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muffindaddystyles · 3 years ago

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DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely ��- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.��

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

753 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 4 years ago

Text

Fulminating (The Mandalorian)

(Din suffers a complication after nearly drowning on Trask. He and the Child recover together. Maybe it's enough. 5000 words, canon-compliant, angst, medical whump, hurt/comfort, sign language. Set during Chapter 11: The Heiress. Don't say I didn't warn you about the whump - but the comfort's there, too.)

Thank you to @lastwordbeforetheend, @art3mys and @honestlyhufflepuff for helping talk me through this! You can also find this story on AO3 if you prefer.

***

The air streams past him, tugging at the free edge of his cloak as he descends. He tilts his head upward, watching Bo-Katan and her cruiser climb to the edge of the atmosphere. They’ll take the ship, and he’ll take the Jedi’s name.

It’s not the deal he wanted -- hell, they aren’t the Mandalorians he wanted -- but she gave him what he needed in the end, and he’ll respect that.

He coughs, chest feeling heavy, and lowers his head as the air rushes past. That’s better.

He aches as the rush of the fight leaves him. He’s not getting any younger, and while firefights are what he’s built himself for, taking an entire cruiser hadn’t been on his agenda. Especially coming off the disastrous crash landing on the ice planet with the kid and the passenger; he’d hit his head pretty badly in the landing, beskar helmet or no, and he still feels a nagging headache now that the action’s over. He scowls under the helmet.

The Rising Phoenix burns clean as the docks rise up before him, and he lands clumsily, staggering. He’s got to work on that. In all the traveling lately, his training has slipped. Koska in particular has given him some ideas for how to better utilize the Phoenix in combat, and he’ll have to consider incorporating the techniques into his own fighting style.

Din pulls a deep breath as he straightens up, slightly winded by the landing. Time to collect the kid and get going.

Leaving would be a good idea, if not for the fact half the port is still quiet. He glances around, realizing it’s still early in the morning and the Mon Calamari he paid to tend to the Crest is nowhere in sight. Fine. Maybe he and the kid will grab some sleep in the inn. How long has it been since they got any rest?

His feet fall heavy on the wooden docks, his boots scuffing. Yeah. A room might do them good.

***

It takes him a good twenty minutes to make his way through the narrow alleys to the Frogs’ home. He’s a little slower than usual, though he’s got good reason to be weary. The door slides open at his knock and the happy couple greets him, gesturing to a water-filled dish on their table. A tadpole splashes back and forth, and Din’s foundling stares at it with wide eyes and half-opened mouth, barely noticing that Din has come for him.

Din almost hates to pull the kid away. He’s downright enchanted by the tadpole (the kid better have minded his manners!), curious and fascinated and protesting as Din scoops him up. He congratulates the couple on their child and heads out into the alley, the kid chattering away unintelligibly. He’s been using that little voice of his much more lately, and though Din hasn’t picked out any words he understands, it’s a comforting sound. He chuckles a bit at the kid’s chatter, the laugh slipping into a brief cough that he swallows down. He wishes, not for the first time, that he could understand what the kid has to say.

The kid’s voice burbles cheerfully in his ears. Probably telling him all about his exciting night, staying with the Frog family. Maybe he’s asking where Din has been, or wondering where they’re going next. Din hasn’t a clue. He tries to pay attention, but finds it strangely difficult to concentrate and walk at the same time.

It’s not far to the inn. Half a klick at most. He’s walking at a normal pace, not running, not sprinting.

So why, then, is he breathing so hard?

He pauses against the wall of a small fishery shop, leaning against it slightly in a way that would look casual to a passing observer. He takes a deep breath, then coughs wetly, chest rattling.

You’re fine, he tells himself firmly, but his chest rises and falls like he’s been running.

His helmet swivels left, right. Quarren, Mon Calamari, humans, they scurry past Din and the child, but more than a few turn to stare at the two of them. This is too open. He needs to get back under cover until he can figure out what’s going on. You are both predator and prey, intones the Armorer, and oh, he knows it. His gut clenches a warning.

The Phoenix roars on his back, carrying them the rest of the way. He holds on to the kid with both arms and the kid giggles, enjoying the ride, but Din just focuses on breathing.

***

The innkeeper stares at him. “One night, then?” he grunts.

Din reaches into his hip pouch, pulls a stack of credits out, more than what’s needed. He forces himself to slow his breathing, though his chest hurts with the effort. He swallows. Modulates his voice to sound gruff and intimidating. “One night. And no questions.”

The innkeeper nods, holding his hands out in an appeasing gesture. “Whatever you say, Mando.” He tosses Din a fob to unlock the room. “Up the stairs, third door on the left. Food sent up to the room’s extra.”

Din merely nods. The kid, nestled in the crook of his arm, looks up at him, frowning. His ears sag down to his collar, and he wraps one hand over Din’s wrist.

Din makes his way to the stairs, shoving past a few Quarren there for their breakfast. They grumble, but they get out of his way; news travels fast about what a Mandalorian can do when pressed. They clear a path for him as he approaches the narrow stairs. With his back to the barroom, no one able to see him directly, he allows himself the luxury of a few deep breaths before he begins. He needs every one.

The flight of stairs isn’t long. Fifteen steps, maybe. But he has to grab the handrail with his free hand, gripping it tightly. His head swims, and the inside of his chest sears, burns, aches. He sucks air through an open mouth, shivering.

“Dank farrik,” he hisses, and regrets the extra breath expended on the curse. He has to rest halfway up the stairs, slumping against the wall with his head spinning.

He makes it up the rest of the flight, through the hallway, to the third door on the left. It slides open and he stumbles through the doorway, barely noticing the door sliding closed behind him as he staggers to the lumpy four-poster bed. He sets the kid down carefully before he sinks onto the bed with a thump. He struggles to remove the Rising Phoenix. He manages to rest it on the floor at his feet, and stays leaning forward, curled up over himself.

What’s wrong with me?

He desperately tries to run the possibilities. Poison? No, no, nothing’s broken his skin, he hasn’t eaten since he left the ship.… He shivers again. Is he sick? This doesn’t feel like any sickness he’s ever known before, coming on so fast like this, hitting so hard…

He sits huddled on the edge of the bed, panting. His helmet’s sensors chime at him. Normally vital signs are measured in the background, but he forces himself to focus on the corner of the display through his visor, where it flashes a warning: Blood oxygen level below 90%.

Oxygen… lungs… going under the water after the kid, struggling as the seal on his helmet slipped, as the seawater rushed up over his face, into his mouth and nose --

But I was fine, he tries to tell himself. He tries to remember if he inhaled the water or if he spat it back out, but all he remembers is frantic choking, flailing, a confusing jumble of cold and weight and struggle. I was fine --

He coughs again, the action bowing him over himself, and he gags on fluid in the back of his throat. He retches, gulps, tastes something metallic. Blood.

Fuck. Fuck.

His mind races. Battlefield first aid is taught to all Mandalorians, but he doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to do here. What here even is. His mind blanks for a second, or an eternity.

He suddenly remembers a function of his helmet he’s rarely used. He toggles it on with a jerky swipe over his vambrace. He can’t carry an entire tank of oxygen with him, since it’d be a clear explosion hazard in his line of work, but the helmet does have emergency oxygen concentrator ability. Enough to double the atmospheric content for low-O2 planets. He breathes deeply of the fortified air, and for a moment he feels a little calmer. This’ll fix things. Just need a little more air, a little rest, I’ll be fine --

It’s not enough.

The display in his helmet says it’s concentrating the oxygen at maximal levels, but damn it, it’s not enough. He wheezes, straining.

The display says a lot of things now. It’s going fucking haywire, streaming readings for his heart rate, his oxygen, spiking or crashing in ways he’s never seen. He forces himself to focus on the room beyond him instead of the screeching vitals, tries to focus on fishnets lining the dingy walls, a cramped closet refresher, a little wooden table to sit at, a round window letting in muted daylight.

It’s not working. Din drags in breath after frantic breath, coughs again, feels something frothy in the back of this throat. He tastes metal. He’s -- he’s suffocating --

No. No. This is just a sickness, I just have to get through the worst of it, just breathe -- just breathe --

But he wants to tear his helmet off, he’s so hungry for air, he wants -- he needs --

Firm pressure on his lap, movement, something besides the flail of his chest. It’s the kid. He’s almost forgotten about him in his struggle, and seeing the kid calms him slightly. Just slightly.

He manages to lower his head, though it makes him dizzy. The kid’s dark eyes stare up at him, his little face scrunched up and worried.

“I’m fine,” Din gasps, though clammy sweat clings to him inside his suit, though his heart still races. Does the kid understand him? He coughs, the sound harsh and wracking. “I just need to -- rest --”

Rest. Yeah. Yeah, that should help. Maybe he’ll be better off laying down in a different position. Holding the kid against him, he tries to ease himself down on the rumpled bedding. But as soon he’s down, he realizes it’s wrong -- on his back, he feels his armor crushing him -- smothering him --

He jerks upright, clawing at his chest, undoing the catches of his armor. His cuirass loosens and falls to the bed beside him. He leaves it. The pressure eases, barely.

The kid in his lap lets out a wail, and Din realizes that the kid knows.

What if I don’t -- what if he’s alone -- if this gets worse -- His heart rate jumps at the unfinished thought, pounding until he can feel the veins in his neck throbbing, the pulse thready. He slumps against the post at the end of the bed, wrapping a hand protectively around the kid. No. I’ll be fine.

He has to be fine. For both of them. He wishes he could tell the kid --

***

Grogu feels, sees, senses ripples in the Force, just as he senses ripples in the water where a frog might be near. Most of the time, it comforts him, feeling its swirls and eddies.

It isn’t comforting now. It’s scary. The Force is disturbed, the ripples churning waves. His protector, his person clings to him, and Grogu feels fear panic wrong.

Grogu flinches, his stomach hurting. He doesn’t know what’s happened to the man, but there’s something in the man’s chest that isn’t right, something that shouldn’t be there, something that makes it not work the way it’s supposed to. Grogu tilts his head up and rests one hand against the man’s armor, whimpering.

The man is shaking. His voice catches. “It’s -- it’s all right,” he chokes, but Grogu can feel how hard he’s working to breathe, how his voice sounds different. It sounds wet.

Grogu whimpers again, tries to reach out in the Force. He has to help him! The man flickers in the Force in a way Grogu remembers once from a misty dream, the day he sent the fire back; he was so sleepy after the flames ran away. But the man feels like he did then, faint and far away, and this time, Grogu understands what it means. Faint and far away and fading.

Grogu tries to talk to the man. Tries to tell him that he can help. He makes his voice loud, but the man’s breathing is louder. It’s not working.

He gets to his feet in the man’s lap, hurriedly bracing his hands against the man’s laboring chest. This close he can hear the wrongness inside him even without the Force, his ears catching terrible crackles over the man’s pounding heart. It shouldn’t sound like that. He knows it in a way he doesn't have the words for.

The man is soft without the armor, but the cloth and leather he wears are still thick and hard to get through, under Grogu’s hands. Grogu tries to reach, tries to make the Force inside the man move and change. He’s done it before, he has to try now, has to try to help him --

But it’s hard to shift the Force inside the man. He’s still wrapped in most of his armor, no skin to touch. Maybe one of the Masters from long ago could fix the man without touching him, without pressing skin to skin, but Grogu doesn’t know how. He wraps his claws around the heavy vest the man wears under the armor, and he cries at him, trying to make him understand.

“Please --” the man rasps. “It’s -- don’t be afraid --” He coughs again, thin reddish fluid beading at the bottom of his helmet. Flickering -- far away --

Grogu sinks into the man’s lap, breathing hard himself. The man’s fear is overwhelming, making it hard for Grogu to think. He’s felt it before from him when things got scary, but always the man’s bravery was bigger, more powerful, so much brighter in the Force than his fear.

But it’s all that Grogu can feel from him now.

He has to do something. The man still flickers. He looks around wildly, sees the man’s hand, limply resting against the bottom of Grogu’s robe.

“Hey, buddy,” the man wheezes. “You’ll be -- okay --”

Grogu is already pulling at the man’s wrist. He’s seen a little flash of skin here before, where the glove meets the armor. He fumbles with it, but it’s on too tight for him to budge.

“What --”

Grogu pulls hard at the glove, and the man helps weakly with his other hand, his fingers clumsy. The glove slips down at the wrist, exposing light brown skin, a thumb. The man crumples against the post at the end of the bed, the line of him all wrong, head rolled to his shoulder. He’s so faint.

Grogu curls one hand around the man’s thumb, presses the other hand against his palm. The man’s skin is cool and sweaty and calloused. Grogu holds his hand as hard as he can, and he closes his eyes, and he reaches.

He can't make sense of what he feels through the Force. Water, but there shouldn’t be water here. Breathing, but the air doesn’t help. Grogu concentrates, but it’s hard. It’s not like when that other man’s arm was hurt in the dark by the creatures, when Grogu could reach out and feel the way the poison wasn’t supposed to be there, the way the arm wanted to be normal again. The Force flowed to the hurt part, and it made it like it was before.

But now he’s confused, the fear so loud and painful, making it harder for Grogu to understand the problem with the water and the air and the lungs. He clutches the man’s skin, claws digging into his strong hand. He tries to do what he can, tries to tell the man’s chest to be normal, to work, to help.

The Force shimmers. It flows, and something goes out of him, into the man.

But it’s not like before. The other man’s arm got better so quickly, the poison disappearing, the flesh coming back to itself. It doesn’t feel that way now; he’s not sure what it feels like. It feels… like something slow, like something calm and quiet, like something gentle.

Grogu lets go of the man’s hand, his mouth twisting. He knows he didn’t understand enough, didn’t get it quite right. He lets out a soft wail, sinking down into the man’s lap and staring dejectedly at his hands.

He hears a quiet, tired voice. Feels the man shift, feels his hand with the rolled-up glove brush against his cheek. Grogu looks up through sleepy eyes and sees the man’s helmet upright again, looking steadily at him.

“Kid?” A long, ragged breath. A hoarse voice. His shoulders rise and fall with big breaths, but not as fast as before.

The man pulls him closer, and Grogu’s ears swivel. The crackles are getting softer. Going away.

“Thanks, kid,” the man whispers.

Grogu gazes up at the man, and he manages a tired little smile. The man is getting brighter in the Force. No more flickering. And underneath the man’s fear, Grogu senses brave again.

***

Din isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there, leaning against the post at the end of the bed, holding the sleeping kid in his lap. He only knows he’s been working, and it is work, at breathing.

In, and out.

His helmet display flashes numbers at him. They aren’t normal. Oxygen, heart rate, respirations. But hell, they’re so much better than they were.

He doesn’t know what the kid did. The bare skin of his hand tingles in the cool air, and he’s almost afraid to cover it up again, in case it reverses what the child did to him.

For him.

All he really remembers -- things are hazy, even though it was at most only a few hours back -- is the panic, darkness at the edges of his sight, a terrible, unending hunger for air.

And then something quiet and soft, gently washing over him. It was enough.

He coughs again, but it’s easier than before. The rattle’s faint, thin, clearing. He’s not a medical droid, but he’s sure of it anyway: he’s going to make it.

The kid yawns beside him, half-wrapped in Din’s ragged cloak. He squints up at Din, his expression wary. Worried.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, his throat raw. “Are you okay?”

The kid whines a little, his ears swinging low at the way Din’s voice sounds so rough. Din feels an ache that has nothing to do with his lungs and everything to do with the kid’s anxious face.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna be fine,” Din manages. “You helped me. Saved me.” The words are hard to force out, but he knows they’re important. Hell. What the kid must have seen -- what he must have thought was going to happen -- He freezes, remembering a dark cellar, explosions, a day of red robes in the smoke.

No. That’s not gonna happen. Not to him.

Din cradles the kid into a hug, his ears brushing against Din’s chest and shoulder. The kid hugs him back as hard as he can with his small arms, and he can feel the child trembling.

“Hey, hey,” Din murmurs, though he’s getting winded with all the talking. “I’m sorry I --” He huffs, keeps going even though it’s difficult. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

The kid reaches up to rest one clawed hand against the cheek of the helmet. Din blinks, startled at the closeness, but the kid keeps his hand against the beskar. Din mirrors the gesture, resting the knuckles of one hand against the child’s soft cheek.

“We’ll be okay. You and me, pal. Understand?” he asks gently.

The kid blinks those large, dark eyes, and Din wonders if he’s failed to reach him. Then the child lowers his hands, letting out a cheerful babble with a tilt of his head, and the tension in Din’s chest and gut falls away.

