June has her faith, Sully her terror, Randy her charms, but Mary thinks, I only have myself. She refuses to believe her life has been tests one after the other, because what is supposed to be the endgame? Mary does not enforce terror, because she knows first hand the strength that follows when one overcomes fears. And her sexuality will not be used in any way except for this; this too-hot, too-slow, quieting sensation of skin on skin.
Mary takes time to choose her name. It’s not that she researches characters and desires meaning, but she’d be lying if she denied the excitement felt at the prospect of making something completely her own. She wasn’t Sully, who chipped away at her name until it fit, June, who wanted the past to mold perfectly within her present. Not Randy, who half-heartedly accepted the destruction of her name with a sigh.
It surprises her, because Mary almost waits for there to be a sign. A day in which she happens upon a word that sits just right on her tongue, a sing-song of syllables that rolls like thunder out of her mouth. She wants it to connect like punches.
It happens at the docks, on the most beautiful day of the year.
“What a calm sea,” a mother remarks, carefully adjusting the child at her hip. She carries a basket of fish over her head and nods at Mary, who can’t take her eyes away from the horizon. And it was so, the waters so still that it belied the depth. The surface so smooth that it reflected the clouds.
The day Mary sheds all her metaphorical armor is the same day she realizes that there are fucking metaphorical callouses made thick from wearing all those heavy plates of metal against her skin. Her flesh rubbed raw, blistered to the bones. Mary doesn’t need that armor anymore because she’s weathered everything and she still isn’t dead. She’s been beating herself bloody and fending off everything thrown her way and she’s still here, still breathing, still wanting.
Her phantom armor gleams in absence, muscles reacting to memory on cue. Her body moves as if she’s still cloaked in metal sheets and chain mail. Its hard for her to remember a time when she moved without being aware. Perhaps she has always been aware.
“As if you’d ever let yourself forget,” June says to her one day and she falters just enough for her to notice.
She’s shocked how little she cares, and how much June does.
— emily palermo (via intentioncrafts)
first of all, dan swears on all that he loves that he’ll make ezra understand the meaning of compromise if it kills him. mary doesn’t do dishes, but she dusts, because ezra having a sneezing fit positively effects the room’s feng shui. isaac doesn’t sleep, he “recharges” and if dan finds one more of his socks mixed in with mary’s…
the campus body count has been steadily rising since their coming together, actually.
isaac half-stumbles, half gropes his way through the buzzing crowd. he thinks he spots mary, shades donned, self-imposed exile (paradise) as she loses herself in the music. ezra weeps openly as the singer screams himself hoarse with ‘we’re assholes, we’re human, we’re scum and we need to die!’
isaac looks again and—- dan is high, and currently engaged in the rap battle of the century with himself. it’s rather impressive, actually.
(he needs to get drunk now.)