. He knows his attraction to you is deeper than normal, but the concept of love scares him. It’s a bit too new, a bit too vulnerable. Still, he can’t help but enjoy it. It’s slow to set in, slow to be put in place. He’ll rarely, rarely, say it, and when it finally hits him that his feelings for you aren’t going away, it scares him away. But he comes back. It’ll at least take two years to properly be set, but you’ll see the signs near the end of year one. If you’re observant, that is.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Bo is all sharp metal and stinging cuts. He’s never been treated gently and his hands show it, both in scars and in his grip. It’s not that he really means to be rough with you, not in a way that’s unenjoyable anyway. You’re obviously a very different situation than anyone else, so while he knows how much pressure to apply to your throat, or the crease of where your thigh meets your hip, his gentleness is unpracticed. It’s shaky and uncertain. His gentleness comes from inside, allowing you to see him more as himself than the mask he puts on for strangers, or the hardass he pretends to be for the sake of his emotional safety.

It’s in long glances with admiration behind the pupils. In the slope of his shoulders as they come at ease beside you. The hand he rests possessively on your lower back when you’re in the kitchen. It’s in the moments you catch him at his weakest and he doesn’t run away, but to you instead.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Bo’s not much of the hand holding type. He prefers his hand in your back pocket, around your waist, or you hugging his arm. Still though, every now and then it’s that little bit of contact he needs, without being too much. Usually when driving. He’ll lock your fingers together, feel the skin of your palm press against his. Especially if your hands run cold, he’ll always make a comment about it, blow hot air on the back of it in order to warm your hand up.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

The same as everyone else, really. Likely finding you attractive, another pretty face he’ll have to shoot at. His opinion only changes when he sees how you behave, how the others around you treat you, how you treat him as a stranger. It’ll start to shift. He’s met nice people before, even let a few go because of their situation. Like a single mother looking for gas or a young teen boy on the run from his parents.

He could justify why he’d let you live, what he doesn’t understand is why he can’t let you go either. Not just because you could tell the cops. But something deeper in him aches at the thought, that long loneliness that he’s been denying for so long.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

He absolutely is a jealous man. As confident as he can be, he hates gawking eyes running over you. He’s possessive, and while you’re not an object, he does feel like he owns you in a certain way. You can have your free will, but he’s stamped his name on your heart, and he intends to put his initials everywhere he can reach. He won’t show it all the time, it’ll start subtly. Cracking his jaw, a glare, a little less southern kindness in his act.

God forbid someone come onto you though. It’s not jealousy then, he’s enraged at the audacity. He’s a murderer, one with little to no morals and a severe lack of empathy. But he draws the line at you. Doesn’t matter if he’d a hypocrite, if he had behaved in a similar flirtatious way with taken individuals before you. With you, no one gets any leeway.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

50/50 based on time, but most likely him. If your timeline includes heavy resistance on your part, he’ll initiate it. It won’t be sweet, it’ll be a move for power, even if he’s gentle. If your timeline includes you being more willing, and open, then it’ll likely be you. This way, you can make it sweet. Convey the kindness you have to him again in unspoken words, allow him to melt against you for once. It’ll be the only kiss he actually remembers.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Definitely you, and he won’t believe you at first. No matter when you first say it, or how, he’s taken aback. He thinks you’re exaggerating or you’re outright lying. Aside from brotherly love, no one has ever loved him. Not earnestly, not honestly. They may love what he can do, what he can provide, his face. But he knows at the core of his soul, he’s rotten and covered in razor wire. He understands no one wants to hold something that hurts them. But yet here you are, cradling his heart covered in razor blades, letting your blood fall down the arms he leaves kisses on in the dark, when he thinks you’re asleep.

He’ll say it back after you’ve shown him you mean it. You haven’t walked away, you haven’t hated him, you haven’t dumbed him down to the untalented version of his twin. You’ve stayed, and you’ve cared. He says it softly, almost uncertain if the words can leave his throat. But he means it.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Coming home to you after a long day and seeing you seem like you’re enjoying yourself. Like you’ve settled into the home, like you’re no longer a prisoner and instead a member of the family. Lester & Vincent were in the same room, chatting, though Vincent silently, and laughing with you. At ease around you like he was, you at ease with them in return. With a warm meal on the stove and a pleasantness in the air. He can see you at your brightest. He swears that day you made the world slow when you looked at him, smiling, beckoning him in on the conversation.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Usually he does so on dates. Though dates are sparse, you never come home without him spending at least 200$, half of which went to you specifically. Does he bring you a gift home every day? No. But he knows when you deserve a spoiling, and he follows through consistently. He also struggles saying no to things you want, within reason. Suddenly, 200$ seems like a small price in comparison to your joy. Don’t think you get away without a little comment though.

“You’re a real spoiled brat, ya know that? Better thank me, at least”

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Bo’s not one for caring about colors. He knows his favorites are black and denim blue, but that’s about it. Still, the colors that seem to invoke emotion in him, that bring you up in his mind? The colors of the sunset. Pinks blending into purples, and eventually a deep blue. It brings him a sense of peace, and it reminds him that it's the end of the day, so he can come home to you. Listen to you rattle off about something, or sit in silence with the aura you bring into the room. Especially when the dipping sun hits your face just right. Every time it happens, it makes his breath catch in his lungs. And every time he wonders how someone so awful as him got someone so celestial as you.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

He’s a Southern man, he’s got a surplus to pull from. A classic “sweetheart”, “hun”, and “baby” are frequent. Sometimes he throws in a “sweet thing”, or thang, if we include the accent. Darling missing the ‘G’ and sugar make an appearance now and then. But he’s also likely to give you at least one fond nickname based on something you two have discussed.

“Anyone ever tell ya you look like a lil rabbit? Cute lil’ bunny, eh? Oh don’t get shy on me now, you had all that talk a second ago!”

As for ones he enjoys, he prefers them simple, nothing that’s over the top. “Love” & “babe” work best most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for being called “sugar”. One that he pretends to hate but he adores? “Lover boy.” Call him that, trust me.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Bo isn’t really for new things anyway, aside from maybe TVs. Even his cars he prefers are old. He’s a pretty firm believer in the “quality back then was better” idea. Still, his heart always goes back to old cars, trucks specifically. He’s a simple man, he wants a simple truck that’ll do its job and last him years. He’ll never understand the hype behind sleek sports cars and shiny leather interiors.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Rain doesn’t do much for him. Unless it’s a heavy storm, he’s gonna do what he needs to do, albeit in a slightly calmer mood. He finds rain calming, even if he’s not super fond of the mess of mud Jonesy tracks in the house. Storms however, especially heavy ones, worry him. It's not that he’s afraid of lightning, and they’re far enough from the water to not have much worry of any flooding. It’s because Lester hates thunder. On these days, he tries to make an excuse to go see his baby brother. When you catch on, don’t comment, but encourage. Lester always appreciates it and it helps you see Bo’s softer side to being a big brother.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Bo’s self destructive, we know this. He doesn’t cope well and he doesn’t like people giving him advice on how to handle his emotions, even if he needs it desperately. On a rough day, he smokes more, he might crack open a beer, but worst of all? He hides, metaphorically. He gets loud, he snaps, he hurts the feelings of people around him because he’s upset. And apologizing isn’t his forte. The longer he’s with you, the calmer he gets, and the more likely he is to direct his anger out, but not at you and his brothers. Coax him into a rant, while he goes on about his gripes, do small things to make him comfortable. Slip a drink in his hand, sneakily place an ice pack on his sore bruises, gently play with the hair near the nape of his neck.

By the end of it all, he’ll be tuckered out. Ready for a little couch nap and maybe some lovin’, if you’re alright with him laying on your lap, that is.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Bo’s actually the quiet type. Unless he’s angry, he doesn’t say much unprompted. He can carry a conversation though, and he has his subjects that he’ll gush about, you just have to bring it out of him. Aside from rants on cars and some random history facts from his phase as a teenager, he likes to talk about what you bring up. If you’re the talkative type, he enjoys the long conversations with all the topics you seem to pull from thin air. Lighthearted debates and such. But if you’re also the quiet type, he’s more than happy with silent company. He doesn’t need words to be entertained.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

His hobby of fixing up cars, a cigarette, the occasional beer at dinner time. Laying on you at bed time seems to work really well, he goes as limp as a corpse, almost like his limbs are weighted by how relaxed he gets. Petting Jonesy helps, but he only does that if no one’s looking. He had other things that worked, up until someone ruined it for him.