Yeah. He’ll be okay.

The kid chirrups again, voice rising in a question. Din thinks he recognizes what the kid is asking. “You hungry?”

Food. He dimly remembers a few ration bars, tucked in at the back of his belt, swiped from the Crest before they’d left. He sets the kid down beside him, then pulls out two bars and unwraps them both for the kid. Din’s thirsty, after everything, but the idea of food holds no interest yet.

“Here,” Din rasps. “Eat.” He carefully straightens up, taking a moment to slowly swing his legs over the edge of the bed. What normally takes a second leaves him breathless.

He gets to his feet, using the bedpost for support. He’s still wearing boots, his armor aside from the cuirass. It’s all so much heavier than it should be. He lets out a hiss between his teeth and crosses the room to the refresher, one step at a time. Water.

Once inside the refresher he sinks down onto the seat, removing his helmet and setting it into his lap. He glances up and sees his face in the cracked, streaky mirror, the skin blotchy and pale, hair a matted tangle, eyes swollen. There’s residue on his face, dried pinkish red around his mouth and nose. The sight makes him run cold.

It had been so close.

He flicks the water on, strips off his gloves and sets them into his upturned helmet. He cups his hands together beneath the faucet, the cold water spilling over the edges of his palms.

He drinks, and it’s enough.

***

The ship awaits them. Unfortunately, it's barely better off than it was when they left it. The Razor Crest drips with Mon Calamari detritus, rope rigging and tangles of seaweed crisscrossing the ship's hold. Din shakes his head, stepping aboard with the kid in his arms. It’s not great. It’ll do to limp along to something better.

He allows himself a faint chuckle, putting himself in the same category.

He’s mostly recovered. He can still feel it, the way his lungs don’t fully expand the way they should, the way he gets a little winded when he’s up and walking around. But he’s so much better than he was, and getting better every day. Thanks to the kid, and his powers.

He glances down at him; he seems fascinated by the Crest’s new decorations. Din brushes a hand over the back of the kid’s head and the little one coos, reaching out to bat at a clump of seaweed.

“You like this, huh?” he asks. “Don’t get used to it.” Soon as I’m up to it, this stuff’s getting spaced.

The kid giggles at the slimy seaweed in his hands, and Din softens. Maybe he’ll leave it up for a little bit, anyway.

He carefully takes the ladder up into the cockpit, only huffing a little. He’s grateful for the way he takes oxygen in, the way it sustains. He finally turned off the oxygen concentration function of his helmet this morning, and he hasn’t missed it. It’s a good feeling, one that’s been growing as he’s gotten closer to recovery.

He doesn’t remember much of the past few days. He remembers the Quarren innkeeper hollering outside about their time being up, until Din lurched to his feet and shoved a pile of credits at him through the crack in the door. He remembers the innkeeper, mollified, bringing up bowls of steaming soup and leaving them out in the hall for Din to slowly bring inside, one at a time. He remembers how good it tasted, rich and briny and hot, hot, hot. He remembers sighing so loudly the kid’s ears twitched, and the kid let out the longest, tiniest, happiest sigh Din had ever heard.

***

He remembers a realization.

He had found it hard to talk on the second day, between the lingering heaviness in his chest and the bone-deep exhaustion. The kid, though, had seemed to bounce right back after using his powers, and had taken to relentlessly exploring the room for things to do.

Din watched him roam, crawling under the bed, playing with the empty drawers of the dinged-up dresser, trying to climb up the wall to see out the window. The kid was gonna hurt himself if he wasn’t careful, and Din couldn’t afford another scare. He reached out and planted the kid on his lap the next time his circuit around the room brought him close.

Inspiration struck. So it was hard to speak. So what? He had options.

He held up a finger. The kid watched keenly.

Look here, he signed in Tusken, fingers splitting and then rising up to his visor. The kid tilted his head, focusing.

We can talk like this. A wide sweep, a hand raised up near the mouth, palms spreading wide. Din waited. The kid had seen him use Tusken before, but for some reason, Din had never tried it with the kid. He’d always seemed to understand Basic well enough for how young he seemed to be, but he’d never spoken a word of it that Din could make out. He wondered why he hadn’t tried this earlier.

Do you understand? Din asked, hands flattening, circling, ending with a soft point of the index finger. He asked it a few times, varying the speed and size of the question, trying to see if the child understood.

The kid’s ears quivered, as if trying to catch something far in the distance. He held out his small three-fingered hands, and tried a clumsy sign for you.

Din leaned forward, hitching a sharp breath at the effort. Do you understand me?

The kid signed you again. Tried it a few times, the word smoothing out the more he tried, getting clearer.

Good job. It was hard to say if the kid really got it, or if he thought it was just a game. But it was promising to see his ears perking up, his dark eyes wide and interested, his mouth in a toothy, tiny grin.

Din smiled beneath his helmet. If this worked, they might be able to understand each other a lot better. The kid could ask him for help. Din could make it clear what was off limits and not to be bothered with. It was heartening as hell, a bright spot glimmering in the midst of some of the shittiest days he’d had in years.

And then a name swam into his head, causing his hands to drop, slowly, back into his lap.

Ahsoka Tano.

It wasn’t going to matter soon if the kid learned Tusken or Basic. He’d be back with the Jedi.

And Din would be alone, again.

His hands, trembling, spoke for him. Fingers flashed much too quickly for a beginner to learn; phrases scaffolded in front of him, words in motion, hands unfolding with meaning he knew the kid couldn’t hope to guess. The little one gazed up at him.

Thank you for saving my life --

I promise I’ll help you, no matter what --

I’m really going to miss you, kid --

Din’s eyes stung. He blinked once, twice, and stilled his hands. He’d said too much. The kid reached out and held onto his palms, his hands weighing almost nothing at all against Din’s own.

Din swallowed, looking into those trusting eyes. “Okay, kid,” he said hoarsely. “Come on. Let’s try again.”

***

Din shakes the memory off. He knows what he has been quested to do, that Mandalorians keep their word. He’s promised to find the place the kid belongs, and he would rather die -- nearly did -- than leave that promise unfulfilled.

The door to the cockpit slides open, and Din groans. The Mon Calamari’s handiwork is even more ridiculous here than in the rest of the ship. A dangling fishnet slaps him in the helmet, and he shoves it aside irritably as he buckles the kid into his favorite seat. Even through the helmet, the whole place stinks of brine.

“Mon Calarami,” he grumbles. “Unbelievable.”

He powers up the ship, starts easing it into the atmosphere. The ship shakes beneath him, clearly wounded. He can tell by the feel and the instrumentation that the ship should hold together for travel… barely.

A strange noise catches his attention, and he reaches out, grabbing some kind of sea creature that looks like it was about to pounce on the kid. The child burbles with delight and Din shakes his head. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. He squeezes until he’s sure the creature’s dead, then hands it to the kid for a snack. It’s not as hideous as some of the things he’s seen him eat, anyway.

“I finally know where I’m taking you,” Din tells him. “But it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

The starfield opens up before them. He takes a deep breath -- hold together, now -- and punches it to hyperspace. The stars ribbon past them, and Din leans back in his seat, relieved. It’ll be enough to get somewhere safe. Before they find the Jedi.

The ship vibrates around them, and Din makes a running list in his head of things he needs to check, wiring that needs to be redone, processes to recalibrate, repairs that need to be made, Mon Calamari detritus that needs to be jettisoned. He could start work on it now. Get it done. It'd be the efficient thing to do.

Instead, Din turns to the kid. “Hey. You wanna practice what we learned?” His hands flash before him as he speaks, tracing out the sentence structure in Tusken. “You can do it.”

He knows he doesn’t need to bother. He can speak again without losing his breath, and what’s more, he knows the kid will leave him soon. He knows it’s not enough time to teach proficiency, that it probably won’t make a difference for the kid in the long run.

But the kid likes it, and Din does, too. Maybe that’s enough.

The kid stares at him intently, moves his small hands in little circles, makes a fist. He grins, clearly pleased with himself.

Din laughs, hands shifting in affirmation, echoing the kid’s words. “That’s right, kid.”

The kid’s hands sign again, repeating the phrase Din had gone on to teach him, the signs clumsy but clear.

You. And me.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu djarin #grogu #clan mudhorn #the mandalorian fanfiction #noromo mando #whump #noncardiogenic pulmonary edema is the diagnosis if anyone is wondering #and treatment is basically... oxygen and sedation #it ain't fun!#my Mando fic

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copias-thrall · 4 years ago

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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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

Text

The Worry

Warnings: The next two chapters will deal with pregnancy, societal pressure around pregnancy, and concerns around pregnancy! I’ve CW’d them for that in the tags!! If you need me to add any additional tags, please let me know. I’m not a doctor. Just, you know. Disclaimer.

Also cursing; canon-typical violence Notes: Angsty and fluffy Summary: You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong.

It’s been a question since before you and Borracho even get married: So when are you two having kids? You just laugh it off when his sisters ask, and his mom, and Gabriel, that one time. When you were dating it was only once in a while - usually when you turned down the offer of a beer because you’d agreed to be the designated driver between the two of you for that night. Nadia or Megan or Isobel would sidle up to you and pat your stomach and waggle their eyebrows, and you’d just laugh and knock their hands away and screech, “I’m driving!” But now that you’re married… Well, it’s almost constant. And it’s not just from his family. You know that the guys have a pool going about whether or not you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year. The website that you guys used to register for wedding gifts is popping into your inbox every other week to set up your baby shower registry.

And you and Borracho have talked about the kids thing before, a few times since the weekend that you looked after Lissie. Thing is, you haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know that Borracho’s thinking about it. He hasn’t been smoking - he’s been using nicotine patches and chewing gum like a fiend. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs and mutters something about, “having to kick the habit some time”. He’s a little moody about it, sure, but you had been very clear when the two of you spoke that you didn’t want cigarette smoke about your child - “Besides,” You’d murmured when you’d talked about it, “It’s not good for you, Benny. And I want you around for a long time.” That fact that he’s doing that sort of signals a ‘soon?’ to you, but you don’t talk about it. You’re not sure you want to. Talking about it would make it real, and making it real might freak you out, and you really, really want to bask in your honeymoon phase for a little while longer. His family is still pretty pushy about it. When you get handed a kid at any family function, or you help of your own volition, you inevitably hear something somewhere behind you about, “practice,” and “it’ll be different when she has her own”. And you know that it’s because they’re excited for you and Borracho, but it’s starting to wear. There’s one day when you’re cleaning popsicle off of Lissie’s chin, and you hear Nadia coo about you looking like a little mother. And you’re so, so tempted to ask if she’d rather you just let her child make a mess. You’re not being a mother, you’re just trying to help. If Borracho were doing this, would he look like a little father to them? But instead you give her a tight smile and turn back to Lissie, and let the baby’s garbled speech make you smile for real. -- That night, you wait until Borracho has fallen asleep before you get up and do a little research. And a little research brings on a lot of worry. -- You still don’t talk about it. The talking will make it feel real. You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. But the thing is you and Borracho have technically been trying since you got married. You’re not on the pill, you’re both clean, so you haven’t been using condoms. You’ve been tracking your cycle, you know your ovulation window, and while you did think, once after you came back from your honeymoon that you two might be-- Well, your period was just a couple of days late, so it didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t mention it to him. You read an article that tells you that 80% of couples conceive after 6 months of trying; the same article tells you that 90% conceive after a year of trying. You and Borracho have been trying for 8 months and-- nothing. So maybe there’s something wrong? Some irregularity with your ovulation cycle - or maybe he could have a low sperm count, you don’t think he’s ever gotten that checked out. All of this is in your head. It’s not on your mind, it’s just hanging out in the background. Occasionally it drifts to the forefront and you wave it back to its place, along with the worries that if, somehow, you ever managed to have a child, you’d be an awful mother and the kid would hate you. -- Borracho, bless him, waits. He doesn’t ask right away. Whatever it is that’s wrong, he can tell you’re not ready to talk about, and he’s got the feeling that the conversation will make him want a cigarette, anyway, so maybe it’s for the best that he lets you come to him with it. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s actually kind of an ordeal. The guys have been working an art theft case for the last three months and you’ve been so consumed by it that you haven’t even had time to worry about whether or not you can get pregnant because the two of you have been so busy that you’ve hardly had time to have sex. After a particularly hard night, Borracho broke down and bummed a cigarette off of Connors, and you didn’t begrudge him that one. You’d just sat outside of the bar with him and rubbed your hand between his shoulder blades. “I’ll be back on the patches and gum tomorrow,” He’d sworn to you, and you’d just told him that it was alright, and that you loved him, and that you knew that this was hard for him. He’d flicked the cigarette butt away and practically pulled you into his lap, kissing your neck and murmuring that he wanted to marry you all over again. And then Nick had come out and threatened to arrest the both of you for public indecency. But you and Borracho spend most of your first anniversary getting ready for a sting. Nick’s managed to rope you into field work again (much to Borracho’s chagrin). You’re posing as a buyer, and meeting up with the man that had stolen the painting from the Kohn Gallery. None of the guys can do it - this dealer’s been busted by them before, he’ll recognize them right off. You’re the only one whose face he doesn’t know. When you show at the station, the guys let out little mutters; Connors gets out half of a wolf-whistle before Nick punches him in the shoulder. You arch a brow. You’re not sure what it is - the suit you’ve opted to wear, the pointed-toe heels, or the wig. This one isn’t pink, of course - it’s similar to your hair, but it has a loose, styled wave to it. “Why don’t you ever come to the office like this?” Henderson teases, even as Borracho stares him down. “You all never get dressed up for me, why the fuck would I get dressed up for you?” You retort. “She’s got a point. We’re rollin’ out in ten,” Nick adds. Borracho stands from his desk and walks over to yours, watching you reach under the wig to put in your earpiece. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asks. “It’ll be fine,” You glance at him. He purses his lips, and you reach out, cupping his chin, then teasing your nails through the goatee there. “Come on, this isn’t my first field op.” “We won’t be in there with you,” Borracho reminds you, though he sounds like he’s much more hung up on that fact than you are. “I know, but you’ll be nearby,” You say, “And the second I confirm the painting is the one you guys have been looking for, you’ll grab the guy and we’ll be set.” Borracho doesn’t look so convinced, but you lean up and peck his lips and murmur, “Relax, Benny.” And you expect hoots and hollers to go up from the guys, but you hear nothing. They’re giving you two this moment. They know what today is; they know how worried Borracho is. And the guys can be dicks sometimes, but you love them. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s kind of an ordeal. You wind up sitting on the back of an ambulance because a bullet grazed your right arm - not deep enough to do real damage or hit anything serious, but bad enough to need stitches. Borracho is leaning against the ambulance, jaw clenched as he stares down at your pointed-toe heels. You’ve tried to engage him, and you’ve tried to get him to look at you, but he just won’t. When you’re leaving, you expect him to bum a cigarette off of Connors, but he doesn’t. Instead you drive home in silence, his hand territorial on your thigh, like the art dealer is in the backseat, like the bullet is hovering near your shoulder, but neither will be able to touch you as long as he is. He waits until you two are in your apartment to draw you into his arms and hold you tight against his chest. You go willingly, and you cuddle against him and hide your wince in his neck as your arm twinges when you take hold of him in turn. Some part of you is tempted to joke, to murmur, “Happy anniversary?”, but you consider how mad you’d be if he did that to you just now, and instead you murmur, “It’s just a scratch.” And maybe that’s not the best thing to have said, either, because his grip tightens on you, and he mumbles, “Scratches don’t need stitches, sweetness.” -- That night, he’s gentle with you, the way you were with him the first time the two of you were together after he’d been shot. He takes his time undressing with you, pushes your hands away from your clothes when you reach to remove them yourself. When you tease and ask him if he wants you to keep the wig on, he shakes his head and covers your body with his, and he nuzzles against your jaw and murmurs, “You,” sweet and desperate, “I just want you.” -- It’s a hiccup. A bump in the road. A reminder that what you two do is dangerous, that anything can happen. Time passes. The wound heals. The worry comes back. -- You wake up with cramps one morning. You go into the bathroom - you confirm it is what you think it is. You tiptoe around your bedroom, pull on sweatpants and head into the kitchen to make coffee. It’s been a year and a half now, and you are worried. Borracho never did say that kids are a deal breaker, but what if they are? What if he’s changed his mind? What if you change your mind? Your vision is blurring with tears as you pour water into the coffeemaker. You can hear Borracho shuffling around in your bedroom, and you let yourself sniffle before you scrub at your eyes. You set your hands on the counter, taking a few steadying breaths as you hear Borracho come out of the bedroom. You hear him pause before he cuddles up behind you, his big, rough, warm hands settling comfortingly on your hips. He presses a kiss to the back of your head, then to the side, then brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “What’s going on, sweetness?” He murmurs. You should’ve known better; the man knows you better than anyone, you can’t hide from him, not well. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to go this long without saying anything to him. You lean back against his chest and mumble, “I got my period.” It takes him a few moments, but he nods a little, turning and pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay.” “What if-- Benny what if I can’t-- And we can’t--...” Your eyes are welling up with tears again; your voice is wavering, and your throat feels tight with worry. He slides his arms around your waist, soothingly rocking the two of you side to side. “We’ll figure it out, sweetness,” He soothes, “We can talk to a doctor, we can look into adoption-- Anything you want.” “What’ll your family say?” “Hey,” Borracho turns you to face him. He lifts one hand to your chin and tips your head up to look at him. “This isn’t their marriage, this isn’t their decision. It’s ours. We make this choice, you and me.” He reaches up and smooths away a tear when it escapes you. “And if that choice is no kids, then that’s our choice, sweetness.” You can’t stop the tears now; you surge up and bury your face in Borracho’s shoulder and curl into him and mumble that you wanna marry him all over again. -- Your second anniversary is sting-operation and bullet-graze free. The traditional second anniversary gift is cotton. The box you give Borracho contains a cotton shirt that says ‘I’m Going to Be a Daddy!’, and your (cleaned) positive pregnancy test. (You’ve got a matching shirt that says ‘You Can Stop Asking When We’re Having a Baby Now’.)