Piano, poetry, and photography were all things he used when he was younger to ease himself. Each time though, criticism and comparison to Vincent killed his passion for it. He could pick these things up again though, should he have someone the encourage him

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He’s cocky, let’s be honest. He likes to show off his looks, since it's one of the few things he’s always had over his brothers, according to others. He doesn’t flaunt things like his truck or the rings he wears, although he takes pride in his appearance. Best bet he’s proud of having you beside him though. He brags a lot. To the point that the people at the bar he visits are sick of you before they even meet you.

“I dunno why the bartender don’t like ya, hun. Just don’t worry bout it, she just don’t know you like I do.”

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He takes you out to a picnic on the back of his truck, sent a rare prayer to the lord that the weather will match his plan. You’ll probably notice how stiff he is, the tenseness in his muscles is impressive. He’ll drive you two out to a little pasture out of Ambrose, a patch of land surrounded by trees, likely near a large pond or lake. He made sure to do it in Spring, having convinced himself that doing it on the same day he got that first dream would give him better luck.

He sits with you and slowly relaxes as you coax him out of his shell once more. Like you did all those years ago. Showing what all that barbed wire around his insides is hiding. He’ll get to reminiscing, ensure to make you laugh. When he stops talking, it worries you. He’s just as worried. He had a speech rehearsed, he forgets it all the second his fingers touch the velvet box in his pocket. Still, Bo will manage to stutter out some paraphrased lines, keeping his gaze down. His confidence is gone, and he feels like he’s five again, begging for the approval he feels he doesn’t deserve.

But then you say yes, you say it with enthusiasm and raw emotion. Suddenly the world has air again and he can bring himself to smile, allowing you a glimpse at his soul when he gets the ring on your hand. The ceremony won’t be anything but a church service in the next town over, in his tux, you in whatever you chose. Only his brothers and Jonesy will be there, but it doesn’t matter to him. As sappy as he feels, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Middle Finger - Bohnes Cowboy Casanova - Carrie Underwood Wrecking Ball - Mother Mother

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Bo has never seen himself as the type to get married. He’s never considered it really, not until you come along. For a long time, he still doesn’t think about it, until a dream hits him out of nowhere in the Spring and it tips the first domino. Whether his brain put you in a tux or white lace, it doesn’t matter, his heart palpitates all the same. It scares him. So, while the thought is now there, it still takes years for him to actually consider doing it. When he sucks it up and buys a ring, it takes him another five months to actually plan and go through with it.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

He’s not much of an animal person. Jonesy was found by Lester, and Vincent was the one that convinced Bo to let her stay. He still swears he doesn’t like the dog, but he’s brutally beaten a man to death with his bare hands for kicking her. Simply put, if he had to pick, he’d be a dog person. Pitbulls specifically.

#slasher community #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher fucker #bo sinclair #slasher #house of wax #fluff alphabet #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x gender neutral reader #bo sinclair x you #house of wax 2005

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egophiliac · 1 year

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Hello!! I'm in love with your artstyle (especially the way you did the signature spells??? I've been looking at them for a while adsgfdfsf, they look like movie posters tbh and that's fricking cool to me. anyway!! I'm a player on the NA server (btw, I've already seen spoilers of chap 7 due to tumblr/reddit/pinterest, so yeah it's not the most spoiled I've ever been so yea) and yeah. I'm getting through the story okay but do you have any advice for people trying to get through certain events with a more limited life schedule??? Also, what are some of the differences that you notice between the english (if you see a lot of it??) and Japanese versions of the game? sorry if this was a longer ask, i tried to be simple but i wanted to tell you that I loved your art and everything just spiraled AAAAAAH

thank you! ❤️❤️❤️ I've been surprised by how many people really like my posters -- it's kind of a weird style to do fanart in, I guess, but I'm glad other people think it's cool too! :D

(gonna answer out of order because the event stuff turned into a huge block of text, sorry!)

I've seen a few of the localizations, but I don't know a lot about the Eng version, so I can't speak too much about differences. (I do think "housewarden" has a better sound to it than "dorm leader" though...they need a fancy little word to match their fancy little outfits.) I did look up the unique magic/signature spells to see if they were able to somehow work in the glossing -- I'm not even sure how you would localize that without it being super weird, so I don't blame them, but I was a little sad anyway! :( in Japanese, they're all written as Japanese phrases with the English as ruby text, and sometimes they're given a little extra meaning. like -- this is where the episode 7 spoilers I'm tagging are) the words that Mal says are "Fae of Maleficence":

but the meaning of the Japanese is "Blessing", which is a nice little "ooooh" moment given the context of it!

there isn't always an extra meaning, sometimes it's just. super literal. but my other favorite is Jack's, where what he means is "✨howl that pierces the moonlit night✨", but what he actually yells is "UNLEASH BEAST" before turning into a giant dog. what a good boy.

as for event advice (under the cut, because this was already getting long)...

speaking as someone who is 100% F2P and therefore also tends to get kind of burnt by some of these events -- the #1 most important thing is to just...make peace with not getting everyone. :') I am a collector-type person, so it definitely gets grating when I can't have all the fancy PNGs my little packrat heart desires. generally though: never do random pulls, always be saving your keys and gems between events. (once a month you can buy a 10-set from Sam for a 50 gem discount, and logging in on a character's birthday will give you a 10-set for free, so make sure to do those!). when the event info starts coming out, pick one or two cards that you really want and work specifically towards those, focusing on grinding out the items and/or using your saved-up pulls on their specific banner. and in the end, accept that it might just not be meant to be, even if you hit the 100-pull pity SSR no I'm not still bitter over fairy gala Ortho why do you ask. if the event doesn't have any cards that you really want, take it as an opportunity to save for the next one!

hoard your star fragments (the things that restore AP) -- if you're going for a card that requires grinding event items to permanently unlock, and the item is one you get from lessons, you can use star fragments to bump your AP up to 30 at a time (10 is the limit that will restore over time, but 30 is the max you can have at once). that makes for a looong lesson loop, but I usually get about 50-60 items per 30 lessons, and I just let it run in the background while doing other stuff. (usually these items are what also unlock the event story, so I'll do a huge amount of lessons first thing and then have enough to get the whole story at once. 👍) it can get really grindy, but events go on for a while so it's not usually that bad if you space it out a bit, instead of waiting until the last minute to try and get those last 600 items (cough) (cough).

if it's one of the ones where you get the item from doing a rhythmic, you get the same amount of items no matter how well you do, even if you miss every note. so you can just...tap occasionally to restart it and get the same effect. if it's a battle one, you do have to actually win to get the item, but once you figure out the sweet spot of a team setup + highest battle level where you win every time, it becomes basically the same deal.

so...yeah, tl;dr you can get away with a lot just by setting things up to run in the background and paying just enough attention to tap through some of the menus. it does require a certain amount of time to just leave your phone while still sorta-kinda paying attention to it, so it might not work for everyone, but that's the best way I've found to get through most events!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #i feel like i just emerged from juice hell from getting my sunset lilia #and yet here i am diving right into tuna hell for my grim #it's okay i wasn't using these ap on anything else anyway #i have gotten SUPER lucky on some of these events #like i think the only halloween card i'm missing is ace #which is nuts considering how many of those are ssrs #but then i didn't manage to get a single one of the birthday diasomnias past the first year :(#we're not going to talk about the dorm dias. we just aren't.#the gacha giveth and it taketh away

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speedyposts · 3 months

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Q&A: Indonesia’s Prabowo Subianto ‘confident’ of election victory

Jakarta, Indonesia – On February 14, more than 204 million Indonesians will have the chance to vote for their new president.

Incumbent Joko Widodo is in his second and final term, and is constitutionally barred from seeking re-election.