#The Pool #The Worry #Pregnancy CW #Pregnancy conversations #Concerns around pregnancy #Benny Borracho #Benny Borracho Magalon #Benny Borracho x Reader #Benny Borracho Magalon x Reader #Benny Borracho x You #Benny Borracho/You #benny borracho/reader #Benny Borracho Magalon x You #Benny Borracho Magalon/You #Benny Borracho Magalon/Reader

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letterboxd · 4 years ago

Photo

Third Language.

With her debut film Farewell Amor out now following a successful journey on the festival circuit, Tanzanian-American writer and director Ekwa Msangi tells Selome Hailu about the third language of music, growing up on knockoffs of the Rambo franchise, and her favorite African filmmakers.

There’s a subtle musicality central to the way Ekwa Msangi carries herself. She finds melodies in her words: “You hum the ‘m’,” she says when asked how to pronounce her last name. “Mmm-sangi.” And perhaps to a more subconscious degree, she speaks with rhythm, too: “I do think, and I know, and I can see…” she trails off, ruminating on how much hope she feels for the future of Black filmmaking. Naturally, this musical quality meanders into her work.

Farewell Amor is a quiet film, except for when it isn’t. Three Angolan immigrants revolve around each other in an awkward orbit, each trying to make sense of their dynamic now that they’ve left their home behind. Kept apart for seventeen years by the bureaucratic intricacies of war and paperwork, Walter (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine) is finally joined by his wife Esther (Zainab Jah) and daughter Sylvia (Jayme Lawson—soon to be seen as Bella Reál in The Batman) in New York City. But they don’t know each other anymore and spend much of their time in silence, until music and dance burst forward as a chance at common ground.

Msangi’s screenplay never dwells on the technicalities of the family’s struggle against the American immigration system. Instead, it plunges into softer, more personal after-effects of dreams deferred. Walter’s walls bear a faded calendar with Barack Obama’s face on it, even though his empty apartment complicates the “hope” the president promised people like him. When his family arrives at long last, Esther wears a silver cross pendant, having made sense of these years as a married-yet-single mother by drawing closer—almost too close—to religion. Sylvia barely speaks at all, caught between a faith that isn’t hers and a home that isn’t either.

Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine and Nana Mensah in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

The film’s triptych structure emerged after Msangi spent months grappling with how to create a feature-length screenplay out of her original short film. “Having just come off of the short, I was focusing on Walter’s story. But [I] didn’t think that was the most original story I could tell,” she says. “And then, out of indecision between whether I should make it Walter’s or Sylvia’s story, I decided to just do both. Initially it was two perspectives that I was looking at. But I realized that Esther’s story was really the linchpin for both of their stories, and it wouldn’t make sense not to have hers.”

Giving Walter, Esther and Sylvia their own chapters makes Farewell Amor a stronger film than if it had followed a singular, traditional protagonist. Extreme conservatism in one chapter is revealed as a desire to avoid pain in another; one character’s cramped living room is another’s space to dance freely. Writing on Letterboxd, Tabby points out how the three-part narrative structure grants meaningful subjectivity to characters who deserve it: “It’s so easy for Westernized perspectives to steamroll over films that deal in cultural disparities and thematics, but Farewell Amor takes important steps in showing all sides of the story,” she writes. “It was refreshing to see [the characters] each given the space to exist.”

This layering of voices happens in the camerawork, too. Each section of the narrative is marked with a visual language of its own, complete with specific color palettes and cinematographic techniques. Msangi thinks fondly about the work she put in with cinematographer Bruce Francis Cole to make the chapters distinct. “For Walter’s, it’s sort of a slow cinema, where there’s a lot of still framing. It’s almost like he’s stuck, you know? Stuck in the frame between two surfaces, two hard surfaces, a window frame, a door frame. And in Sylvia’s, we wanted to have it reflect her livelihood, her restlessness. All handheld cameras, all movement. And then for Esther, she’s very observant. She’s been taking everything in, almost in an investigative style, but also a little bit romantic. She’s romanticized this setup, so a lot of close shots, a lot of soft lighting.”

Jayme Lawson as Sylvia in ‘Farewell Amor’. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

Music gives Farewell Amor a cohesion across the different storylines. “Music is, for these characters in particular, and for me, kind of a third language,” Msangi says. “It gives you a glimpse under the covers, what’s under the sheets.” The soundtrack underscores strong performances from Mwine, Jah and Lawson, lending depth to their quietude and vibrance to their movement. Msangi also notes how sound became a cornerstone of her collaboration with the actors: “As I was writing from different perspectives, in order to help me get into each character’s skin, I would listen to the music that they would be interested in.” She later shared these playlists with the actors, using the songs to communicate what words couldn’t.

Msangi has a good laugh as she tries to think about the major films that inspired her to become a filmmaker. “You know, I don’t have that. Well, I do have that, but not for the reasons that most of my film peers have,” she says. Growing up in East Africa in the ’80s and ’90s, little to none of the programming on television was local. What did kids watch instead? “We watched Rambo for probably ten years straight, and then Rambo knockoffs for another ten years after that. I decided to become a filmmaker because of horrible Rambo knockoff films.”

“I grew up surrounded by such colorful and delightful and interesting and funny people,” Msangi says. “And none of that was reflected anywhere in the media.” As she grew older, she sought out African films she couldn’t access in her youth. Now, they’re some of her highest recommendations. Ousmane Sembène is the first African director whose filmography she ever got the chance to dive into. Sembène’s 50-year career has garnered him the affectionate title of ‘Father of African film’ among many critics and scholars, who laud him for his dramas, including Black Girl and Camp de Thiaroye. Msangi, however, finds herself taken with his unique sense of humor. She has also been inspired by Safi Faye, another Senegalese director, who became the first sub-Saharan African woman to attain commercial distribution in 1975—and whose film Mossane portrays sexual intimacy with an openness Msangi hadn’t seen elsewhere.

Writer-director Ekwa Msangi. / Photo courtesy IFC Films

In Farewell Amor, Sylvia’s chapter reads like a compacted coming-of-age film. Msangi points to South African director Darrell James Roodt’s Sarafina! as an influence in that regard. “It was showing for two weeks in Nairobi, and I lined up for four hours to watch,” she says about the film, a drama about youth involvement in the 1976 Soweto uprising. “Even though it’s from a different part of the continent, I’d never seen young African teenagers on a screen before.” More recently, she has loved 2011 TIFF breakout and Oscar contender Death for Sale by Moroccan director Faouzi Bensaïdi, and Radha Blank’s The Forty-Year-Old Version is her favorite film of 2020. She’s hopeful about the future of Black American cinema: Ava DuVernay and Ryan Coogler are two of her favorite working directors.

Msangi’s selections are wide in range, but there’s still one thing holding them together: themes of vulnerability, community and celebration of identity, across different decades and genres. In fact, her approach to watching movies isn’t far off from the way she made her own—Farewell Amor maps concurrent experiences of disparate people, and Msangi’s tastes seem driven by the same balance of vastness and specificity.

“I’m a filmmaker who really abhors working on the same kind of story over and over again, the same genre, the same kinds of characters,” she says. “So I’m not going to make my career just telling stories about immigrants or about, you know, their wretched troubles,” she laughs. “I don’t want to do that.”

Msangi’s next project will be an African-American period piece; beyond that, she hopes to make films in several locations: the Caribbean, Europe and all over the African continent. “I really would like to just have a lot of fun with my career. You know? Because it’s a fun and magical industry that we work in! The work that we do in creating these stories and hopes and dreams—we create magic, so it should be fun.”

Related content

Adam Davie’s Black Life on Film list

Shachar’s 20 Films by Black Directors 2021 Challenge

Screenpaige’s list of Black Women in Film

Follow Selome on Letterboxd

‘Farewell Amor’ is out now in select theaters and on demand through IFC.

#ekwa msangi #jayme lawson #farewell amor #african cinema #black filmmaker #black director #directed by women #52 films by women #female director #black woman director #american film #drama #romance #dance film #angolan cinema #angola #letterboxd

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Tom and Jerry 2021 Review: It’s Almost Adequate!

Hello you happy people, and welcome to a surprise review! While this was on my schedule, I moved it out to make room for my new Patreon Sponsored review. Yes at the 5 dollar tier you too can get a review a month.. but enough shilling. Point is I had some thoughts on the film, and felt I could squeeze a review of it into the schedule since my review for yesterday, the 90′s Tom and Jerry movie, got canceled as I both had to finish up my tex avery birthday review and hadn’t noticed it wasn’t on HBO Max like I thought. I could’ve sworn it was once but not anymore. Gee it’s almost like they removed their overtly awful Tom and Jerry movie from the service so people woudln’t be reminded of it when they watched the mediocre new one. Or it was never on there because HBO wants to bury that mistake in a hole. You make the call.

Point is I had some room in my schedule, so if I can’t cover the 1990 movie this weekend, though I FULLY intend to still do that at some point as it still fascinates me, might as well cover the one everyone’s actually watching. So join me under the cut with spoilers to go into why this film is .. ehhhh. under the cut

Tom and Jerry follows, as you’d expect, our working boys up to their ass in shit, what is this buisness. In this case Tom literally rides in on a rail with his keyboard wanting to be a big musician one day, while Jerry is shopping around for a home but can’t find any in his bracket. The two end up fighting, as you’d expect, when Tom performs as a blind cat in a park, a great gag, and Jerry first steals his customers by dancing to his music, but then when Tom tries to stop him, not only exposes his scam, but gets Tom’s beloved Keyboard broken.

In the process of Tom trying to get Jerry back for runing his day, Tom ruins the day of Kayla, a cynical young lady played by Chole Grace Moretz who like Robin in the last theatrical film, is a blonde girl who takes up way more screen time than our heroes for some reason. Tom accidently destroys the clothes she was sent to deliver, and she gets fired from her Task Rabbit esque job... despite the fact that TaskRabbit is app based, entirely built around how you do jobs for hire as needed, and that at most she’d get a bad review and that the app dosen’t actually hire people. I know this both because i’ve seen the apps and parodies of it show up on tv shows I watch, most recently Close Enough, and because I took the 2 minutes it took to google it , read some of the Wikipedia article and do the bare minimum that me, a paid only by commissions and patreons reviewer, did to prove a point, and that the writers of this film, who likely got paid at least 10000 for a rewrite, and more for whoever wrote the treatment, which is about 30,000 at lowest as told to me by this article on what screenwriters get paid I looked up solely to prove a point. So they got paid tens of thousands of dollars, probably more than standard... to not spend 5 minutes looking up what task rabbit is, becuase they wanted to give her a “hip” job instead of just having her work for a dry cleaner. Then again they got thousands upon thousands to half ass it and i’m getting paid nothing to go on a rant about how they half assed it, so maybe i’m the dumbass, I dunno, but at least I take pride in my work. And i’ve had trouble spellchecking at times so take that as you will.

But so far the film is not bad: the slapstick is blended really well, the action is pitch perfect and our heroes are given good motivations: Kayla’s to find a job, Tom to play piano professionally and Jerry to find a proper home. You ready for some letdown?!

All three of our heroes converge at the Royal Gate Hotel, a prestigious hotel that’s been host to popes, dignitaries and Drake. Jerry sneaks inside, and soon finds himself at home and making himself home, Tom TRIES to and ends up getting on the wrong side of Butch, the black cat from the shorts played in this film by reggaton performer Nicky Jam. Why they choose him over a comedian or anyone who could actually act, especially since Butch dosen’t have a musical number or anything, is a riddle for the ages. My best guest, as it always is, is that Tim Story owes him a Wookie-Style life debt. Not only that but even more bafflingly Butch’s gang, who to the films credit like him are all his gang of cats from the classic shorts, are played by Kevin Hart’s Improve Troop, The Plastic Cup Boyz. I got a preview for what passing a kidney stone’s going to feel like just typing that name. I thought I had no explanation for this, not even a wookie life debt can explain how Kevin Hart’s posse, because he has one for some reason but at least unlike Adam Sandler he’s helping his smaller named friends get big instead of just promoting guys who really shouldn’t have a career or dragging poor guys like Shaq or Terry Crews into your bullcrap because they like you., can explain how this happened. But I forgot I looked up Tim Story’s filmography when I first found out he was director here, more on him later, and found out he directed both Ride Along films, both think like a man films, and one of Kevin Hart’s specials, so the two presumably are friends or at least have a solid working relationship, and given how successful the first Ride Along was for both men, I doubt Tim would turn down a favor from him and vice versa.

And while I find the Plastic Cup Boyz inclusion in this film bizzare and wish it was fellow comedy troupe and starkid adjacent wonderkinds the Tin Can Bros so I could get Joey Richter voicing an animated cat, they at least try their best, their just not given much to do and I don’t get casting them in these side rolls or not giving the butch role to one of them as Nicky Jam just sucks in the role. And I get Butch isn’t the most solid or complex character, but it still isn’t THAT hard, with the 80 drumloads of great comedians out there, to find SOMEONE better, and it’s weird Kevin Hart himself isn’t in the roll. If it wasn’t a wookie life debt i’m betting Hart was going to play Butch, had to back out due to scheduling conflicts or whatever, and Tim found the first guy he could who’d take almost nothing instead of an actual actor.

Kayla meanwhile somehow takes herself from sympathetic to wholly unlikeable in the span of the scene by maniuplating and terrifying a poor woman into not taking the job, outright STEALING HER RESUME, meaning if she screwed up this might go on the poor woman’s record, and lying her way into the job. And if the woman had been you know a classist dick or something, i’d understand but this is a perfectly nice lady who worked really hard, and who looses out on a job because some little bitch talked her out of it and then stole her identity. This one act really just makes me not care: It’s one thing to do what you gotta to get a job, I myself have never lied on an application but I get new york’s insanely expensive. Even if she presumibly lives in a hole that’s cramped, has roaches or rats, who given this unvierse probably have tiny tv’s that are still way too loud and binge watch way too much Jersey Shore at 2 in the morning, and is probably haunted, probably by Droopy wearing a bedsheet going boo but still, and yes he’s also alive here but he has identical cousins. Not the point. Point is even if she has sympathetic motives.. what she did is not okay and when she get flashes of guilt throughtout hte film it’s never long enough to feel like it’s not her simply feeling bad she didn’t get this herself and not that she STOLE IT FROM ANOTHER PERSON. Again if she’d FAKED her resume, this would’ve been fine, simply set up some websites, and it would’ve worked so why they went with this elaborate setup that takes her into outright crimes is beyond me.