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Voters have a choice between three presidential candidates – Anies Baswedan, the former Governor of Jakarta, Ganjar Pranowo, the former Governor of Central Java, and Defence Minister Prabowo Subianto.

Multiple polls indicate Prabowo has a comfortable lead over his competitors.

Prabowo has tried twice to become Indonesia’s president – and lost both times to Widodo.

Since 2019, he has served as defence minister in Widodo’s cabinet.

His running mate is 36-year-old Gibran Raka Bumingraka, the president’s eldest son.

But victory is still not a certainty. If no candidate can secure at least 50 percent of the vote, a second round of voting will be held in June.

While Prabowo is the most popular candidate, he is also polarising. Decades-old allegations of human rights abuses during his time in the military have been raised by rivals and rights organisations.

On the final day of campaigning on Saturday, Prabowo held a rally in the Gelora Bung Karno Stadium in Jakarta, where he addressed thousands of supporters.

Backstage, the 72-year-old met with Al Jazeera Asia Correspondent Jessica Washington for an exclusive interview, sharing his thoughts on why young voters have been drawn to his campaign and how he plans to win over critics.

Al Jazeera: It’s the last day of campaigning. Are you feeling confident that you can win this election in one round?

Prabowo Subianto: All the figures show that way…the grassroots enthusiasm. All the figures show that we will go in one round.

Al Jazeera: The enthusiasm of young people has been a key part of the campaign. What is your message to your young supporters?

Prabowo Subianto: The young today, they are more rational, they are more critical, they are smarter, they sense what is genuine and what is not genuine.

I think they are very concerned about their future, so those that have a good program and good strategy, those that have good commitments, they are the ones that the young can identify with they can support.

Al Jazeera: Is there something specific about your campaign that appeals to young people? Because your opponents might say it’s because of the Tiktok dances, the cartoon posters. Is there a specific policy that appeals to young people?

Prabowo Subianto: My policies are very rational, logical, with a common-sense approach that is actually building on all the work of our predecessors.

Nation-building is not a two year thing, a five-year thing. It’s a period of one generation or two generations.

We have to make use and build on everything that has been built by our predecessors. That’s why people of all strata the majority of them get my message and support us. They realise to build something, you must do it based on strong foundation and then build upon success. Brick by brick, stone by stone.

Al Jazeera: You obviously have very many supporters but there are also some strong critics. If you win this election, you will be their president too. How will you navigate this?

Prabowo Subianto: I will work for the good of Indonesia. Not for a certain segment.

I proved this, when the last election, I lost badly in East Nusa Tenggara (NTT) province. But when I became Minister of Defence, I built one of the biggest and best polytechnics there. In the province where I lost.

Do you understand? I don’t believe in thinking short-term, thinking small. I like to think big and long-term.

Al Jazeera: Thinking big picture, how do you perceive Indonesia’s role on the global stage, if you do become president?

Prabowo Subianto: The good luck we inherited from our founding fathers is the philosophy of non-alignment.

Indonesia respects all countries, respects all great powers.

We want to have great relationships with everybody. We don’t want to be joining one bloc against another bloc. Our position is quite unique. We are friends with everybody. In any conflict or competition, we are the ones who can be accepted by all sides.

Al Jazeera: What does Gibran bring to this partnership, in terms of skills and experience?

Prabowo Subianto: More than 50 percent of our voters are below the age of 50. The young, are dynamic, savvy, and they are critical.

If you notice, the fact there is a vice-president under the age of 40, that’s is normal in many countries in the west. In Indonesia it has become some sort of issue, not because he is under 40 but because he is the son of President Joko Widodo, that makes some circles feel bad. But that’s politics. You cannot please everyone all the time.

Al Jazeera: What will Indonesia look like under your presidency?

Prabowo Subianto: I hope Indonesia will be dynamic, economically better-off. But most importantly, I want to alleviate poverty. I want to get rid of hunger. I want to get rid of stunting for Indonesian children. The figures are not so good, at least 25 percent of children are stunted, in the outlying areas. But even in West Java, there are children who do not eat well.

Al Jazeera: It’s one thing to say they will support you in polls, and to show up at campaign events. It’s a different matter when it comes to actually showing up on February 14 and voting. Do you have any concern about the reliability of your supporters?

Prabowo Subianto: From the fervour of my supporters, I think they feel that our team the real hope for them. I am confident they will turn up, they feel they need leaders who can understand their needs, who want to fight for them.

I would tell them, use your power, once every five years you have the power in your hands to choose leaders who will fight for you. If you vote for me, I will defend you and fight for you.

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thenerdycarat · 2 years

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Ch. 1: Trust No One

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Warnings: mentions of loss, death, and gunfire

2014

Memories both sad and wonderful rushed back to him in that Smithsonian exhibit. He was a part of history and a symbol of hope to many, according to what the museum narration said. If only they knew it wasn’t all heroic at times. Despite the many victories, he could never get past the loss of his best friend on the mountain. Even seeing Peggy’s face on a few displays pierced his heart a bit.

“They make war seem glamorous,” a woman’s silvery voice scoffed next to him.

When Steve looked towards the source, a young woman with long, chocolate brown hair dyed bright red at the ends stood next to him. She was a fairly tall woman around five foot nine, and her skin was as fair as porcelain. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green as if they were made of emeralds, and a few of her features reminded him of Peggy. Her outfit was styled both in comfort and chic. What stuck out to him were her deep red lips, so perfect and blossom-like. Just seeing her there made him smile from ear to ear.

“By the tone of your voice,” Steve chuckled a little, “you don’t seem too pleased with the exhibit.”

“The exhibit’s great,” she defends herself, “it just seems like it’s putting the concept of war into some fairytale.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Because you were there?” she lowered her voice.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he smiles and gently pecks her cheek.

Elsie Walker. Twenty-two years old, S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in training, a college graduate with a Bachelor’s in Mass Communications, and the kindest heart Steve had ever known, she had captured his heart in so many ways after meeting her at NYU where he had spoken at an assembly. He was lost and needed directions to the auditorium since things had changed within the last seventy years, and she happened to be hanging posters for a theater production coming up. Something about the graduating senior just fascinated him, and after their first date to a ‘50s-themed diner, the two were practically inseparable when he wasn’t on hero duty. However, the two had to keep the relationship secret, even from the other Avengers. There was a reason why Steve had turned down offers to go on blind dates Nat tried setting up, but she took it as him not being interested or too busy with his job.

“Sweetheart, we’re in public,” she pushes him off of her playfully as her cheeks blushed a bright pink.

“A kiss to the cheek isn’t PDA,” he argues with a laugh.

“Fair point,” Elsie giggles before noticing a short film playing and hears Peggy’s voice.

She had known Steve had loved her, but she wasn’t jealous. Not because Peggy was now old in age, but rather she understood how much she had meant to him and to S.H.I.E.L.D. If given the chance, she’d shake hands with her and thank her for being an inspiration to change the world.

“Come here,” she pulls Steve by the hand and leads him towards the movie.

The couple sits down and listens to all Peggy had to say back in the early 50s. It was adamant she missed him, but she praised him for his bravery and mentioned how Steve was still changing her life.

Steve then pulls out the compass he carried with him and opens it, Peggy’s old picture still tucked inside.

Elsie noticed the picture and smiled softly. “She was beautiful,” she whispered.

“I’ve been meaning to replace it,” he says, shutting the item again. He wasn’t expecting his girlfriend to react so positively.

She shakes her head. “No. Don’t.”

When the short film ends, the two leave the museum on his motorcycle and head back to their apartment. Steve’s head was still swimming with thoughts of his past love from the movie they watched. In his heart, Elsie was the girl he wanted to be with now he was given a second chance, but he still had a place there for Peggy. He just needed to see her again.

“Hey, do you mind if I go see her?” Steve asks after Elsie gets off the bike. “Peggy?”

Elsie softly smiles and nods. “Go,” she says. “Tell her hello for me.”

“I won’t be long,” he presses a loving kiss to her lips before speeding off again.