Point is she gets hired by the manager/owner, Mr. Dubrois, played by Rob Delany, but since his name isn’t used enough i’m just going to call him Mustache Manager. Her direct superior whose against her being hired is Terrance, the Gate’s Event Manager played by a way too good for this film Micheal Pena, who sadly is given nothing to work with. Terrance.. is supposed to be the bad guy because he distrusts kayla. And while one of those reasons is stupid, she makes a joke about the goldfish being an aquatics manger and he takes it dead seriously, he’s rightfully supscious she’s not who she says she is, since one of the places on her resume is a place he knows people from. The only way the film manages to make him the bad guy is he is COMICALLY out of touch: he dosen’t get sarcasm, as seen before, dosen’t want people posting jerry to “snapgram or instaface”, and seems to have trouble relating to his guests. What makes this not work is that he’s manger at a ludicrously expensive hotel. As such a good chunk of his events would be for Celebrties, since New York’s a big hub for them, having tons living there and visiting for films, apperances on late night talk shows, SNL and what have you and being a prime spot for events and it’s clear part of his job is talking to the guests as the two the film focuses on, more on that in a minute, know him and have met him before. He also mentions Drake having stayed there... he would NOT have kept this job.

You’d need to do through research on these kinds of celebrates and social media is the easiest way to do that, to get what they like, what they don’t, what they don’t want to talk about, what scandals or gos might be going on to keep paparazzi out. I don’t even know how this business works nor did I google it.. and I didn’t to prove a point.. that even with no real idea how this works.. I still get what you’d probably need to know to make events for rich famous people. I’m not convinced Terrance knows how an internet works. And given writer Kevin Costello wrote the well received and weird film I still want to see Brigbsby Bear, I get the sense a lot of this nonsense was added in rewrites demanded by executives and credit him more for what works in the film. More on that in a moment.

Kayla is hired on because the Royal Gate has it’s biggest event ever, the wedding of Ben, played by Colin Jost, and Preeta, played by Pallavi Sharda. Why is it big? What do they do exactly? Are they trust fund babies? Did Ben invent an app? Did Preeta cure global warming? Did they both help defeat Galactus DEVOURER OF WORLDS?!... I dont’ know. If the film told me at all why their big names, even if it’s just because their famous for being famous which would be fine, why this is bigger than a fucking pope visiting, I missed it and I actually went back to their first scene and the scene where Mustache Manager brings up the wedding in the first place to Kayla, and found nothing. We just know their rich, their getting married, Ben doesn’t listen to Preeta and is insufferable, and that they own two classic Tom and Jerry characters: Ben owns spike whose played by Bobby Canavale who isn’t bad but dosen’t try to sound like spike at all and that annoys me given unlike Tom and Jerry, the former of whom’s signature noises from the cartoon were used archivally and otherwise dosen’t talk and only sings on occasion or does that wonderfully weird “don’t you belivie it” thing., has a distinct voice they could’ve got someone to imitate. The other is Preeya’s cat toodles, that white cat Tom is always trying to bang, who got a neat less anthro redesign.

Toots, Toodles whatever you call her the redesign works, making her more of a cat, and only speaking in meows for some reason, and combinging the two female cats tom’s liked, but while still being just funny animal enough that him wanting some pussy, so to speak, isn’t too creepy.

And this is where the film undergoes a bit of a shift. While the 20 or so minutes are rightfully focused on our boys with a bit of focus on Kayla, from here on out she’s our defacto lead. Given the last film did the same damn thing of making Tom and Jerry not the main leads in their own movie, you can see the problem. I will say to the film’s credit it is still LEAGUES better in a lot of other ways than the 90′s film in that the plot is actually centered around them: Jerry, when stealing some cheese, and runs afoul of the tempermental Chef Jackie played by Kim Jeong. Though i’m 100% not convinced Ben Chang didn’t just lie on his resume at some place and has now somehow become a michline star canditate. He finds Jerry, and Kayla volunteers to catch him to help her own career and validly points out her doing this discreetly with only the staff knowing about the mouse will keep it from becoming a social media nightmare.

The 90′s film could work without them, replacing them with any animal sidekick for Robin, since nit’s so far removed from Tom and Jerry their really an afterthought. Here the film DOES feel like a tom and jerry plot at it’s core, Jerry’s somewhere he shoudln’t be, Tom wants to chase him either due to personal greivance or his job depending on it, in this case both. The small side cast are all involved, and given decent if thin justifications for being there: Butch is an ally cat and Spike and Tootles are the pets of the happy couple.

And honestly the slapstick portions, the portions that are tom and jerry focused or use the humans well, are BRILLIANT. No really, it’s good stuff once in a while using a bit from the classics but mostly coming up with new gags and the animation is gorgeous. I won’t lie and say it’s always perfect, sometimes the models are a bit off and look unfinished and that’s not forgivable when you delay your film two months, and thus have extra time to work on that. But that’s a few shots here and there versus the majority of hte film where the various animals all blend perfectly. Unlike most Live Action adaptations of an old cartoon, this one actually seemed to have good reason, as they’ve taken the basic roger rabbit tech of decades ago and expanded on it well. Just like that classic you often wonder how the hell they pulled this off, and outside of one egregrous sequence where tom sets up an elaborate trap we spend far too much time on, when they do use CG for any props, you can’t tell. This is best highlighted by what I consdier to be the film’s best sequence and what brings Tom into the plot proper after lurking on the fringes for a good 15 minutes: Tom, miserable in the rain, finds jerry living it up in an empty room, and after some fun shenanigans trying to get in, finally succeds leading to a good 2-3 minute sequence of the two chasing after each other in the room. There are no actors, no one else and the room is empty, but perfectly gimmicked to time with thier movments. Wether they used cg and I couldn’t tell or just simply timed things great, it’s utterly fantastic and shows why this film is live action: while i’td be fine animated they cleary ahd the tech and ideas to do it live and thus did it this way. Naturally Kayla meets Tom again, and after finding out the room was trashed by both him and Jerry gets Mustache Manager to hire him.

But this is the problem: While there are great set pieces like this, or a REALLY damn impressive one later where Terrance gets dragged into a ball of violence while walking Spike for Ben and we see INSIDE IT, with Terrance not moving as fast but that being okay. And I love the movie’s commitment that ALL animals are animated. So it has it’s charms and gets a LOT right.

It’s clear to me from this strong core that the script was messed with, either by director Tim Story or the execs. Some misguided and stupid bits I get even if it was a bad idea: Tom does do the piano at one point, after he thinks he’s gotten rid of Jerry thanks to again an unwieldy overly long bit of CGI that’s a down spot on the usually good just tom and jerry stuff. And he STARTS singing a 40′s jazz song, and I thought “Okay they really got this and are doing something like is you is or is you ain’t my baby this will be fun”. Then T-Pain started using autotune, because of course, and Tom’s shoulder devil started scratching next to him...

By the way Tom’s Shoulder Devil and Angel are played very well by Lil Rel Howrey , aka Rod from Get Out. So good on you man, one bit of non miscasting. There’s one or two cringe inducing moment of trying to be hip here or there though for a film like this it isn’t nearly as bad as you’d expect. Still bad but i’ve seen so much worse at this point i’m not going to bother getting mad or upset over it. I’m used to this kind of thing from kids movies.

But while the film dosen’t really lack Tom and Jerry, it sidelines them way too often> There’s just too many scenes just about Kayla, whose not only not a great character despite Chole trying her absolute hardest god bless her. Her hitting it off with the bartender, her arguing with Terrance whose even more insufferable and her bonding with Preeta and Ben being annoying, we’ll get to him.. WE’LL GET TO HIM. But they aren’t funny or interesting, there’s nothing THERE to really get me interested, nothing new or fresh that we haven’t seen done better before. There’s just nothing, it feels like large parts of blank space. And to illustrate this my Niece, who I watched the film with and really loves Tom and Jerry after I showed it to her... played with other stuff during most of those scenes. And she’s young, her attention span is not great.. but noticably during the actual scenes of slapstick she was glued to the tv, just like she was when I showed her the classic shorts. It’s not just old farts like me who remember tom and jerry from their youth.. it’s the kids your TRYING to appeal to that don’t want this. If you can’t get kids, who in general and speaking from my own personal experience will watch just about anything, to pay attention YOU. HAVE. FAILED.

Okay took a second to compose myself, let’s move on to the rest of the movie. So after T-Pain stabbed music in the throat, we get to the worst section of the film as Kayla brokers peace between the two to get Preeta’s ring back after the three end up in the aformnetioned violence ball with Terrance, who she ducks his claims that she didn’t catch the mouse.. which she did not but for once she’s sympathetic as Terrance is much more likeable either, though gaslighting him and getting him put on leave is a bit extreme. Bafflingly, Kayla gets his job as event cordinator for now, and thus has to broker peace between the two warring factions.. and does so in the strangest way possible: by booking a day for them in new york to hang out and be BUDDIES!. This isn’t bad as the last film as it dosen’t last, but it is just.. surreal seeing the two having a hanging out montage around new york. Like the film just took a really weird turn with this, the montage itself isn’t weird, it’s standard shenanigans minus the fighting but still good stuff. Unlike the 90′s movie instead of singing about being palls or helping a small child, they just get into cartoony shenanigans together. More proof the film could’ve been so much better just with them.

Speaking of proof the film would’ve been better without them , Ben fucks around with a drone for the wedding, after Preeta confided in Kayla the wedding’s getting to be a bit much. So let’s talk about Ben shall we? While Preeta is just nice, friendly and down to earth, Ben... is a dumbass, a jackass and just an ass. His whole schtick is that he keeps escalting the wedding despite her wishing he’d stop, and i’ts just.. not funny. A guy ignoring his partner’s wishes, constnatly doing big gestures in large part to try and win over her dad who RIGHTFULLY hates, and in general just sucks. I do not blame this on Colin Jost: He’s perfectly charming on SNL, and Weekend Update is usually damn fun under him and Micheal Che. But like with Pena and Mortez, he’s given NOTHING to work with, and furthe rmore can’t improvise.. aka the skill most SNL cast and almnus walk away with. So it’s no suprise he instead comes off like an anoying plank of wood you want to see fall down a manhole and never return so Preeta can marry someone else. I dunno the Doorman’s a pretty cool guy, and if he’s taken or something there’s always Droopy. Droopy’s the smoothest motherfucker and we all know. And if HE’S taken there’s mustache man. The point is we have a Dating Game’s worth of elligble bachelors and the film tries to sell a plank of wood who clearly wants to bang Preeta’s dad more than he wants a genuine equal relationship with Preeta.

So that dosen’t help the final act.. which is started with something REALLY weird to round off tom and jerry’s day as Tom catches a ball, interupts a play and get.s. thrown in the pound for it?

I don’t know how tha’ts a crime, I don’t get it either, point is the animal control guy is a creep who shows them off as they pass some angry dogs.. and..

MY BOY. There was an earlier joke with him taking the place of The Joker, and I thought that was it sadly but nope there he is! While, given they don’t really have much to do with each other, it is a tad weird he’s been grafted onto the tom and jerry legacy.. I really don’t care because it means Droopy gets to show up every so often in other stuff like this.. And hopefully the spinoff series coming in the summer. I”ve talked before about how much I love this dog so having him show up here was a HUGE delight and easily the higlihgt of the film and the gag is perfect. WHy is he in prison? I don’t know. But given who we’re dealing with I also assume he just disappeared later and showed up at the Wolf’s place again to get the evidence to clear his name and to help a young brodway hopeful played by Peyton R LIst get to her audition in time. And yes I just imagined another live action film with a classic character.. but admit it you’d rather be watching that one. They also run into butch who tries to force him to eat Jerry or they’ll kill him.

Terence saw the arrest on the tv though, so he bails the two out, pits them against each other, and sets them loose at the wedding. This goes how you’d expect. the two cause chaos and thanks to Weekend UpDumbass there’s pecocks, tigers and elephants, and Jerry naturally spooks the elephants, Spike, who has it in for tom as usual, goes after tom the tiger goes after him and the wedding is destroyed. Preeta breaks up with Ben and leaves, and Kayla is fired.

Less good is that Tom gets thrown out because Terrance backed out on his deal because he’s a fucking asshole. So while Kayla gripes to her sorta loveintrest bartender man, and wishes she could fix things, T and J show up, both realizing it’s their fault and both with a plan to fix things leading to our climax. Kayla goes back to the hotel, and while Terrance tries to boject she rightfully blackmails him. Sadly neither get their commupance and while Mustache Manager puts two and two together, he’s all for ending this PR Nightmare and helping with Kayla’s plan to get ben to stage a wedding in central park that Preeta actually wants while our two actual heroes go to stop her and do some light kidnapping of toodles to get Preeta to stop.

So it ends how you’d expect: Preeta makes a huge mistake, seriously Droopy go to their honemoon I guarantee Ben will wonder off into the ocean because he thought it looked sick bro, Kayla gets her job back and in a move that makes her almost tolerable hires the woman she stole from who Terrance clearly wants to bang, and Tom actually catches Toot’s eye, but then Jerry mucks it up because cockblocking tom has been his job since the 40′s, they fight, Kayla tells them to cut it out, they put an the end thing over it. Roll credits.

As you could tell I had issues with this film and had more the more I thought about it. So it’s not very good.. but I still recommend watching it if you have Max right now. Yes really. While the human parts are pretty awful as you could tell, you can have some fun mocking them, and it’s worth suffering through them for the bits with our boys, as those bits are geneuinely energetic, fun and what you came for. If you like tom and Jerry, you probably won’t like this movie.. but you’ll enjoy those bits. Hopefully if there’s a sequel, and this film was a suprise hit so their probably will be, they’ll learn their lesson from this one and focus less on the humans and more on the hyjinks but overall this is just a medicore waste of some really great technology and slapstick. This is just one huge ball of dispaointment instead of cartoon violence and i’m sorry it ended this way. If you liked this review, you can follow me on my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. Even 1 dollar a month helps and my next stretch goal nets a Darkwing Duck episode a month, so if that excites you, please sign up. And if you can’t afford to that’s fine and feel free to stick around anyway. Times are hard and I get that. And I will see you at the next rainbow.

#tom and jerry #tom and jerry 2021 #tom and jerry movie #tom and jerry the movie #tom cat #jerry mouse #droopy #toodles #spike #micheal pena #chloe grace moretz #kim jeong #colin jost #hbo max #mgm #warner brothers

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nvrmrsys · 4 years ago

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OC talk! Mostly surface level questions but I want to flesh them out on a surface level before going deeper

First, to give everyone perspective: describe them in a simple sentence.

Aster - The protagonist, a confused amnesiac. A surprisingly simple person at first glance, yet has a strong sense of justice and can get fired up under certain circumstances.

Gwen - A strict and critical woman that always has an unkind word to say. She holds everyone to high standards, including herself, and her scrupulosity knows no bounds.

Rose - A girl who puts a lot of effort into being cutesy and likable. She’s not good at much and kind of dying inside and has bursts of anger she doesn’t like and doesn’t expect.

Rachel - A timid girl who is over-apologetic and cowardly. She’s the kind of person who would let anyone get away with anything and is prone to crying and being taken advantage of.

Topaz - A boy with an enthusiastic, bubbly persona who uses it to mask feeling absolutely nothing. He’s depressed but craves human connection to the point of faking it; he has a lot in common with Rose.

Nico - An overprotective, stoic guy who tries not to let it show that he cares. He’s gruff and stern and doesn’t want to get attached, because he’s afraid of losing them.

Probably none of these people sound like appealing protagonists, but that’s the hidden point of the game...!?

If they had a pet, what kind of pet would they have?

Aster would probably have a cat, as would Gwen. Rose would have a bunny but she probably wouldn’t be good at caring for it. Rachel might have a fish or a small bird. Topaz would have a golden retriever, and Nico would have a German Shepherd.

Where would they be most suited to live?

Aster would probably like a studio, nothing too fancy. They wouldn’t want it to be cramped but they don’t need that much space either, and I think a “small soul in a big city” type of life would suit them. Gwen could probably thrive anywhere, but I’d say she’s probably most suited to be a suburban mom (lol). I think Rose would like to live on the West Coast, either in California or the PNW. I don’t think living style matters as much as location for her. Rachel would like to live on a farm or in the forest like some sort of cottagecore blogger. Topaz wants to live in a big community because he wants the attention and he wants to be taken care of. Nico would probably LIKE to live in the mountains, but whether that’s actually sustainable for him IDK.

What would their major be in a University AU?

Aster - Political Science, Gwen - Criminal Justice and Psychology, Rose - History, Rachel - Computer Science, Topaz - Social Sciences, Nico - Engineering

What music would they like?

Aster would probably like anything

Topaz would listen to MSI, 100 gecs, and 3oh!3

Rachel would like Florence & the Machine

Rose actually draws a fair bit of inspiration from a certain artist’s persona so we’ll chalk that as a semi-spoiler

Because I have a habit of making characters angry (not for no reason), I’m going to rate them by Anger Percentage (how easy it is to get them angry & how angry they get)

Rachel - 10% / Nico - 30% / Gwen - 50% / Aster - 75% / Topaz - 85% / Rose - 90%

Feel free to send in more questions!