She then heads into the apartment building and heads up the stairs. The two had moved to D.C. together after she graduated about four months prior, so they both had their own set of keys by now. There wasn’t too much going on as far as decor went, but they still made the space their own. There was a large flatscreen for them to watch their favorite shows, some nature paintings hanging around the walls, and sitting on a small shelf by the recliner was a record player Elsie gifted Steve for Christmas. While they didn’t have that much time to add more, it was home.

However, there was a little problem as far as neighbors went: Sharon. Everyone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew Elsie was living with her boyfriend, but she never gave his identity. Not even Sharon knew Elsie was neighbors with her as she avoided being seen by her. To Sharon, Steve was the only one who lived in the apartment down the hall. Sharon wasn’t a mean person at all. She and Elsie actually knew each other from S.H.I.E.L.D, but they were more acquaintances at work rather than friends. Elsie knew the blonde woman was trying to flirt with Steve whenever she could, however, Steve never caught on to what she was trying to do. And for whatever reason, Steve knew her as “Kate”, but Elsie figured maybe she was trying to keep her identity secret as most veteran agents did when undercover. Steve once asked why Elsie avoided being seen by their neighbor, and her answer was always, “You never know who could be an agent.”

Thankfully, Sharon wasn’t home, so Elsie could peacefully head inside the apartment. She turns on the record player for some music to relax while she does some work on her laptop while she waits for Steve to come home.

Normally, she wouldn’t turn on music without putting her headphones on first (as to avoid Sharon) or if she and Steve had a night where they would just dance together (Elsie taught him how), but she figured since she was home alone for a little while, why not? They had a healthy record collection of all kinds of music of varying genres from different decades, including the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing. After watching the movie one time, Steve insisted on learning every dance from the film.

A few hours later, she comes to a stopping point and goes to change into some more comfortable clothing. When she comes back into the kitchen, she can hear voices outside. Steve was home, but of course, Sharon was out there, too.

“Oh, I think you left your stereo on,” Sharon is heard saying, followed by the sound of a door closing.

“Damn it,” Elsie whispers under her breath.

…

Rather than opening the door, Steve sneaked into the apartment through the window and grabbed his shield. He knew Elsie was home and liked to turn on the record player for some music, but not whenever Kate was home.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Elsie smiles when she sees him in the small hallway, causing him to jump a little. “Why are you coming in through the window?”

“Hi, angel,” he greets her before kissing her cheek. “Why is the record player on?”

“I needed background noise for some work. Was Kate home already? I heard voices outside the door.”

Steve nods and relaxes, but when they were about to round the corner to the living room, neither of them was expecting to see Nick Fury sitting in a relaxed position in the recliner, causing Elsie to jump a little.

“I had no idea he was here,” she says.

“I didn’t want to disturb you while you were working,” Fury says before looking over at Steve, “in the captain’s home.”

“Fury, I can explain.”

“That’s a matter for you to speak with your uncle about, Miss Walker.”

Steve kept his guard up. He wasn’t sure why Fury would just show up unannounced, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” he says, clutching his shield.

“You really think I’d need one?” Fury says, sitting up with a pained grunt. “My wife kicked me out.” He pulls out his phone and begins to type something.

Wife? Fury? Everyone knew he was single, so something was definitely up.

“Didn’t know you were married,” Elsie replied, being quick on her feet to use her training. Seeing how Steve was standing, she quickly moved behind him.

“A lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“I know, Nick,” Steve sighs and turns on the lights as the couple walk into the living room. “That’s the problem.”

Fury gives him a look and hand gesture that tells him not to turn any lights on. This left the two confused, but it confirmed Elsie’s suspicions that something was up.

He then shows them what he had typed: EARS EVERYWHERE

Yep, they were in trouble.

“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Fury breaks the silence, “but I had no place to crash.”

“Who else knows?” Steve asks.

Fury types something else and shows them: SHIELD COMPROMISED

“Who else knows about your wife?” Steve asks, his tone more serious now.

Another message: YOU AND ME

“Just my friends,” Fury answered as he stood slowly.

“Is that what we are?” Steve spat.

“That’s up to you.”

Loud gunshots broke the tense silence, Steve grabbed Elsie and used his shield to help them dodge the bullets puncturing the windows. Fury cried out in pain as he was injured by them. Finding her pistol inside one of the large fake books on the shelf, Elsie rolls Fury over and points it towards where the bullets came through in case more were fired. The couple then dragged an unconscious Fury into the kitchen so he was away from the windows.

Before they could investigate, Fury grabs Steve’s arm, coughing and struggling to breathe as he did so. He handed him what appeared to be a giant thumb drive.

“Don’t…trust…anyone,” he wheezed as he slips into unconsciousness.

Three bangs on the door rang out before it was broken open.

“Captain Rogers?” a woman’s voice called out.

“Stay with Fury,” he tells Elsie before going to peek through the shelf that separated the kitchen from the living room.

Kate was tiptoeing through the apartment still dressed in her pink nursing scrubs and wielding a pistol as Elsie had.

“Captain Rogers, I’m Agent 13 of S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Service,” Kate reveals to him, keeping her gun at the ready.

“Kate?” He was confused.

“I’m assigned to protect you.”

“On whose order?” Steve asks her.

“His,” Sharon says, looking straight at an unconscious Fury. She immediately drops to her knees and checks his pulse before pulling out a radio. “Foxtrot is down, he’s unresponsive. I need EMTs.”

“Do we have a 20 on the shooter?” an agent on the radio responds as Steve prepares for battle.

“Tell them I’m in pursuit,” he says before jumping out of the window to chase the mysterious assailant.

Elsie watched him go, the worry she felt each time he left for a mission creeping up on her while she looked at him with admiration. She was proud of him, regardless, and she hoped maybe one day she’d get to fight alongside him.

Sharon looked towards her, and her eyes grew wide in shock at the site of a trainee in the home of Captain Rogers.

“May I ask what you’re doing here, Agent Walker?” she asks with an arched brow once Fury is stabilized.

“Nice to see you, too, Sharon,” Elsie shot back in a sarcastic manner. “But if you must know, I live here.”

“With Captain Rogers?” the agent scoffs in disbelief.

She nods. “I told you I live with my boyfriend.”

Sharon double-takes and rubs her temples. “You and the captain are a couple? Captain America is your boyfriend?”

“Are you done?”

Sharon looks at her and exhales sharply. “I just don’t believe it, yet. But is this even allowed?”

Elsie tilts her head confused. “Suddenly dating Steve is forbidden because he’s an Avenger?”

“No,” Sharon shakes her head. “I just… does your uncle know?”

She shrugs a little. “Kind of. He knows I’m living with my boyfriend. He just doesn’t know it’s Steve.”

#marvel #mcu #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #oc #captain america x oc #mcu fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #mrs. rogers #agent walker

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bastart13 · 3 years

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I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine. Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

#team fortress 2 #team fortress #tf2 #fem tf2 #tf2 heavy #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 pyro #character design #art #i'm very happy with how these turned out

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thewertsearch · 2 years

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So that was Act 1 of Homestuck! I loved it. Really unique narrative style, fun characters, lots going on. Who cares about any of that though let’s talk theories!

I’ll go for the freebie first: John isn't dead.

This is basically cheating. I've heard his name a lot before and he wouldn't make much of an impression if he died two steps into the comic. Couple ways he could survive:

When he bit into the apple, Sburb registered him as having completed the tutorial, and the game protected him in some way, perhaps with a forcefield or portal.

The Kernelsprite, which was visibly worried by these events, intervened in some way, and, like, covered him in a cocoon of unloaded textures or clown shoes or something

This one’s a long shot, but maybe since we’ve last seen her, Rose learned something about the game from the SN lab, and is about to intercede to save his life, maybe by logging onto his Sburb server as an administrator and aborting his game.

I’ll also add my degree of confidence in each of my theories. I’m 90% sure that John survived the meteor. I’m 99% sure he’ll continue as a character, but there’s always a chance that he did die but gets resurrected, respawns, or continues as a ghost or something.

Next theory: John’s copy of Sburb is incredibly, game-breakingly bugged.

There’s a lot of hints here that things are going really wrong in ways that can’t be explained by player incompetence - in fact, all jokes aside, John and Rose are picking up the game’s fundamentals pretty damn quickly through trial and error. So why is everything so fucked? The kernel spits out nonsense textures and is desperately trying to tell John something, but can't communicate as intended. The disk has no manual, nor any directions at all, and, well, when you start playing the game, it tries to kill you by meteors. In typing this, I’m actually extending this this theory to claim that not only is John’s disk bugged, but the Sburb release, as shipped, is completely busted, and that’s why everything is going so horribly wrong. Sburb is world-changing technology in a pre alpha 0.0.1 state, and was never meant to be released in this form.

50% sure that John’s game was broken from the start, and he’s never going to see the intended experience. 25% sure that the Sburb beta as a whole was a huge mistake, and that this release was not what Skaianet wanted.

Final theory. This one is something which is way too early to call, but just for fun, I’m putting it here for posterity’s sake: The technology behind Sburb was not intended to be used for a video game.

Let’s say I tell you I have a piece of software. It’s a server program which, when connected to a client, allows the user to remotely view the environment around the client machine, physically manipulate its environment, duplicate matter, synthesize objects stored on the server’s database and generate wide-reaching environmental effects such as summoning meteors to transform the area.

Would you say

A: Nice! Let’s make an IRL Sims game!

B: Holy shit! Put this thing on a Martian probe!

Sburb was intended for interplanetary exploration, remote missions, and eventual terraforming. Its logo is a house because it transforms the world around it to make it habitable for its ‘players’. Imagine a Sburb client on a spaceship, creating endless food and water from cruxite! Or imagine using it to summon a barrage of meteors, heating up a frozen world! Even if Earth does die to meteors, I’m sure Sburb, if harnessed correctly, could make another habitable one.

I’d say there’s a 10% chance that Sburb wasn’t intended to be a game, and a 1% chance that Sburb is for space exploration and terraforming. I don’t have nearly enough information about the game to be making this kind of call, but I like silly theories as much as serious ones, and I love sci-fi.

Bonus theory, just off the cuff, not even gonna give it a confidence rating: Sburb was made by an advanced alien race. In other words, the trolls.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 1 #theories

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j4gm · 3 years

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TOGETHER AGAIN SPOILERS

A thread of lore, Easter eggs, episode connections, and background details from Adventure Time: Distant Lands: Together Again! Let me know if I missed anything! This is adapted from my original Twitter thread.

Keep reading ⬇️⬇️⬇️

1. I was expecting them to perhaps do a classic style title sequence for this episode, but I wasn't expecting them to straight up use the original title sequence. The only difference is this final screen saying "Distant Lands".

2. The background of the title cards is also the hill from the title sequence.

3. The ice cream having "50 flavours" and having an image of an enlightened soul is an obvious reference to the 50th Dead World as we see it later in the episode.

4. Continuing with the metaphor, the dirt in the ice cream could be a parallel to the fact that Jake's Nirvana actually wasn't perfect, because his inaction was allowing for injustice to perpetuate.

5. This whole scene feels immediately slightly off. Finn has his Scarlet sword and is out on a classic Ice King adventure, but he speaks in his grown voice and all the slang feels much more forced than it did in the real season one. Turns out this was deliberate.

6. The snow golem speaks with a baby voice like it did in the pilot episode, even though in canon it has a deeper voice. This further hints that something is not quite right.

7. The first major break in continuity is these snow golems resembling Uncle Gumbald and Peace Master, who Finn didn't meet until later in his life.

8. LSP sitting on Finn's head like this is reminiscent of Pen Ward's piece for the 2018 Ble crew zine.

9. Finn being given the choice of helping somebody but ending up helping everybody reminds me of "Memories of Boom Boom Mountain". It's the kind of resolution that wouldn't happen so much in the late seasons of the show, which helps make this scene feel even further out of place.

10. Jake is half frozen by Ice King in pretty much the exact same way as he was in "Prisoners of Love", and even has a very similar line.

11. The Snail is seen here. The crew have said that the Snail has been deliberately left out of previous Distant Lands specials, so its placement here is another very deliberate hint that this whole sequence is "trying too hard" to be like the early seasons.

12. The book "Mind Games" appears a couple of times, as seen in several previous episodes of Adventure Time. The first is as Finn is approaching the library in his dream. It also appears as one of the items in Finn's backpack later.

13. Jake is hurt when Finn fist bumps him with his metal arm, revealing that this scene is not real. This is also a callback to the title sequences of "Islands" and "Elements".

14. A whole bunch of familiar skeletons are seen in the bird's nest: Dirt Beer Guy, Abracadaniel, Me-Mow, Lemongrab, Mr. Pig, and the Snail again. This doesn't necessarily mean that all these characters are dead, since this scene is just a hallucination.

15. Old Man Finn! He's still got the chest tattoo of Jake, and this time we know that Jake is dead, so the theory that Jake died before "Obsidian" seems pretty likely. He looks similar to his old man design from "Puhoy", with the same facial hair.

16. There are several cameos of familiar characters who apparently died at the same time as Finn. The first is this duck, who previously appeared in "Ocarina".

17. The second is Donny, from the episode... uh, "Donny".

18. This goblin guy is an unnamed background character from “The Silent King”.

19. This old lady first appeared in "The Enchiridion", way back in season one. Old ladies are a species in the Land of Ooo, so I guess she wasn't actually very old back then, given she just about outlived Finn.

20. This is the cobbler who first appears in "His Hero". Amazing that he lived so long given all the trouble he got into in that episode.

21. Land of the Dead! This place was first seen in season two's "Death in Bloom", and now we are finally learning its actual purpose. It's a sort of gateway and hub to all of the other dead worlds.

22. There are some more minor cameos at the gates: a house person from "Donny", a soft person from "Gut Grinder", and a wood person from "When Wedding Bells Thaw". And, of course, the gate guardian himself from “Death in Bloom”.

23. Finn completely ignores the gate guardian in the same way he did in Death in Bloom. This also has the convenient effect of not having to reveal how Finn died, leaving it up to the audience's imagination.

24. Mr. Fox! We already knew he would die at some point because BMO had his skull in the finale.

25. Finn has his design from the first Distant Lands poster in this scene. Turns out it's young Finn in old Finn's clothes. But they gave him a shirt in the poster so you wouldn't be able to see the tattoo.

26. The clapping that Finn does while he's looking for Jake is a callback to "James Baxter the Horse", when Jake tells Finn to listen for that same rhythm if they are killed and need to find each other in the afterlife.

27. Mr. Fox talks about a "past life quotient", suggesting that there might be some kind of limit to how many times somebody can reincarnate. Finn's reincarnations are also seen in this scene; a callback to "The Vault", and confirmation that reincarnations share the same soul.

28. Boobafina, the goose who Mr. Fox was in love with in his debut episode “Storytelling”, apparently reincarnated into a tugboat. We've already seen that objects can have souls in the episode "Ghost Fly".

29. Finn is initially assigned to the 37th Dead World, which is the same one that Jake went to when he died in "Sons of Mars". We can only guess at what the other numbers on the ticket mean ;)

30. Tiffany! Despite several lucky escapes throughout his life, Tiffany has finally died. I like the use of this imagery to express Finn's conflicted feelings about him.

31. The 50th Dead World has long been established as the "highest" dead world, and the one synonymous with Heaven within Adventure Time's universe. It was first mentioned in "Ghost Princess" back in season three.

32. It's unclear what happens to souls which are destroyed within the dead worlds. It is a similar question to asking what happened to the ghosts that were killed in "Ghost Fly".

33. Death doesn't speak at all in Together Again because his voice actor, Miguel Ferrer, passed away in 2017 long before production began.

34. Finn phases through New Death when he tries to attack him, just like what happened way back in "Death in Bloom".

35. The 30th Dead World contains Tree Trunks as well as many of her love interests; Mr. Pig, her alien husband from "High Strangeness", Danny and Randy who first appeared in "Apple Wedding", and several more who we don't recognise, including at least one who presents as a woman.