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nny11writes · 4 years ago

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My dream last night was kooky fun. The whole thing played out like either a commercial for a film or short movie, I normally switch PoVs but I was 3rd person me the whole time. Anything in quotes are direct dream quotes lol.

I was a queen and this 90’s style Prince Charming was talking about fighting with me. I explained that I was trained in “the best looking kids PG-13 acrobatics you’ve ever seen” and thus could handle myself.

He promptly dethroned me and threw me in prison.

But in Falmer jail I met a rabbit woman (or donkey woman she kept switching) named Kathleen who helped me break out using schlocky athletics that would make a Disney TV movie feel proud. We climbed up a crumbling well at some point and she was exasperated that I kept trying to climb things in dumbass ways where I could get stuck.

At this point I got the vibes that she wasn’t a performer but actually a thief of some kind but she never confirmed.

After breaking out I realized I didn’t care to be a ruler and just wanted to be with my girlfriend Kathleen. So she retires her staff and I ditch the blue velvet outfit I’m in and we start traveling together.

We’re walking down a cramped city road together and there’s Prince Charming who is selling all my old stuff, I think he’s still the ruling monarch. Just, you know, trying to make a buck with a side gig. He tries to mock me but I’m literally just sitting there going “oh look at all these things I used to care about ha ha.”

He does not like that and sends some older dudes who look like extras from a 1960’s medieval movie to attack us. And later he sends a shadow dude and a court minstrel who is about 8feet tall for some reason.

We kicked their asses off screen and left Prince Charming staring at us as we walked away hand in hand because “action power rules and now I want ice cream”.

#long post #dream #haven’t had a dream that vivid in a while lol #sorry about trying to climb things backwards Kathleen #I am a dumbass and you knew that before helping me break out of that Skyrim prison #like I needed more proof that I’m a furry thanks brain lol #phone posting from bed so I didn’t forget so sorry if it’s a mess #I literally woke up about 5 mins ago

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cutegirlmayra · 5 years ago

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Commission receipt: Ember’s Story, another chapter

Ember’s Story Commission Receipt

@marydragneell Commission for The Flares That Come From Ashes (Another chapter to Ember’s story)

Time: about 2 months or so.

Review: @marydragneell : OMG IM ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH IT ❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤ The beginning is so cute 😍 how ember and manic are with each other. Her being in manic's band❤❤❤❤How cute and adorable they are together. Love the sinister appearance of mephilis perfect for him. Manic being a awesome badass for his girlfriend. Shadow acting jealous in such a cute sibling way. The perfect reaction to her trigger of seeing someone she love hurt 💔 ❤The recomforting ❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤ Just manic calling shadow big bro XD and pocking fun of shadow. All the " i wanna get your blessing ". Perfect representation of the duality of ember mental state, her nature and how she act. AMAZING BATTLE SCENE!!!!!!!!!!! The characters grow 👌 And the fact that you show that the fusion did left a permanent impact on her.

Me: Boy it was fun! Thanks again for the opportunity. ^//u//^

Paid Amount: 60$ for 50+ pages to add to the wonderful story of Ember the Immortal Wolf, prototype to Shadow The Hedgehog, and embedded with the rejected Cursed Emerald.

Product Preview: With permission from @marydragneell, here is the ROUGH DRAFT of the product.

The Flares that Come From Ashes

Another short story for the amazing Mary!

By: Cutegirlmayra

"La, la, la~" Ember tapped the mic, then garbled some gibberish to clear her throat. "Do, ray, me." She spoke, smiling nervously as she seemed a bit spooked by the stage lights. "Come on, Manic. You really think I'm ready for all this?" Ember twiddled her claws lightly against each other, ducking her head slightly as she tried to see through the blinding spotlights and turned to see the rest of the band practicing in their own respective places on stage. "It just seems... like maybe I'm not cut out to be in a band." She rubbed her arm, shyly admitting her fears of joining his group.

"Nah, girl. You really are ready." Manic, leaning against the side of the stage, finally walked out to reveal himself and stood beside her, drumming her shoulder, then her head, then her mic as she giggled and pulled her head slightly away from his reach. "You just need some confidence singing in front of others, is all."

Ember smiled sweetly, blushing at his cute charms. "This will be a lot different than helping Shadow at..." she gagged, not wanting to say G.U.N's name and still having a biased against them.

"Right. No more secret missions." He winked to her, then leaned with his arms crossed on the mic. "Babe, you really think you can't have a first debut with my band?"

"I'm just..! Psyching myself out!" she shook her head, her long coat swishing with the motion as her tail fluffed out in hopes of getting herself pumped. "Let's practice, just one more time!" she gripped the mic and he moved for her, but placed a hand right where hers was on the mic, then moved it up to show that he would stand there as emotional support. He gripped the mic to hold it steady for her, and for a second, their fingers intertwined, just the pinkie and ring finger, making Ember smile at his tender touch of compassion.

"Remember your diaphragm is your strongest tool, use it well. But it needs to breathe." He teased, leaning to her cheek to and letting their faces touch. His breath was warm, and the scent of their last home-cooked meal made her giggle and wiggle her nose a bit. Tingles came from her hands up to her cheeks, and she blushed at how close he was.

Nodding and swooning at his flirtations, she finally took a deep breath... honing all the knowledge about music, tempo, and breath-control he had been teaching her and began to sing lightly.

"Louder, Ems!" he bounded towards the edge of the stage, "Louder, girl!" then jumped off, moving back and spreading his arms out. "We gotta hear ya in the back!" he started drumming on the chairs, "I can't hear you, and I'm up in the front!"

She tried to sing a little louder, swishing her body back and forth but still nervous and more focused on what he was doing.

"Where's my girl's voice? I thought this was a rockin' concert!" He drummed louder, since she couldn't see through the lights, letting her know he was now towards the back of the venue they were playing at tonight.

She took both hands and pulled the mic's stand towards her, the wires whiplashed and she hoisted it up above herself, belting as loud as she could a powerful note that suddenly blasted through the speakers like an avalanche on a mountain's side.

The whole of the arena shook in the vibrations, making the band behind her almost lose balance and a few plug or stuck a finger in their ears from the deafening sound.

"Whoo! Now that's what I call a lion's roar Friday and no canary Saturday! Yeah!" He seemed to be hyped about her new found sound but his band mates all shook their heads and itched inside their ears again, hearing a ringing from that loudness.

They clearly weren't thrilled about her almost blowing out the mics, but she patted it lightly and whispered, "Sorry." with an embarrassed smile. She just wanted to get back at Manic, trying to prove a point that she didn't want to—literally—bring the house down.

However, Ember was only focused on pleasing Manic at the same time. She still wasn't the best at making friends, but with the ones she was able to gain, she treasured them dearly and without hesitation.

She trusted Sonic and his gang, Shadow—obviously—and lastly Manic... first and foremost.

She was still a little hesitant about Rouge... but that was just because she worked close with Shadow, and she didn't like how close they seemed to be in more ways than just work...

Either way, this was family. What she had wanted from the very beginning. To not feel alone or useless... Manic and the others accepted that she was dangerous, but also that she was loving, funny, and sweet.

Sure, she could be sassy, but only when provoked to and by appropriate means... sometimes.

She giggled, thinking of times she's purposefully ticked Sonic off just to make Shadow smile. Though he'd scold her, it would be a light whack on the head, and she knew by the light pat afterward where he hit her that he was glad she shut his annoying mouth for a change~

Most of the time, she acted a bit like the gang's grandmother. She would pick flowers with Cream, try and help Amy to learn to sing, and duke it out with Knuckles! She wasn't always keen on the technical stuff Tails liked to do, but even then, she let him research her powers every now and then. Showing off her strength was fun too, but Shadow always told her to hold back a bit... which was hard, since Ember could get super competitive!

"Hey, let's go over some songs real quick. We still got time." Manic hopped up to the stage and sat on the edge, pulling out some sheet music and pointing to some parts. "You struggled before with this one but I think you've nailed it since. Still, no harm in rehearsing and making sure it's picture perfect right?"

'Perfect..?'

Ember lowered her mic's stand back down lightly to the stage. sorrowfully, she was pulled out of her funny, perfect memory and placed in another conflicting stance. There was no better word to dampen her spirits than that one... and it hadn't been so long since she felt so imperfect and dangerous. It was definitely something she struggled with, but worked hard to overcome within herself.

Those children... they were still screaming for food or hugs. Maria... and Dr. Gerald Robotnik... they were still marveling at Shadow before he had awakened.

Some things never changed, but her memories of not being able to save anyone... those were the hardest to lock away and turn her mentally gazing eye from.

"Huh? What's wrong, Ems?" Manic got up, noticing her change in demeanor. "Uh oh, did I cramp your style?" He moved his hand in an old 90's way and she shook her head, realizing he was trying to cheer her up again.

"Shadow's the ultimate life form... the perfect cure or whatever..." She swished her body to the side, ignoring his cuteness for a moment to try and explain herself. she nervously held her hands behind her back and rubbed them together too, trying to hide her fidgety nature. She sighed a long, breathy wind out onto the mic from her nose and then felt arms around her waist. "H-hey!" she blushed, getting lifted up into the air, her arms coming out by her sides.

"Well, it's true no one's perfect." Manic tickled her with his long, hedgehog nose by her exposed belly, making her fidget to get out of his grasp. "But your perfect for me, babe. I don't need you to do the world's sense of perfection, but only your very best self should be on this stage. Alright? Otherwise... I'm gonna have to have a private session with you in the back..." he turned her around and began to kiss her neck, making her laugh at his suggestion.

"Oh, no audience, eh? Taking the pressure off?" She teased, patting his chest lightly to pretend to get him off of her.

"Emm... something like that." He head-bumped her forehead affectionately, "Just us two. Playing... somewhat what we're supposed to do." He took her hands and pulled them out a little to her sides, just messing with her and helping her loosen up.

Her tail wagged slightly and she looked up with a red muzzle. He really was a charmer... "Are all hedgehogs born charming?"

"Naaaah," Manic let one of her hands he was holding onto go and waved her compliment off in a comical way, "Your brother was created with his natural, flaring smile." He gestured to his smirk and she fell to the ground laughing. "Engineered to be devilishly handsome, I suppose. Your family has good genes."

"Hand-selected." She teased back and the two fell in howling laughter on the ground, rolling to their backs and having their arms grasping around their waistlines, the tip of their heads right up by each other's.

"Yo, can you two stop acting so precious?" One of the band mates smiled to them, "We need to get back to practice, you know. And you two would be wise to do the same, as well!"

Manic just nodded, pretending to be serious again. "Right, mate. Of course, don't let us stop you guys from your hard work either." He held up a hand and as soon as the member turned around, he expertly threw a lightly spinned drum stick to hit his head.

"Ow! Why you-!" Then the whole of the band started laughing, jumping in to dog pile Manic.

Ember smiled at the ruckus, wagging her tail as she got up to avoid the squabble. Seeing how close he was to them, made her happy... but... She crawled away from the fight, hugging her legs to resist the urge to join them. Though she really, really wanted too jump in and roughhouse with them. She knew she was a bit too powerful to do that though... So her ears bent back and she placed her head on her legs, waiting patiently and enjoying the boys' playful wrestle match, all in good fun.

"We don't care if you bring your girlfriend in to sing, but do you have to be so cute with her, Man!?" one stated and she blushed. They never really officially told anyone... maybe just Shadow, but he denied it fiercely.

She wondered why... after all, Manic kept her away from Shadow most of the time. She stayed out of trouble too... so why was he so opposed to him?

He had stated he was fine with her having friends, so why not a boyfriend? Last time he saved her from Scourge, Shadow had admitted Manic wasn't so bad a guy... maybe he was prejudice against his hippie vibe persona? Though she knew in her heart he was raised in the rough streets where he had to steal most of the time... maybe that could be a player in Shadow's obvious disapproval of him?

"Lay off, dude, I can't help but want to hold her. Got a problem with that?!" Manic grinned from ear to ear, hitting the blokes off in their tussling sport before they all seemed to be done with messing with him. Panting and looking tired, they probably just needed to blow off some of the nerves they were feeling. It was their big night too... Ember couldn't screw it up.

"Whatever, just keep to a schedule. Kiss and coo after the performance, okay?" One went to get his fallen shades for his eyes and shook his head, just making fun of his friend.

"Yeah, at least we can avoid it then." Another stated, giving Manic a nudge in the shoulder as brothers would do.

"The love police, Ember. They're everywhere!" Manic got up with a quickened step, stumbling over as fast as he could back to her, scrambling to stay on his feet but really just crawling to her. She just couldn't help but fall for him over and over again... as he kept falling over and over trying to get to her.

He helped her up and she jumped to her feet, "Maybe we do need to just go solo then."

The band groaned and they laughed, "Don't take our best drummer, Ember." They teased in reply.

But as all seemed to go back to normal, the band rehearsing and Ember warming up her voice, a strange wind storm picked up... there was a rustling in the leaves as they flew up towards the stage lights... causing gentle shadows over the harsh beams of white. The wind blew a warning sound, bellowing as though trying to speak over Ember's singing voice. But in the darkness of the sky there twisted out a small, purple portal. It's mouth gaped wide, spinning with loops of different shades of darkness like blues and purples into a wavy effect in the black sky.

Finally, looking away from Ember a moment as he drummed, Manic sensed something off as his quills picked up in the wind's fierce direction. He stopped by reaching out and touching his drums, stopping the beat and vibrations to look around. "What is that?" Manic held up a hand for the others to also cease a moment... and listen. He then turned to his band, "Get on guard, dudes. There's only one thing that makes me this chilly." He began, getting off the drums and clutching his magical necklace a moment, "Dangerous schemes..." he narrowed his eyes towards the purple portal.

They all hurried to the back of the stage as something misty and liquid dropped like runny goop from the rift in the sky. It began to form from the shadows around it, rising from the ground in what looked like a misty, disfigured water fountain. A figure solidified... rolling its head into place and crooking its two arms out like a scarecrow in the isle of the arena...

The figure had distinct hedgehog quills... then a white tuff that looked almost grey a moment... bluish gleams from its silhouette.

It almost looked like... That obsidian color...

"...Shadow?" Ember stated in disbelief as the rift blasted away as though something fiery were on the other end. Flames that torched the sky and even blinded the band who tried to shield themselves with their arms. "Ahh..!" Ember felt like the flames were brighter than the stage lights... At last, the figure looked itself over, as though checking to make sure it survived whatever had brought it here.

The colors were slightly wrong, the grey instead of the red... what was this? An illusion? Some sort of trick?

His eyes were covered in what seemed like a green glaze, though it was clear it did resemble Shadow, in a striking way.

"Strange... this time was my only escape... I don't have long before Sonic and his friends blow out my other half..." He then sharply looked over to Ember, narrowing his eyes as he felt the pull of an odd chaos emerald. "Interesting... I sense a great sorrow in your chest... mind if I remove it?" he slowly, creepily moved in a zombie fashion with flimsy gestures with his hand to point at Ember. "It won't take long... but it will be painful... hahahaha." He laughed as though an axe hacking at stone.

"This doesn't look so good!" Manic grabbed the silver necklace that dangled loosely by his chest and a set of magical drums—different than his band's—sprung into existence through sparkles from the arena. "Get out of here, Ember. I don't think this guy is anywhere close to being your brother."

"B-but..." She covered her cursed emerald, and looked to Manic. "What about you? I'm not just gonna run while you take on this... this thing!" She was clearly spooked, but would never abandon Manic.

'It could be a clone,' was her first thought, remembering Shadow's stories and how Eggman had cruelly tormented him by making him think he—himself—was nothing more than a fake. Luckily, he was the original, and Ember could tell that right away... though she had never seen a clone.

"Shadow... I haven't heard that name in a long time." The figure slid his foot up to step forward, "Nor have I heard... Brother?" He seemed to twist his head as though stretching his neck back. "I wasn't aware there were more of his kind... but that explains why that dark essence hasn't eaten your life away just yet..." He was like a ragdoll, and quickly seemed to regain himself, rolling his spine as up to straighten himself, but instead his back lurched back and his arms dangled again to his sides. "I need a host soon, or my very being, the will and mind of Solaris, will be destroyed fully in my flame body, Iblis... Which Sonic currently is trying to defeat." His words made no since to them, but Ember gathered that he knew Shadow.

"You know Shadow The Hedgehog?" She stepped forward, but Manic just looked back at her, worried.

"I... drew my form off his shadow." His head lowered as his eyes seemed to pierce like spears through to her core. "And soon... I'll draw form from you as well..."

"Ember, don't listen to him! I can feel his vibes, he's no good!" Manic tried to warn her, getting antsy on his drum seat. However, she seemed entranced with the idea of someone that looked like Shadow... maybe another experiment?

Though she had a perfect memory, she knew for a fact that Gerald hadn't created any similar copies of Shadow...

'Flame body?' she wondered, her ears flicking as she pondered his words. 'Form?'

"Ah, I see you're of the sensible kind... excellent. Hahahaha..!" The figure laughed in his sadist way again, plotting something... "I was ripped apart from my other half by your... brother..." He gestured to his body, "I assume his form now only to survive, but since I have failed after merging with my glorious true form again... I have no choice but to rewrite time while I still have a silver of flame left in me... Reunite me with a new half, and I can tell you what will befall Shadow in the future... The persecution... the misery of his shamed life." He wildly swung a hand out to her, the side of his body faltering as he tilted with his outstretched hand, down and to the side.

Ember was immediately pulled into that promise, wondering what he meant and if he was somehow tied to another time. She stepped forward again, but this time Manic grabbed her arm back, "Ember, don't-!" he warned, but this figure only laughed at his attempt.

"Ember... what a befitting name... the last flares of my life... mixed with the ashes that shall soon be the remainder of your own... It's perfect poetry... hahahaha!" The figure stood like a scarecrow again, laughing as more dark flares formed around him, rolling his head back in dark humor.

At that last sentence Ember stepped back, and the lure he had over her lessened.

However... for Shadow's future's sake... she wanted so desperately to know more.

"I escaped a deadly fate, I only want to release you from your imprisonment... and allow it to be my salvation." He gestured his hand out to speak, seeing he had her strung on his previous words, "But not just my own... but to save your fellow immortal... as well..."

"He has answers. I knew G.U.N would betray us!" she began to grow angry, her fangs bared with her clamping bite as she gritted her teeth and growled.

"Yes... the world will never accept you... After all, we're both of the dark." He lowered his head, having her emerald embedded in her chest glowing the same purple mist with darkness lining its power in his crystallizing eyes with magma red glowing from the sockets... "Together... we can change the future." He flashed in a light and seemed to crystallize fully, "Now then... with the last of my power, I have altered time and come to this world... Ember... Give me of your power!"

"Ember, please." Manic didn't like holding her back, but he knew something was off. "You've accepted yourself, remember? The world doesn't matter, but those who love you do!" he gently tugged on her arm again, trying to get her to stand behind him on this one. "Please... this guy doesn't have your best interest at heart! Isn't that obvious?!"

"But he might have Shadow's..." Her eyes softened, but she didn't want to just shake Manic off. She knew in her heart that would be wrong, "If there's a way I can help Shadow..."

"Keeping you alive and happy will help Shadow!" Manic spun her around, turning her gaze from the figure, who lifted his head in a twitching jolt at losing sight of the cursed emerald... "If Sonic defeated him and he's running, don't you think that's a bad sign?" Manic tried to convince further, "I just can't have you go with him, Ember. Please, listen to me. Just this once, okay? You can ignore me the rest of the concert but hear my words now, at least now, Ember!" He was struggling to have her look at him, but she just kept ducking her head. She hadn't seen him this worked up before, but the idea that Shadow's future could be spared... But was he really a bad guy from another time and world? Would Sonic know of him?

She longed to have joined in that playful wrestle with Manic and his friends... If she was rid of the cursed emerald, could she live a normal life? Would her immortality fade and she could have a life with Manic? Finally end this suffering? Would her super powers fade and she could be a regular lady without a single care in the world?

Or would the world be better off without her... if she was so dangerous, maybe at least... she could leave Shadow with some hope for his future...

Impatient, the figure's being rose in the air. "I am Mephilis the Dark. I'm your only means for salvation." He began to form what looked like a crystal in his hand. It carried down to form a crystal around his body, and soon, he blasted into a hardened form with seemed to have a silver tuff that looked strangely like a bird... "Come to me, chaos emerald! Join your form to a more suitable host!" he formed a purple sphere in his hand and threw it towards her, a large dark beam flung behind her to block the other members of the band from interfering.

A huge ridge was created in the stage, and the others moved away to escape the glowing beam before Manic turned to see Mephilis charging through the air towards Ember, reaching for her emerald.

Ember's eyes looked ready to reflex... but relaxed... as though thinking it was time to accept whatever fate had in store... maybe for the greater good.

"No!" Manic slammed his drum sticks against his magical drum set that blasted out a sonic boom.

Mephilis pulled back to block the attack,... "Grr...ahhh!" In frustration, he was held back.

Manic looked to Ember, a sense of urgency and concern in his eyes, "Look, I've lived on the streets! Take my advice and get outta here or I'm gonna have to fight this guy!" he seemed really serious, "Go!" he was done saying please, and Ember could see it.

With regret at not trusting him right away, she looked back at Mephilis, then Manic. "You run too, then!" she cried out, but he was already locked in a battle with the strange figure now known as Mephilis... as dark orbs launched towards him but Manic played a sick beat that blasted them away.

"No! Go find Shadow! I'll stall him!" He seemed dedicated to the fight. "Trust me, I'll be okay! You guys go too!"

The bandmates all hesitated as well, but then took hold of Ember, trying to pull her back and let them flee with her.

"Noo..!" She shook them off, almost throwing one of them, "I won't leave you!"

However, the bandmates looked to each other and one put their hand on her shoulder, "Look, Ems. He's Sonic's brother, right? If he says he's got this, we gotta trust him." He nodded to her, "That weirdo's after you, right? He's only trying to protect you. Come on, we can fight another day. Especially when we learn more about this impostor!"

She took one final look back at Manic... "Promise?" she knew he would never go back on one...

Manic didn't say anything... but gave a light nod. "Take care of her for me, boys... her brother can keep her safe and I'll figure out more about this dude. Go now!"

"Manic..." She felt tears coming to her eyes but with an orb being sent her way, a bandmate stepped forward and whacked it back with his guitar. At least, he tried, but upon impact the guitar exploded and sent the bandmate flying back.

Ember outstretched her hand and grabbed him, moving with the others to retreat. "You better promise me... in your heart! I'll be waiting for you! Otherwise... I'm... I'm coming for you!" she was rushed with the bandmates out through the back...

"I don't take lightly to people trying to rip my girlfriend apart!" A side of Manic that Ember hadn't really seen in him came out, a protective and hardened side of Manic she didn't know was there.

She knew he lived on the streets, was a thief and all, but he always talked about having honor with it.

As she took off, she could hear him bantering with Mephilis, and knew he'd be somewhat okay. She could picture him winking to her, blowing her a kiss, and saying to find somewhere safe. But the only safe place right now would be... ughh...

She groaned in her thought process, "Shadow's going to be so mad..."

G.U.N HQ

"I didn't bail on Manic! He's not into fighting, true, but he knew something was up and I just didn't listen to him. I wanted to know what future that look-a-like was talking about for you, can you blame me?" Ember tried to explain herself, but Shadow turned around abruptly to cut her off from any further justification she would have thrown at him.

"Yes, and I will." He moved to the other side of the room, "This is bad timing. I get a headache when you say his name, and I can't remember where I would have met him. You say he has my form?" he looked back at her as she nodded, once figuring out he wasn't talking about Manic.

"Truthfully! I thought it was you at first..." she held her head down, worried about Manic again, and then tried to give him her best 'pleading little sister wolfie eyes' to get him to help.

Shadow just sighed, taking a moment to accept that she wasn't making things up for his attention. "Fine. I'll look into it, see if Gerald-"

"No! I know his secrets, this isn't one of them!" She swiped her arm out, declaring it thus. "Let's not waste time with reading insignificant files! We have to go and get Manic!"

"Calm down, sweetie. Your boyfriend's defeated but he isn't dead... yet." The womanly voice flew down from the rafters, flexing her wings out and patting Ember's head. However, the action was taken as a insult, Ember thinking she was demeaning her by making her feel like a child being comforted, "There, there. What a whiny little sister you can be sometimes. Especially since you're a number one target for that escapee recently."

"Rouge." Shadow's eyes narrowed to her, as if telling her to remain silent on that.

"Escapee?" Ember thought a moment, moving her fingers as if trying to put two and two together, then her eyes widened in shock. "SCOURGE!?" Ember gripped her head, then looked wildly to her figurative brother, "Scourge is out now, too!?"

"Apparently, seeking revenge." Rouge walked around her and headed towards Shadow, folding her arms. "You were instructed by G.U.N to track him down, yet you didn't even warn your own sister yet?"

Shadow just verbally let out a groan at her spilling the information without going over it with him first. "I didn't want to worry you." He looked to Ember, "I would have handled it silently, no need to get you fired up over a rematch."

Ember would have liked the idea but now was not the time, "E-Everyone's after me cursed emerald!" she shouted out like an Irish leprechaun, but stuttered in trying to make the atmosphere lighter than what seemed like impending doom... "So he's broken out of prison, there's a time traveling—I guess—looney now. Anything else I missed?" The room remained silent, eyes turning away from her. "Great, this is too much for a young, single, totally attractive immortal wolf to handle." She dramatically leaned against one of Shadow's desks as he glared at her.

"Knock it off. Try and act seriously for a change." He scolded.

"Isn't that why G.U.N... 'let me go'?" she did the bunny ears, but clearly she was fired from working alongside Shadow.

"You were a menace to them. You couldn't see it the way I... no, the way Maria wanted us to see them." He turned back to her, and she was slightly triggered on her name, but just shook her head.

"I've handled way worse before... than just losing Maria." She turned her head away, but knew Shadow was probably throwing daggers into her back with his eyes as she said that. Those kids... it was more than just Maria at this point, so... much more.

"...Look," To break the tension, Rouge stepped in-between, holding her hands out to calm Shadow and try and reason with Ember. She seemed to be struggling finding a good way to accomplish that... however, "You can't stay at G.U.N if you don't work for them, and since your last boot, Shadow and I have lovingly referring to you as the new apprentice to that hippie." She seemed to lower her eyes as if annoyed by that.

"Boyfriend, and I'm not a hippie." Ember folded her arms in protest, then stuck her tongue out at Shadow, knowing he didn't want to refer to Manic as that.

"Is it official, though?" Rouge raised a shoulder up over her cheeky look, disguising her clear curiosity but also sinister ploy to get her to admit that nothing had really happened yet between her and Manic...

Ember flinched, holding back wanting to fight her.

"Either way, your brother doesn't like that crowd, apparently." She looked over to him, "Jealous, maybe?"

"Enough, Rouge. He protects Ember, that's all I need to know." Shadow turned back to the door of the facility, having it open as guards waited with shields and guns, ready in case Ember 'acted up' again.

"And he's not a hippie!" Ember was humored by their efforts but was too busy with other important problems to 'play on G.U.N's fear' though she wanted too... badly.

"I disagree." Shadow kept walking and she walked behind him.

To lessen G.U.N's concerns, Rouge also walked behind her. "Seems to be the underlining case... I think you disagree wholeheartedly." she shrugged her arms out.

"Thank you, Rouge." he didn't pause in his stride.

"-That maybe he doesn't like the fact that you're spending so much time with another hedgehog other than himself." She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as Ember gasped and Shadow tensed up, turning his head around.

"Rouge!" he scolded.

"Uh oh, did I touch a nerve?" Playing innocent, Rouge smiled and looked away from him, seeing as Ember also seemed touched and went to hug him. However, he outstretched his hand in an attempt to hold her back.

Upon exiting the steel facility of G.U.N, the team decide to drop in on Sonic, seeing if the team of adventuring friends had any luck with remembering this enemy... but to their surprise—"Huh?"

"I've never heard of someone with the ability to shape-shift like that..." Tails placed a book down, trying to look through his journals but nothing was popping up about this strange Shadow figure...

"Maybe you have an admirer, Shadow." Sonic tilted his head back and to the side, giving Shadow a cheeky grin sneakily, but Shadow was too observant for his teases. He just rolled his eyes at Sonic's antics, choosing not to entertain him with a response.

"According to Ember, you were in battle with him before." Shadow explained, giving his full attention to Tails as Sonic dipped his head down and smirked, seeing as Shadow was trying to take everything too seriously again for his tastes.

"Oh? Must have trounced him then!" Sonic gave himself a hearty fist swing, as though to celebrate his victory that he didn't even understand had happened or would happen yet. "Maybe he's from the future? We could ask Silver..."

"No good, there's nothing about him here. Technically, if what Ember says is true, he does sound like it's his 'past' to him..." Tails deciphered through Ember's perfect retelling, trying to pinpoint terms that could lead to an answer.

"You assume I'm not?" She played, looking to Sonic to show that his sense of humor wouldn't go unnoticed.

He gave her a quiet snicker with his eyes closed, enjoying the fact that at least one immortal had some charm.

"N-no, of course not!... heeeyyy..." Tails worried he had upset her, but seeing her and Sonic's shoulders bouncing and grins, he knew they were laughing together. "Don't pick on me..." He whined cutely.

"Oh, never Tails." She swished her tail behind her, "Never without the intent to sweetly embarrass you."

He sighed and continued, "Anyway,... we don't know if it's our future or past. Not for certain, but it does sound like something that was currently occurring for him, and he knew he wouldn't be around much longer in that time-frame of space..." Tails tried to think over what Ember said, it was still hard to identify where this villain would have originated from in their timeline.

"Another world? Dimension, maybe?" Sonic questioned, trying to help him out with half the thinking.

Tails scratched his chin, moving his torso around before gripping his head in frustration, "Oh, I just can't figure it out! I need more information..." He looked downhearted, unable to help. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry, Tails." Ember lightly patted his head, "Maybe he's just some jerk, that's all we need to know, right? A bad guy..?" She still wasn't sure about that... he seemed to know about Shadow's future...

She was still curious about his origin... but mostly about what he knew of whatever future he had seen or known for Shadow...

"A-Aren't you curious?" Ember turned to Shadow, who walked over beside the couch and folded his arms, facing away from her. "Whether he's an enemy or not? He tried to take your emerald, which I believe sustains your life since you are a prototype. He openly admitted that Sonic had fought him and was winning. Wouldn't that mean he is?" He turned to look at her over his shoulder. "I've always known my path would be full of human fear and deceit. But I don't do it for myself... you know who I promised. I can't withdraw from this life, even if I know it will be misfortune in the end. My form will only be useful for such things as pertain to this world... If this Mephilis uses my form and seeks to remain in this world by your power, then he is corrupting both our purposes." He tightened his fist.

Ember rubbed her arm, sensing she had struck a nerve. She didn't want to push the subject and trigger the tragedy, but she also knew he didn't understand what she was actually asking, "That's not quite what I-" but before she could finish, the door to Tails's workshop slammed open.

"Get this kid some place to lay down!" Rouge had shoved the door open with one hand and holding Manic by her other arm. He was slumped over, his head down and slowly looking up with a bruised eye, squinting it open slightly to look around. He was clearly hurt, his arm around Rouge to support himself as she tried to get him over the step and into the house.

"E..Em...Ember..." he spoke faintly with a weak strength that barely let him slide a foot under himself to help Rouge move him easier.

His black eye shut again as Rouge looked over to Shadow, "Let's get him on the couch. I went to check on him like you asked me to... but..." Sonic and Shadow moved swiftly, lifting him from Rouge's care and placing him on the couch as Ember's eyes trembled, seeing someone she loved so much in pain...

She covered her mouth, "No... no more... no more hurting..." she shut her eyes, unable to bear the sight any longer.

So many memories... of the ones she's grown to care about hurting so much... because of her.

Manic coughed, being laid on the couch as Sonic gave him a worried smile, "Like old times, eh? What happened to you, Manic? At least tell me you won... right?" He meant to say 'are you okay?' but that was just how him and his brother spoke to one another.

"Oh yeah, I did decently." He tried to open his eye more for his brother, giving him a playful wink. "Ouch..." He flinched, the action might have been too strenious. But that didn't stop Manic from trying to pull it off.

She had pictured that wink... but now it was so very, very different...

He was hurt.

It was all her fault...

Though that villain should be to blame, Ember couldn't help but direct the guilt to herself.

"They got the better of me... still, my Bandmates got Ember to Shadow, and they themselves found me pretty banged up... but those two... they made a deal." Manic's last words had caught the attention of everyone in the room.