36. Literally yelled when these two showed up. Joshua calls Finn a crybaby, which is a callback to "Dad's Dungeon".

37. The wall of weapons in Joshua and Margaret's house includes the iconic Demon Blood Sword, which was broken in "Play Date", as well as Margaret's auto-loading crossbow from "Joshua & Margaret Investigations".

38. Jermaine is sidelined a few times through the episode, in reference to his attitude in "Jermaine" where he feels that Finn and Jake were always their parents' favourites. I would have hoped things would be a bit better by now.

39. Fern gets name dropped while Finn and Jake are reuniting. A shame he doesn't actually show up in the episode.

40. In this scene, Finn says "What time is it?" This is a very subtle reference to the 2010 cartoon "Adventure Time".

41. In a couple of shots during this fight scene it looks like Jake might have a tattoo. It seems like it only becomes visible when he stretches out his arm.

42. New Death's amulet in this scene resembles parts of the Lich's cape, foreshadowing his influence on New Death.

43. There are several more cameos in the 50th Dead World: Booshy from "High Strangeness", one of the Marshmallow Kids from "Scamps", and Ghost Princess and Clarence, who were seen ascending to the 50th Dead World in "Ghost Princess".

44. Finn didn't interact with Booshy in "High Strangeness", but it seems they must have met at some point before they both died because Finn knows his name.

45. It seems like people in the 1st Dead World are slowly melted away until they become part of the landscape. Nasty.

46. Lots more cameos in this scene: a gnome from "Power Animal", a gnome from "The Enchiridion", a Bath Boy from "The Vault", Blagertha from "Love Games", Maja the Sky Witch, a troll from "Dungeon", Chocoberry, Choose Goose, Wyatt, a spiky person from "Gut Grinder", and possibly more.

47. Tiffany's insults are consistently nonsensical and amazing, as they were in the original series.

48. The Candy Kingdom looks extremely different. Peppermint Butler is wearing the crown so he might be in charge now, which is supported by the kingdom's very magical-looking augmentations. It’s not clear whether Finn and Jake were expecting to find Princess Bubblegum or Peppermint Butler, since both have the initials “PB” and both could be going by the title of “Princess”. Perhaps Peps and Bubblegum share the princess duties now that PB is living with Marceline more of the time.

49. Peppermint Butler has a "Boss" mug, although it's not the same colour as the one from "Obsidian".

50. Jake's ghost has the same design as he did when BMO killed him in "Ghost Fly". I also absolutely love Finn's ghost. This scene establishes that ghosts are just visitors to the mortal plane from the dead worlds.

51. Life has only appeared in animated shorts before now. Namely, "The Gift That Reaps Giving" which establishes her relationship with Death, and "Frog Seasons: Winter". This episode gives her a concrete place within Adventure Time's pantheon: she is in charge of reincarnation.

52. A translation of Life’s angry French dialogue by Shado: “After all I did for that boy. After all I did for him. No, it's not possible. It's not possible no, that... that makes me so mad but it's not possible.”

53. We finally have in-universe confirmation that Shoko's tiger is a previous life of Jake. This was previously confirmed by one of the writers, but wasn't canon until now.

54. I feel like Finn pulled off Shoko's look even better than Shoko did. I wonder whether Finn has gained the memories of his past lives now that he’s dead.

55. No Easter egg here, just want to appreciate this image.

56. There is an elemental symbol on the wall here, as seen in "Jelly Beans Have Power".

57. Tiffany's dramatic internal monologue is a recurring gag, as is his habit of nearly dying from falling into holes.

58. The Jake suit makes a cameo in the fight against New Death. It was last seen in the episode "Reboot”.

59. Finn's backpack contains a few familiar items: the t-shirt with the pocket from "It Came from the Nightosphere", Finn's underwear from "Little Dude" and other episodes, and a copy of Mind Games as I've already mentioned.

60. The Lich's Hand is present in the background of Death's... death scene. This is probably the unseen "friend" who New Death keeps talking about.

61. The Lich's menacing monologues often begin with a single command. Previously they have included "Fall" and "Stop". This time, the command is "Burn".

62. Jake uses the word "boingloings", which is a callback all the way to "Hitman" in the third season.

63. Jake's blue shape-shifter form from "Abstract" appears very briefly during his fight with Finn.

64. Finn's lumpy space person form also makes an appearance. This design was last seen all the way back in the second episode of the entire show, "Trouble in Lumpy Space".

65. Jake steps on the Lich's hand in a very similar way to how he stepped on Ash in "Memory of a Memory", which is itself a Monty Python reference.

66. The credits include a dedication to a few AT cast and crew who have passed away. Polly Lou Livingston was the voice of Tree Trunks. Miguel Ferrer was the voice of Death. Michel Lyman and Maureen Mlynarczyk were both sheet timers on the original series. Rest in peace.

67. The message that Finn and Jake write out on the ouija board is "BUTT", which Peppermint Butler takes as a distress signal. This message is also used as a distress signal by the Hot Dog Knights in "The Limit".

68. Peppermint Butler's reversed dialogue from the scene where he makes contact with Finn and Jake is "Kee-Oth Rama Pancake", the spell from “Dad's Dungeon” for banishing demons.

69. That appears to be President Porpoise with all of Tree Trunks’ other lovers.

70. In this scene, Life is humming part of "Lonely Bones", the song which Death tried to record for her in her debut short "The Gift That Reaps Giving". It's hard to notice because it's so brief.

71. Finn and Jake's cover is blown while in the Land of the Dead because Jake loudly farts, which also happened in "Death in Bloom".

72. The place where Mr. Fox explains the perception mechanics of the afterlife is the exact same location as the River of Forgetfulness from "Death in Bloom", which, as it turns out, was imaginary.

These are sort of out of order at the end because I was adding stuff to the Twitter thread as it got discovered. That’s all for now!

#adventure time #together again #finn the human #jake the dog #lorepost

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centrally-unplanned · 3 years

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Saw Last Night in Soho, Edgar Wright’s new film, where I learned there is adorably a cocktail called a “Vespa”, a Vesper where you substitute in the Italian quinine-wine Cocchi Americano over the traditional Kina Lillet. May I aspire to make a mocktail version of the Vespa while riding mine someday. Anyway, random movie thoughts, spoilers ahoy:

First two thirds of the movie are very good, the mid-act commits SO hard to its bit of “entering a fantasy time portal to 60′s London”, you have no clue how or why or where its going and it feels no need to answer those for you quickly, its great. Everything with the mirrors constantly switching around our main girl Ellie’s existence is Peak Edgar Wright and beautifully staged.

It is absolutely unfair how attractive a main lead this movie has; Ellie is the pinnacle of a quirky/artsy ingénue girl skirting the line between introvert and insanity, while her presumed alter-ego Sandy is Queen’s Gambit’s Anya Taylor-Joy as a cynical Mod-fashioned seductress, and the idea of both of those women bundled up into one eyeliner-smeared package is a level of my-fetish catering Hollywood is rarely horny-on-main enough to deliver.

Alas, it falls apart quite hard in the final act; its escalation of “60′s fantasy turned sexual slavery hellscape” is paced beautifully during the second act, it crescendos in clawing, faceless rape-spectres spilling over into the real world then just...stays there, as you have 4-5 scenes of the same attack being launched at Ellie in different buildings with no discernable trigger for a half hour. You need more cards in your hand to play them for this long a film, Mr. Wright.

The characters also collapse in on themselves to make the film move toward its finale - Ellie’s aspiring-beau John, who has had all of 30 seconds of interactions with her before things go down, sticks by her side through Ellie having psychotic break-down mid hook-up, her telling him she is being stalked by ghosts that she is also cosplaying for ~reasons (they are, to be clear, fashion design students in modern London), and her trying to stab one of her classmates in the face in the middle of a library in front of dozens of people. Really need to emphasize that last one there, she tries to murder a classmate because of *ghosts* and this dude rolls with it. Other characters follow suit - a old dude at a bar must have been paid to act like every rapist red flag in the book as set-up to be a same-color herring in Ellie’s quest to figure out the ghosts haunting her, and her landlord decides to just surprise-monologue her entire villainous backstory for no reason whatsoever and try to kill Ellie on top of it just to move the film along. Some classic “we wrote the emotional beats first and just filled in plot to get us there second” energy.