He looked over to Ember, seeing as she was lost in her own thoughts, looking anxious. "Hey, don't be afraid, Ems. I'm okay... really..." He tried to grab her attention, but she was lost in her own self-grief and pity. "I just got beat up by some powerful, wicked bad dudes, no biggie. I'm still here, see?" He smiled kindly, though worse for wear, he outstretched a hand in compassion towards her.

He wanted her to come to him... even though he had gotten hurt for her sake?

She slowly approached, but her memories of the fallen were a lot for her to take.

She didn't want him to suffer the same fact as others who had known her.

"Shadow was right." She fell to her knees and cried, unable to grab his hand as the others watched her in shock. "Our only future is misfortune... especially for those around us..."

They all looked worriedly towards her, but remained silent in her sorrowful display, not knowing how to comfort her.

"I should have stayed!" she cried out, "You should have let me fight beside you..!" She wiped the tears from her eyes as he smiled at her gentle display of compassion towards him, but also knowing she didn't want anyone's sympathy, just like Shadow. He was too prideful to comfort her, so he just let her cry, closing his eyes to give her a moment of respectful distance.

"Look at my girl... so strong, like her brother." He looked to Shadow, almost like to mock him for not being emotional about his tragic fate either. "Heh, I didn't want to see you hurt either, Ems. I did what a man should do." He nodded his head back to her, dismissing Shadow, who opened his eyes to try and judge what he meant by that. "Protecting the people you love isn't easy, it isn't easy for anyone, but that doesn't mean you don't take risky chances to ensure their happiness."

"How does this make me happy!?" Ember gripped and shredded some of Tails's wooden flooring... "How does this make anyone happy!?"

"... I am happy, knowing you're not hurt, or worse." He tried to get up, but began to show the pain and couldn't quite do it. "Now come on, Ems. Come sit with... me." Ember worriedly raced to him, skimming his back and letting him rest his head on her lap as she gently eased him into letting her sit down and look after him.

"Dummy, I can heal faster than you!" she helped him relax again and he gave her a huge, dorky grin.

"Does this mean you'll take care of me? Man, so worth it!" he joked, settling into her loving care.

She gently massaged his shoulders, rubbing his chest, and trying to self-comfort herself that he was alive. "I am glad you're alive... but I refuse to just let you talk me into running off like that again... I don't care how mad you get."

"Heh... I guess saving your life is only good for a one-time thing, eh?" Manic closed his eyes, and even with everyone staring at him, he leaned his head towards her and began to try and take it easy. "You're so used to Shadow always partnering up along side you... I just wanted to be a daring, brave hero for you... at least once."

Shadow twitched an eyebrow, but moved swiftly over to Sonic and Manic, seeming to want to change the subject and ignore the two's intimate moment. "We need you to tell us exactly what happened." he spoke with a lot of authority, but also with a hint of annoyance... maybe he just wanted to get more details out as soon as possible?

Manic turned his head slightly to Shadow, then smiled weakly. "What's up, big bro?"

Shadow flinched again, "I asked you a question. It's urgency couldn't be more dire."

"...Isn't that the same thing?" He looked jokingly up to Shadow and then to his brother, "Did you see him march over here like I'm some kinda crook?"

"You do have your head in his sister's lap, bro." Sonic folded his arms, giving him a sly look.

"Ha, I'm not the dog here." He looked lovingly up to Ember, "I'm a gentlemen."

She leaned down to his head, lightly kissing it. "You're a gentlemen rogue." she teased, "Stealing my heart and all."

"But she gave you her lap freely." Sonic snickered under his gloved hand, giving a sideways glance to Shadow, seeing his reaction.

Shadow refrained from making a comment, but it was clear he was starting to get upset.

Ember tilted her head, "Shadow? Does this really bother you?" She couldn't understand why, but wondered if he really was protective of her or not.

Shadow turned his head away, and after a long, awkward silence, Manic spoke up again.

"Can't a man catch his breath first?" he turned his head to Rouge, "Can I get some water? My mouth's a little dry here..." But Ember bent down and kissed him again, instead. "Woah..! Did I die and go to heaven already?" he marveled at her, but she just giggled as Rouge covered her mouth and seemed to enjoy the young lovers having their 'catching up' moment before retreating to the kitchen. She slid her hand over Shadow's arm, whispering something for him to relax and then came back with some water, handing it to Ember to help Manic drink.

"Let him rest a moment, Shadow. There's no use in pushing him too far." Rouge stated, nodding towards Ember. "Besides, your sister can get more out of him than you ever could~" she teased. Ember smiled up to Rouge, realizing she wasn't as bad as she thought...

At least she was siding with her and Manic, for now, anyway.

After gulping down some sips of water, Manic gave out a long, happy sigh. "Ahhh... now that hit the spot. I feel much better, able to talk more now, too." He looked to Shadow. "That guy called himself Mephilis the Dark, right? While we fought, he was insanely strong! No matter how much I hit him, he never seemed to fade in strength all that much... however, I think I almost figured him out, at least his fighting style, but..." He trailed off and looked away, seeming disappointed in the turn of the events, "That's when that Scourge guy showed up with his gang." Manic narrowed his eyes a moment, remember the encounter. " I remember his name alright... They jumped me and my drums formed back into my necklace... they held me down and beat on me as Scourge demanded to know where Ember was, but Mephilis must have saw him as an opportunity to find her as well."

Ember bit on her lower lip, worried about them tag-teaming to find her...

"I don't know why Scourge agreed, but I have a feeling he's not gonna be honest in that arrangement... but then again, I don't think Mephilis was too keen on honesty or trust either... They all look like backstabbers to me, and they're all after your Cursed Emerald, Ember..." He looked up at her again, lifting his hand to cup her face a moment. "But don't sweat it, I'll make sure they never get you. Mark my words, babe." They touched foreheads a moment, as Sonic and Tails looked to each other, concerned.

"We'll try and figure out where Scourge is and what he's up to with this guy. If they are hunting Ember down, we should plan out if we're gonna bait them or hide her." Tails gestured a hand out, stating the necessity for a plan, but Shadow immediately stomped up to him.

"There won't be a need to use Ember." he stated, looming over Tails. Tails moved back a bit, but Sonic countered by moving up towards Shadow, stopping him from intimidating his friend.

"If they've teamed up, who knows how powerful they are now. He interrupted Manic's fight, and are probably after the other emeralds. Me and Tails will try and split up our gang, find out if they're heading to Angel Island or are abandoning everything to find the impure emerald." Sonic tried to bring reason and logic into his actions, which calmed Shadow down a bit. "If you and Manic take Ember, Rouge can go off on her own to try and spot them and stay as a spy. We'll cut them off before they can cause any further trouble. But let's hope they're only after Ember... that trouble we can ambush, sound good to you?"

"...Ember doesn't do well with plans." Shadow glared back at Ember, as though implying that she needs to agree to this too.

Ember nodded her head, looking determined to get back at Scourge for hurting Manic, and also hoping to find out what this Mephilis the Dark guy knew about Shadow... and if it was true or not.

"You've gotta let me come with you, Shadow." Manic winced in pain as he got up, which made Ember panic and grab his arm to help him. "I care about her just as much as you do... I may not be as strong or accomplished at saving things like Sonic is... but I'm just as good as my brother when it comes to protecting those I cherish..."

Sonic nodded, giving his brother a thumbs up for his bravery. "You won't find a better man, Shadow!"

"...Alright." Shadow conceded. "I don't need any further convincing. If Ember wants you along to help, I won't oppose." He began to walk out the door, "But listen... heed this warning... Scourge, we understand his ways, but Mephilis, we do not. We need to be cautious, for Embers sake." He looked to her as if saying she really needed to act mature during this, and Ember just embarrassingly looked away, still holding Manic's arm as he kissed her cheek to try and cheer her up.

"Ugh." Shadow turned away, disgusted by the display of comforting affection, and walked to open the door. "Come on, we should keep a constant movement..."

"Your brother once protected the president before, right?" Manic wanted to encourage Ember that he probably knew best, but she just laughed.

"And tried to destroy him."

The room grew silent.

Then Sonic let out a huge roar of laughter, gripping his stomach.

Scourge and Mephilis, on the hunt...

"We've scowered everywhere for this girl! Why is she so hard to find?!" Scourge kicked over a burning trashcan, watching it's tin tink against the dark street... there were people screaming to escape the fires, and Scourge just looked at his hand, gripping it tightly. "What good is causing mayhem and panic if I know I'm not the most terrifying thing out there!?"

Mephilis had his arms crossed, standing next to him, looking like stone... "I think we'd get along... if you weren't so deranged." He mused to himself, turning to him as Scourge got right up in his face.

"I only make friends with subordinates. We agreed you'd let me do this my way! Flush out the rat with flames!" he threw his hand back to the burning city. "Besides, you look as twisted as I am..." he muttered under his breath.

"I have no issue with you burning the world... but as for sniffing or snuffing her out, I doubt you'd find her." He moved with strange elegance, and placed his hand on the ground. Shadows of whispy, black vines began to mutate around him, "If what you say is true... then her emerald has negative chaos energy... compared to it's seven, pure siblings... it's power can't be controlled or harnessed... It's a mad stone. One who needs a host able to contain and manipulate its madness..."

The darkness began to grow, dodging the fires but being born from their flickering shadows cast to the walls as well, upon the walls they danced... and began to search for every living soul... Like a reign of purple and misty hound dogs, falling over each other as they searched for the same... strange... energy...

"What's that your doing?" Scourge growled, scowling at him doing something without an order from himself. "I don't like things done behind my back!"

"...Finding the diamond in the rough..." Mephilis laughed, his dark power moving under screaming feet, the fires burning everything they touched. He had missed this feeling... but soon, with the Cursed Emerald, he'll have it all over again... "The shadows I'm made of are linked with a strong connection to the ultimate life form... if she is at all with Shadow, I shall know of it... and take what I need to survive."

The shadows, almost like the fire from which they were spreading, continued forth out of Mephilis and searched with a lapping, slithering haste that seemed to crawl everywhere in a furious urgency.

Soon, they were outside the city, spreading themselves into the forest. Little Flickies hid in their tree truck holes and cowered from the impending doom they seemed to send.

One of the shadow tips lingered as though to spike through a piggy that was holding its bunny friend, shivering in fright. It came closer before it sensed something, and immediately slithered towards where Shadow was, diving into his shadow...

Mephilis tilted his head, as Scourge once again grew frustrated. "Did you find something..? Care to share with the rest of the class?" He bent down and gestured a hand up as Mephilis just creepily turned to him, but didn't look directly at him.

"I found him... I'm... listening and looking to see where they are..." He heard Shadow speak and was pulled back to the moment at hand.

Shadow, hiding behind a bush with Manic, were clearly alone for right now. "She's well hidden?"

"I told her to stay put." Manic grumbled, "But you know Ember... she's always excited about a new test of strength."

"This isn't a game, she'll listen to you." Shadow was once again so serious, and it was really bumming Manic out.

"I know, I know. But she'd do anything for you." He smiled to Shadow, "You know, she's really attached to you. It broke her heart when G.U.N said she couldn't work with you anymore. It felt like they were taking something else away from her too." He explained, wondering if Shadow knew.

Shadow remained silent,... a moment went by before he sighed quietly and spoke up again, gentler this time. "I tried to warn her. She wouldn't follow orders... G.U.N is different from the past, they're trying to live better than they were..."

"You forgave them, which I respect." Manic nodded his head to him, "But for Ember... it's kinda a betrayal."

He looked away, "G.U.N was run differently in the past. They've learned to accept my power as long as it's used for good means."

"Their means." Manic countered, fiddling with a twig as Shadow glared at him. Manic was momentarily distracted with the twig, playing with it and bending it but not to the point of snapping before looking up to Shadow and then throwing his hands up in apology, and hoping he may calm down and back off a bit from the intense glare of annoyance. "H-hey, now! I'm only saying what Ember's told me. You know, you two should really talk more... she misses you." He gently put the fallen twig back into the bush. "She feels like this twig here... broken off from every family she ever made. Too dangerous to stay with anyone for too long... and mostly hunted down for her power. You can understand how she feels, can't ya?" He gave him a half-forced smile, "You have to understand... how much she longs to be in a real family..."

Shadow 'hmph'd to the side, "She's always been sensitive." but there was a warmness in that tone... A bond that Manic was happy to see shine through.

"Hey... is that a smile?" He teased, gesturing to the gentle curl in Shadow's lips.

Shadow patted Manic's accusing finger away and flicked his nose, "So she's gathering berries and other wild provisions?"

"While we remain lookout, yeah... she didn't like that plan all to much." Manic made a face and Shadow only chuckled.

"That is Ember." He joked,"And you were pretty useless in that condition... I'm... glad you recovered well." the two shared a mutual moment of fondness for her, and then looked to one another. It was as though Shadow had accepted that fact, that Ember loved Manic, but also that Manic was a good man. For a moment, he gave a look of acceptance, before looking off again. "Ember... Heh." He seemed to be thinking back on their adventures together. "She's headstrong, like Sonic. Doesn't stand still for a moment... all this and more... is why she's who she is. Which is exactly why I worry she may never find a decent job in this world..."

"She's doing pretty good at singing." Manic volunteered the idea, trying to lighten the downplay on Ember's talents but Shadow only made a face. "What? Singing don't jell right with you, big bro?"

"Don't call me that." He looked annoyed again.

"All I'm saying is maybe Ember isn't cut out for army or military stuff. She's not like Rouge, a secret agent and spy. She can't always be stealthy," Manic started.

"She longs too much for the attention." Shadow mused to himself while Manic just lowered his eyes and looked back at him as though thinking he was purposefully being a downer now.

"She's powerful, yes. But she also has a powerful, beautiful soul to her as well." He started drumming the ground, "We each have our own rhythms, Shadow. Maybe her's is better suited to things outside of fighting?"

"Yet, she loves to tumble." Shadow joked again, which made Manic just throw his arms up and laugh.

"You're not gonna give my thoughts on Ember the time of day, are you?" He seemed to realize Shadow was blocking him out, but Shadow just pushed his head down, done talking about this for now.

"Just duck down low and do as you're told... Ember wants you here, that's why you are here." He warned him, but Manic just scooted on up to him, moving his hand and seeing a brotherly side of Shadow showing.

"Hey," he grinned widely. "I've been meaning to ask you... I never did get your blessing on asking Ember to date me."

Shadow seemed to lose the slight smile he had, turning to one of more worry and anxiety.

"I wanted to make it more official after I talked with you about it, but you were always caught up with work," Manic continued, but didn't notice Shadow's shifting eyes, and the fact that he adjusted his squat away from Manic. He seemed so unsure of the topic... but what was really bothering him? "And I didn't want to tip Ember off too early about it... Mind if I ask now?"

"No." Shadow abruptly stated, closing his eyes as though to tune Manic out.

Manic took a moment to wait and process that, before speaking up again, "No..? On the timing or..?" he finally turned to try and read Shadow's expression, but Shadow kept a low-profile when it came to his emotions.

"Ever." Shadow moved away from him, and as he did so, the shadows began to move and peer around him, as though fading and glitching out of reality.

"Now hang on a sec-" Manic got up with him, trying to stop him from retreating during an important—and vulnerable—conversation before seeing the abnormality start rising up and swarming the shade around Shadow's silhouette on the ground.

"W-woah!" Manic got up from his squat, "Shadow, what is that!?" He pointed, as shadows seemed to spray out like vines whipping the ground, like an octopus's tentacles lashing out from a spaced hole on the ground, in the shape of Shadow...

Suddenly, they faded into nothingness... Shadow's shadow... was immediately gone.

"Grk..! GAHH!" Mephilis pulled his hand up, the shadows quickly retreating as if being drained back to him forcefully as he gripped his wrist. Scourge had stomped on his hand, seeing him flicker, and thinking he was going to leave them.

"Where ya going, friend?" he sneered, grabbing him and pulling him up as he continued to glitch out and in of reality, causing Scourge to barely have a hand on him. "What are you thinking of doing? Running!? Getting out of the deal!? WHERE IS SHE?"

in his wildness, Mephilis was also held back by Scourge's team: The Destructix. However, in a flash of light, Mephilis completely broke free of them and sent a blast out to knock them back. Slowly moving towards Scourge in his strange movement way, he then fired out a huge beam of power to skim Scourge's ear, spooking him back...

"You're not king... yet." Mephilis landed a manipulative intimidation, faking that they were one in the same goal. He looked at his hand again, examining the strange rift of time and space... his time was running thin. "I could erase you all from ever being born... but I chose to use my power to aid you... if we don't move now... my existence in this timeline will fade... and my own world events... vanish." He glared, threatened by the limited moments he still had.