Speaking of the villain, the whole film Diana Rigg is playing Ellie’s extremely-unimportant landlord and you are just waiting for that shoe to drop, how is she connected to the ghosts from the 60′s, she HAS to be, its Diana god-damn Rigg, former Bond Girl in a movie that introduces its retro wonderland with a Thunderball poster, you did not cast her to simply collect rent checks I know its coming!!!

Finally, we have our moment of uncomfortable Hollywood feminism, ~woo. This is a film about being haunted by the ghosts of rape culture, which is fine and great. Yet the twist is that supposedly-innocent-victim Sandra was in fact a mass murderer who took out her rage at her sexual exploitation on the men who hired her, and buried their bodies beneath the floorboards Poe-style (and is the landlord 50+ years later and still alive, if that wasn’t clear). When Ellie learns this, AFTER Sandy-cum-landlord has tried to kill both her and her slavishly devoted boytoy, they have this “I understand your pain, they deserved it” moment. Yeah, those monsters, those men who...hired a sex worker?? The man (Matt Smith, in this case) who tricked her into the life was a monster, sure, and I am far from saying those other men are blameless, but amoung her dozens of victims are surely a lion’s share who simply thought this was her job consensually and didn’t think much of it. “The patrons of sex workers deserved to be murdered, Feminism!” is definitely not a statement the creators would agree with, but its sort-of what the movie’s message is. Its a very odd scene that definitely came about from the modern myopia around political theming in films.

Anyway criticism is more fun than complements, so I should emphasize that the first half of the movie was really good and the last half wasn’t awful, just half-baked, so overall a decent film. Just frustrating given how great it could have been with its set-up.

#last night in soho #mini-review

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bahorell · 3 years

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Les Amis (& co.) and the stuff they have on their walls

Enjolras: Pictures of his friends. I loved this idea so much I had to expand on it so it’s the shortest paragraph here but he’ll have his own post in a couple days I PROMISE

Combeferre: He has framed bugs!!! They are mostly moths but he also has some really rare expensive beetles that he’s gotten for Christmas. One winter break when he really had nothing going on he did a bunch of research on what all of the bugs were and has little hand-written pieces of paper taped to the wall underneath the bugs with all the info like a little MUSEUM OMG it’s literally the cutest thing. And if you’ve never been to his place before he makes you pick which one if your favorite.

Courfeyrac: Has a bunch of plants all over the walls. They’re so big that he has nails in the walls and any vining plants he’ll hang the vines on the walls so they look like they’re crawling up the walls. He also strategically places big plants like any trees he has or Monsteras in corners or next to dressers. He really doesn’t like putting too much stuff on his walls because he thinks it’s a lot of commitment. He doesn’t really have a lot of printed pictures of his friends and he doesn’t really have enough art to fill a wall space without making it look awkward.

Joly: Joly is one of those really really cool guys that glues and frames all of the puzzles he finishes. Every time he goes somewhere he’s never been before he’ll go into a little tourist shop and buy the biggest puzzle he can find (the more pieces the better). There’s a separate table in the living room that he sits at and works on his puzzle at while he watches Grey’s Anatomy. He’s always rearranging things because he likes everything to have a you know that feng shui so his walls have a bunch of nail holes in them. He’s also quickly running out of wall space because now his friends have started gifting him puzzles as well.

Jehan: Jehan LOVES to collect calendars! But not just like… monthly calendars. They have moon phase calendars, lunisolar calendars, a really really cool mayan calendar replica, a roman calendar, seasonal calendar for things like when to plant and harvest fruits and veggies!, a crystal calendar, a japanese calendar… They really like to look at how different things look from different perspectives. The months look different on a seasonal calendar than they do on a “standard” calendar. It reminds them that they have more control over their time than they think they do. Bousset: Movie posters!!!! He has posters of all his favorite movies but he really is a sucker for the movie posters that are in a retro style. He tries to make sure to buy frames for all of the posters he has because he doesn’t want them to get ruined. He’s scared not only because he has bad luck but because all of his friends are slobs and if they come over you know someone is going to somehow get beer or lasagna on the wall and some of the posters were like limited edition and he CANNOT have them ruined. He also dusts them p regularly.

Feuilly: Feuilly collects but also makes a bunch of wood art that he is very proud of. Usually when he makes something he’ll keep the first draft of it since it isn’t polished enough for him to feel like he can try to sell it. It’s not very often he can find Purple Heart stuff but when he does he really struggles to say no if it’s out of his budget. Also he has a few pieces of moss art that he ADORES

Bahorel: Collects a bunch of small random things that he finds. Pretty much he thinks if he CAN hang it on a wall that he SHOULD hang it on a wall. There’s art pieces, cards he’s gotten from people, business cards that have a cute design on them, he has a shit ton of command strips that hang things like lanyards, his go-to jackets for easy access, his towel when he doesn’t feel like walking back to the bathroom to hang it up after he’s showered. He also has like 5 sets of mini battery powered string lights that he leaves on whenever he’s not sleeping (he spends a lot of money on batteries)

Grantaire: His walls kinda work as his sketchbook when he’s home. He’s found that sometimes working on a vertical surface instead of a horizontal surface helps get the gears turning in his head. It makes him a little frustrated sometimes because he’ll have a whole piece that’s done on one of his walls and then he basically has to repeat yet and put it back on paper but it doesn’t feel the same. Since his walls are pretty much a free-for-all, all of the amis have painted something on them at some point. He tries not to paint over those spots but sometimes he has to.

Marius: Marius has a bunch of shadow boxes of stuff. Most of them are antique items like he has a shadow box that has about 50 unused boxes of matches that are from all over the world, he has a shadow box of antique flies for fly fishing. He’s never fly fished before but seeing the colors on the flies makes him want to try it at least once. He makes most of them himself also! He has one that has a bunch of wine corks in it that he had been collecting for awhile. And he has one that has one item from each Ami that he asked them to contribute to. His favorite tho is the shadow box that is filled with metal caps from soda bottles. It was the first one he made and a lot of the caps he got one summer he spent with his dad when he was a kid trying to find the best brand of soda for each flavor.

Eponine: Eponine doesn’t have a lot of stuff on her walls, she never really has but ever since she got her apartment and moved out of her parents place she got a few art pieces. They aren’t framed or anything, she always thinks that if something happens and she has to move out of her place that big framed art pieces will just be one more thing she has to worry about. It never happens and she’s accumulated enough pieces that eventually she saves up some money and gets most of them framed.

Cosette: When she was a kid her dad bought her a really beautiful wall quilt that she never took off her wall even if she was cold. They’re pretty expensive and she’s managed to collect a few other larger quilts but she also has signed up for classes at a local quilt shop and has a couple small little baby quilts she’s done as practice that she hung up. They make her so proud and she’s loved looking at how her skills have improved since she started!

Musichetta: Musichetta doesn’t have too much stuff on her walls. She has a couple pieces that are really pretty that she has framed, but one of her walls she doesn’t ever hang stuff on because a couple years ago she bought some super cool bright wallpaper that has a bunch of citrus fruits on it. It really adds a bunch of color to her apartment and even in the winter helps makes the place feel warm and bright.

Gavroche: Gav has two of his walls covered in chalkboard paint! He does his homework on them sometimes but mostly he uses them to draw little doodles. One of the walls he hasn’t touched in months because Feuilly and Grantaire worked together on a super big mural for it that took them like 3 days. Gav won’t ever erase it but he has bumped into it enough times that it’s getting pretty smudged. Plus he figures if he erases it they can just do another one. But because he has chalkboard walls he doesn’t really have anything else on his walls. He maybe has one or two pictures on the last wall that isn’t being taken up by chalkboard or closet doors.

#this was so much fun to do #tag yourself #I'm p proud of Joly's tbh #He very much seems like a puzzle guy #les mis #enjolras #combeferre #courfeyrac #jehan #joly #bousset #bahorel #feuilly #grantaire #marius #eponine #musichetta #cosette #gavroche

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick. Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is. Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him. Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring. This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat. Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤��悔 - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang. On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV. In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim. Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate. Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #meng yao #nie mingjue #my gifs #canary3d-original #the untamed meta #the untamed gifs #restless rewatch the untamed

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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communication style between feelers.

Hello again.

I read the post about Dean and I do not agree with the poster, but I’m not here to reply to her but to ask you a question she kind of raised and I always want to ask.

What are the communicative styles of Fi vs Fe in feelers .. once and for all?

Because online the same styles are given to both functions, and I’m super confused. In my own experience and what I’ve noticed, Fi are direct and expressive, Fe hold back and are more secretive and vague. Yet it’s not what is described under those functions, is it? I also wonder if it has more to do with introversion/extroversion and enneagram type more than feeling function?

Lets take Rory and Lorelai.

Rory the ISFJ: One of the reasons she’s one of my least favorite characters is because 50% of her lines are “no it’s fine” and “oh it’s okay”. And what frustrates me more is that she’s labeled sweet and polite and ‘the nicest kid in the world’ for it even though it hurt people around her. She never says what she actually feels and avoids these conversations and there are consequences.

- She likes Jess and wants to be with him? she drags Dean along and makes him go through emotional hell with the uncertainty and the clinginess that comes with experiencing someone pulling away slowly and them lying and telling you it’s all in your head. She disrespects him and lies over and over again. Being honest and upfront would’ve saved him all of that.

- After she dates him after his divorce the same exact thing happens. It’s not working and the relationship wasn’t what she thought it would be. She wasn’t okay with the Doose’s market food spread, spending time in his house with his mother watching them like hawk and sister blasting music. She wasn’t okay with him snapping at her and staying at his friend’s apartment and them rarely spending time together because he doesn’t have a car and the lack of proper dates. Does she communicate these things? nope, she drags it along until the action comes from him once again and he’s very hurt and feels not good enough again while she cries wearing a diamond tiara because he 'dumped her’ when she dumped him both times way earlier and simply didn’t verbalize it.

- She willingly allows Emily to manipulate her then gets super upset about it and takes it out on her when the person she should be angry with is herself for not speaking up

- When she wants to date Logan and he doesn’t initiate it she’s also upset instead of going to him and telling him she’s interested.

- When her and her mother attempt to end the grandparents separation, she let’s Richard cut her off and change the subject even though it was her idea and she felt very strongly about doing it that night

Lorelai the ENFP however wastes no time in that same episode. as soon as she was handed the drink she asked her mother directly “will you ever get back together with dad?”

- When Emily is being disrespectful or nosey she tells her to back off straight away.

- when her father does the same the day after spending the day at Stars Hallow she tells him “You’re judgmental, it’s none of your business, it’s my life not yours and I’ll live it however you want. this stops now”

- when max proposes to her and she thinks it’s the wrong way to do it she says so immediately

- when sherry tells Rory to visit all the time at the baby shower because Yale is near, Lorelai says “well yes, when she’s not spending time with me”. She makes it clear.

- Christopher told the Rory of how she kissed him when they were young because 'she wanted to know what it felt like’ which is completely different than Rory who gets passive aggressive because of Logan.

That being said. Both characters are unhealthy in expressing themselves one is your face and one acts like a doormat and is upset when someone steps on it. I’ll talk about my experience with IxFJs. I love them, but unfortunately we run into the same miscommunication wall. I’m an xNFP (leaning towards ENFP). Maybe it’s the Te in me but I like things clear and efficient in the sense that I want it out in the open all of it, no matter how insignificant and embarrassing it may be. I want to talk about it calmly and gently, reach a decision or a common ground, take the lesson from it and MOVE ON. I hate things hanging in the air till they shape themselves like an elephant and become the one in the room. The IxFJs I’ve known hardly ever share if I’ve wronged them in a way and instead start behaving a little differently around me, they won’t reply the same way to my messages and there’ll be awkward silence. I don’t understand why? it’s a waste of time and energy. Fe think that by not saying the 'negative’ things and addressing the 'not so perfect feelings’ they’re not hurting anyone, but in reality it’s the opposite, it's the most hurtful thing when you’re passive and you let the person suffer for it.

I respect my people too much to make them feel stupid and play with their head and heart. I’ve told people I didn’t want to be friends with them anymore (and I was as respectful/friendly/considerate as I could while doing it). Difficult, honest, conversations hurt less than lack of honestly and action in my opinion, especially on the long run when the person calms down and is able to think logically.

And I love my people so much that I don’t want to go days without talking to them because of an argument that could be resolved. I hate sleeping on unresolved business. Rory runs away every time she doesn’t like want to have a hard conversation with her mother, either to her grandma’s house or to Europe or the live in the pool house for months and poor Lorelai just waits.

I don’t relate to the INFP’s post at all about Fi finding it hard saying I love you. If anything I over do it. with handwritten letters and long messages and presents and on the phone and in person and written in the sky if I only I had the money

so which communicative style belongs to FJs and which to FP? I stand by Fi (direct and clear communication) and Fe (avoidant and passive).

----------

It sounds like you have a solid ability to be honest and open about your feelings, and that’s admirable. You’re clearly not an avoidant personality, but that’s not the case for a lot of feelers. I think what you’re objecting to are attachment type behaviors, within the Enneagram system (3, 6, and 9). Rory, who is either a 9w1 or a 6w5 (probably a 9w1, given how you just described her) is an avoidant personality who isn’t sure what she wants most of the time, is afraid of conflict and confrontation, and has separation issues. She is indeed passive-aggressive and avoidant, and puts her friends and family members through hell while tying to sort out what she wants and how she needs to communicate. And it’s not good. Her behavior with Jess was especially bad, because she was really into him, didn’t want to admit it to herself, couldn’t admit to Dean that she had emotionally moved on, and didn’t know what to do about her feelings… so she strung him along.

Healthy people learn to put things out in the open and be clear about their feelings, but a lot of feelers of both types don’t know how to do this. I would say it’s easiest for ESFPs and EFJs, because of the direct communicative style of Se/Te and Fe-dom. Fe-doms can’t help talking about how they feel immediately as it happens, because it’s the center of their world. As regards your complaints about IFJs… avoidance happens, because IFJs are less sure about their feelings and how to communicate them in ways that are non-offensive to others, and about 80% of them are 9w1s, which compounds the problem of being avoidant. They don’t want to risk an argument, deal with your hurt feelings, or insult you in any way, so they ignore the problem and hope it goes away, but it never really does. They avoid you, afraid of what they might say that could be hurtful, and procrastinate about being honest. (I too have had this happen.) They aren’t sure of how much separation they want, if a relationship sours, because their minds are fuzzy on the issue (they are mad, then not mad, want you, then don’t want you), so they can send you mixed messages.

But, and I will say this, I have done the exact same thing. I am not proud of it, but I’ve done it. I’ve not known how to say, “Look, I am unhappy with this relationship and I want out.” Instead, I become more distant and wait for you to catch the hint, unless it’s in a romantic relationship and there I will say, “It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t want this” in a nice way. My 9 fix tries to ignore things, even if they bother me a lot, to maintain a connection. In the past, I’ve not been a direct communicator, though I’m teaching myself to be more so and just ask. I’m way more comfortable writing “Love ya!” than having a serious “I love you” conversation. Like the INFP, a lot of my feelings are buried deep inside and not things I discuss with people.

So, to answer your question: FPs are more direct simply because low Te is blunt as hell. They may dance around things but eventually blurt out the truth. Fe is more indirect but also more polite and able to tell people things “nicely” by finding a way to soften it. But you are still going to find FPs who are unclear and indirect, and FJs who are direct and quite clear. So it really depends on the kind of Enneagram type you are dealing with. An EFJ 8 won’t mince words, and an IFP 9 won’t be direct with you.

#question #enneagram #mbti #submission

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copias-thrall · 3 years

Text

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

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

~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?"

#mary goore #longfic #gender neutral insert #aurelio voltaire

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