Scourge may be in a hurry, impatient without question, but he could tell that Mephilis was trying to deceive him just as much as he was trying to trick Mephilis... "You gonna back-stab me, Dark? Better do it while I'm in a good mood..." He smirked, getting up in his face again and not fearing the power he demonstrated earlier; or at least, shaking it off. "Ember's mine. I'll rip the gem out, then you take it as host, and I control you. We all in accord again?"

Mephilis just stared at him, and as though dismissing conflict, moved Scourge aside with a soft swing of his arm. "When I am host to the Cursed Emerald... you shall have a world that will burn in black flames..." He continued on, dipping as though sinking down into the shadows...

Scourge was getting ticked off, "He'll set me aside for the last time... do you have what I asked for?" the team showed him that the portal Mephilis created did in fact lead to a forested area, and seemed to have Manic with Shadow.

"Excellent..." Scourge put his sunglasses back into place, then adjusted his crown. "Let's stick to the plan for now... we'll deal with Darky later..." he then snapped his fingers for Fiona to speak up again. "What about Sonic and the other Chaos Emeralds?"

"They've fortified the island. It will be tricky... but with Mephilis's portals, we should be able to-" She stopped as he spun around, grabbing her waist, and gripped her to him.

"Shh... you're so fidgety lately..." He cooed, lowering his sunglasses, "Babe, all I'm asking is that we plan for that guy to be smoke and dust by the time I get the Cursed Emerald..."

"R-right." She sweat-dropped, knowing that he planned to ditch Mephilis as soon as possible. "In that case~" she flung the paper back behind her, letting it drift in gentle sways to the burning grounds behind them. It was clearly her report from her spy mission, and decided to loop her arms around his neck, "We'll need a long rope... or you'll have to chaos teleport our merry band of thieves..."

"And I, their king." He shoved his face into hers, kissing her as the others waited while they messed around...

Rouge watched as they all disappeared into the portal... behind them, thousands upon thousands of burnt ruins... and flying pieces of flaming fabrics blew in the wind...

"I have to warn them!" she worriedly began to fly into the alley but turned when someone cried out for help, and flaming beams from streets and houses began to topple over one right after the other, some in the distance and others sparking as lamppost exploded as they hit the ground. "...They need me too, though." In her moment of conflict, she flew towards the burning city...

"Please be alright... Shadow... Manic... Ember..." she pleaded under her breath, "I'm leaving them to you all now."

Ember was forging but finding it hard not to pluck a berry with her claw, and then lick the juices and call it 'not eating' her bundle.

She knew Shadow would disapprove but Manic? He'd probably think it was funny. She hummed as she tried to not think about all the evil people that were after her. After all, it wasn't new, it was just kinda exciting. She was immortal, never really aged, but seemed to have never truly lost her immaturity at finding humor in even the most outrageous and life-threatening circumstances.

Sure, you get hurt, but as long as its only her getting hurt she's okay with it.

She thought back to Maria and Gerald Robotnik, how no matter what went wrong, they were always together.

The kids she'd look after and who'd treat her with their skits and plays to entertain one another... they were always together.

Shadow, however... seemed to be more concerned about his 'duty' then spending much time with her.

She loved going on missions with him, trying to impress him. He always acted like she was a liability though... even though he knew how powerful and capable her abilities were.

She could control some chaos, she could do some amazing feats, why did he always scold her on her strength and acting first before asking questions later? She was very much the same with doing something and apologizing later, her simple mottoes, she supposed. It was just her nature, and it seemed to bother Shadow... Was it truly her downfall? Curiosity only killed cats though, not wolves.

Even so, Shadow was kinda always protective of her, now that she thought of it. Even before he accepted her as his experimental prototype for his creation, he seemed to have a distaste for leaving her be too long. Isn't that what brothers are supposed to do? She couldn't really know... but seeing how Manic and Sonic joked around, verses Sonic and Tails, or Manic with his bandmates... it seemed like Sonic and Manic could goof off, wrestle, and even tease without worrying too much about the other.

So then... what was Shadow's deal? Why didn't he trust her... why didn't he want her around..?

She felt her tail swish down to the ground at the thought... She had always taken care of others, maybe that was Shadow's way of showing affection too?

Wasn't she overprotective? Wasn't she always on-guard? Perhaps she just hoped her and Shadow would be different. A true sibling bond.

She would want to return the favor, but how? He didn't even like hugs... but they did trust each other, right?

She trusted him... he seemed to trust her... was Rouge right? Was that why G.U.N kicked her out? Simply because they did trust each other but maybe two experiments was too much for them.

She paused and looked at the food in her hand, growing sorrowful again. Was the world jealous, or just Shadow?

He was the perfect weapon... the cure to all humanity... and yet, she was meant to protect him.

Then why... does it seem like he's protecting her?

Were they really... ever gonna be like a real family?

Or were they already one? But an imperfect one?

She slowly... let her hands fall and the berries drop out of her arms. Sighing, she looked to where she knew Manic and Shadow should be, "I got the food... some of them aren't stabbed... hehe..." She tried to play off her pondering emotions and licked her claws again. "They're good, at least." she teased.

No one answered...

"Shadow?" she called, trying to look over the foliage and tree trucks. "Manic?"

But no one answered.

She narrowed her eyes... and began to sneak around to see what she could find.

As she twisted herself through the bush, she let out a quiet gasp and plugged her mouth, seeing Manic and Shadow each tied up by what looked like shadowy vines that clung and tightened with their struggling movement.

In her surprise, she comically looked for somewhere that could conceal herself. So while still covering her mouth, she dived into what looked like a mossy patch near some water, and let the moss cushion her hasty fall to hide.

"Chaos... Spear!" Shadow was able to shoot out some beams to hit back Mephilis and Scourge's team, but Scourge took out a knife with a refined blade and held it to Manic, then a gun with a black coating and held it to Shadow's head.

The others had successfully dodged the spears, and snickered at their futile attempts.

"You can't contain me, I'm-!" Shadow began but realized these shadows had a strange power to them... he didn't realize they were infused with his own shadow... thus making them successfully able to contain him and his own power.

"Quick the light spectacle and realize when you're beat." Scourge pressed the gun's barrel against Shadow to move his head back against the tree they were tied up too. Manic couldn't reach his necklace, but Mephilis saw his attempts.

Floating on some shadows with his arms out wide, he turned to instruct Scourge, "Rip that silly trinket by his neck... Let him know true despair, when one holds no power, and takes everything away from you..." sadistically, he held up his hand, as if a dark sense of torment was awakening once again in him. He crushed his fists together, "I want to see the look of helplessness... as I take that light of hope from his eyes..."

"Oui! What'd I say about you giving me orders?!" Scourge flicked the knife under the necklace, "Only I'm allowed to do that!" twisting the sharp side of the blade to his necklace's bond around his neck, he yanked it off of him, pulling back the band and making his neck snap a little back as he tried to resist having his precious, childhood power and gift removed from him.

"Nooo..!" Manic saw the magical necklace fly through the air, glistening in and flipping through the gaps of light through the trees... his most precious possession left to him, which reminded him of his beloved mother... like having his family torn from him when he was an infant. It fell to the dirty soil and barely made a noise, due to the soft ground beneath...

He hunched a little, already seeming defeated by not having any special abilities, and now... not even having his only means to fight back besides his natural struggling force. "Now... I'm really mad." Manic gritted his teeth, some tears forming on the sides of his eyes. "I won't let you get away with this... with hurting Ember... or with taking any of my family from me!" he looked up with eyes full of righteous vengeance.

Shadow had never seen this side of Manic before, and it surprised him somewhat, but now was not the time to be in awe. Instead, he noticed that Manic and Scourge had created a kind of opening. This distraction allowed him to sneakily reach back and get a firm touch on his communication device. Swiftly, and trying to be discreet about it, his G.U.N training kicked in and he began typing in coordinates for Rouge and Tails. Hoping the signal wouldn't get spotted by the others... Shadow hid the device under his gloved wrist as it sent the code, however, transferring it to the others remotely was going to take some time...

Mephilis, highly sensitive to Shadow's movements, rose his head in Manic's defiant spirit and tenacious attitude, but sensed something off with Shadow. He was delighting in Manic's sorrow and frustration, but that would have to wait for now...

"He's fidgeting too much..." Mephilis lifted his hand and in a whirlwind of speed, slashed Shadow in the head and knocked him out. "There... that's better... Hahahah!" his infamous laugh carried through the forest, as Ember's hands twitched in rage.

Her Cursed Emerald began to glow...

"Heh, I like your style." Scourge used the bunt side of the gun to knock out Manic from his neck, "Now what? Where's the girl!?" Scourge turned to Mephilis, pointing the gun to him... "I think you already figured this out but... I don't like to be kept waiting..."

Ember couldn't contain her rage anymore, the insanity from the Cursed Emerald drove her out of hiding, her emotions spiraling out of control. This wasn't the first time, but she wanted it to desperately be the last time anyone messed with her friends and life. 'I'm tired of people telling me not to fight!' she felt her body lose control as she ran on all fours to defend her beloved family...

"RRAHHH!" She jumped into the air, the curse in full swing as her entire body was filled with her insanity mode flaring to life. "Let them go!" Black flames burst from her purple emerald, and Mephilis's eyes reflected their glow.

"Yeeess... You'll do nicely." He seemed fixated on the dark power it contained, seeing it as the perfect host for this new timeline.

Her eyes burned white as she came down, but Mephilis moved quickly back, floating on his shadows as the earth shook and cracked under her power.

"Alright! An ultimate showdown! At last!" Scourge readied himself, but Mephilis drifted in front of him, his shadows like a catching up behind him. "What!? What are you..? Out of my way, freak!"

He shot the back of Mephilis's head, "I'm tired of this game!" But Mephilis's head just bent forward with every shot, and it was clear nothing was penetrating through his crystal hide... The bullets looked squished and condensed upon impact with his quills.

He slowly turned back... "I'll deal with you... after my form becomes permanent in this world..." He was fading, but reached out to Ember, "I can kill Shadow, and he has the power to destroy your beloved friend as well..." He then gestured to Scourge and Manic. "What will you choose? Immortal... a prototype? You were made to be a mistake, to learn from... But with me, I can give you your ultimate purpose..." He lifted his arms up into the air, showing the half-destroyed moon. "There must be revenge that you seek... much like your figurative brother..." He slowly turned his attention back to her. "I have the means to control your cursed emerald... join to me, child of error, and I shall make you the key to all destruction!" he clenched a fist up by her, showing his resolve to want to 'help' her.

However, Ember—still wild—had already broken through Scourge's goons that had come around from behind, and slowly hunched over at Mephilis's words.

The Destructix's lay panting on the ground, remembering last time... and knowing they're efforts were futile.

Even Scourge looked pathetically over to them, seeing that without Mephilis, taking Ember head-on again might be a bad idea...

Her eyes seemed vast and hollow, as though Mephilis's words meant nothing in this state. Instead, they were simply filled with the power of negative chaos energy...

"You have a choice..." Mephilis began, speaking plainly as he could tell that Ember was no longer present, but only the Cursed Emerald's protective recognition remained. "Surrender yourself to me... or let me take over your current host's form." he flicked his fingers out, before jamming his claws into Shadow's side again. "Otherwise... I make your host's life even worse... more alone than ever before... and you, the soul who reigns over her... forever. Hahahaha!" he had figured it out, her emotions got the better of her and let out it's full power. He truly was clever, and using Shadow as a trigger, hoped the Cursed Emerald would be fueled off of her emotions, and get even stronger. "Do you now see where my loyalty lies? Now... let us join together! We shall rule this world with a burning blaze!"

Ember's power skyrocketed as her body jerked forward and then back, seeing Shadow reel back in pain before going unconscious again. It was as though the amount of empathy felt in that moment gave Ember's body the same amount of pain as it saw Shadow endure.

"Mortal... immortal... nothing escapes fate." Mephilis pulled out his claws, his shadows released Shadow from his bonds around the tree truck and he fell forward. Mephilis never ceased in his dark pleasure of torment and pain, laughing and laughing in his sadistic delights, leaning his head back as though to gloat and strike envy. "It never gets old... seeing the fear and hatred on their faces... when I kill all they care about..." Was he speaking to himself? Or to Scourge?

Now it didn't matter what he knew about Shadow's future, it was clear he wanted a ill fate for him, and for Ember as well... Though trapped inside her own mind, Ember clawed for redemption. 'Manic... everyone... if I let this fiend live, he'll tear apart the whole of what I've found!' she pounded against the dark energies that kept her locked up tight. 'My emotions... they're not meant for evil! Cursed Emerald... you're not cursed anymore! You're my power! And I choose to use you to protect my family!"

Mephilis all at once... became her new G.U.N.

Getting a momentary grip on herself, Ember reached into her chest, scratching and digging to try and pull the Cursed Emerald out of her. 'I can't lose him!' she began to cry through the searing pain as her claws bore into her flesh. However, it was instantly healing itself, burning to seal the scars she was making. She couldn't pull it out, and it wouldn't be ripped from her either... soon, it back-lashed and forced her into a full state of control, meaning that it now had full power over her... and was completely consumed in her emotions once again.

"Join me, Cursed one!" Mephilis spread his shadows around her, but the Cursed Emerald controlling Ember's body tilted its head, only interested in destruction.

Bursting into raw chaos energy, Ember's body looked more like a giant, standing wolf than anything else... her power radiated into a beast in it's rising aura...

Mephilis was slightly taken aback, "This power... Iblis would be pleased." He laughed, "Very well, I shall take you on!"

Dark orbs were thrown towards Ember's body, but she shredded through them with her dark energy claws, her true form hidden within the massive dark aura-wolf. It blasted the shadows away that tried to consume the Cursed Emerald, showing that it wouldn't be taken without a fight.

Manic's head looked up, feeling the shadows loosen and weaken from around him as he fell down from the tree he was tied too. "What... what happened?" he looked to his necklace, and reached for it in a sudden moment of clarity.

"Ah-ah-ah." Scourge kicked it away, mimicking Sonic's infamous finger wiggle and grabbing him into a choke hold. "Who said you were allowed to wake up!?"

As Manic struggled, trying to reach for a punch, it was clear Scourge was stronger than him. "Hahaha! Pathetic! She chose you over me!?" He raised an eyebrow, "I'll let Mephilis weaken her down a bit first, after all, I tried to fight her and look where that got me?"

He threw Manic as he slammed against the tree, falling back down and struggling to get up.

"But you? That's the easy part. You don't have your precious little girlfriend to protect you." He pulled out his gun, firing off some bullets as Manic rolled on the ground to dodge them. "Darn that Dark... he took all my bullets like it was nothing..." Scourge rolled his shoulders back, arching his steps around Manic and tossing the gun after it seemed emptied of bullets. "Guess we'll do this the old fashion way..." He took his knife and and then stomped directly on Manic's necklace, making Manic look up and glare in his pain.

"You're gonna end up just like him..." Scourge flicked his head to Shadow's limp form, as Manic gasped, seeing it.

"Shadow! No!" he cried out. "Shadow! Get up! Ember needs-!"

"Nothing but death!" Scourge laughed, "Same's gonna come to you, and I'm not sorry. Let's consider it a mercy kill, eh? You don't have to see your doggy dame maimed before your eyes!"

But as soon as he said that, Manic jumped at him and began to push back, grabbing his arms. "I may not be as strong as you... but I'm ten times more clever than you!" he slid his foot between Scourge's feet, then pulled it back around his foot to have him trip and fall backwards.

Manic's drum necklace skidded from the action over the ground. Manic reached and grabbed it with a tumble, rolling before having it glow in his hands. "And she picked me because I'm handsomer shade of green than you! The ones that not representative of envy!" Manic summoned his drums, then took out his drumsticks and began warming up with a drum roll. "I don't think you can take this beat, Scourge!" he began to fire off sonic booms from his drums, pushing and shoving Scourge down, as the knife in his hand was pulsed back by its sonic power.

"Grr..! No!" Scourge used his super sonic speed to start moving to dodge each drum beat. "You think you're stronger than your own anti-brother!?" but right before reaching the drums and seeing the white in Manic's worried eyes as Scourge reached out for him...

"HRRAHH!" Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles jumped from the bushes, tackling into Scourge as Manic stopped playing in awe.

"Everyone!" Manic's eyes widened and then relaxed in relief. "Thank you." He breathed out, and then looked to see Shadow starting to get up on his feet, gripping his torn and pierced side.

He crawled towards Ember's insane, dark aura-wolf form as though desperate to reach her.

"Em...ber..." He stumbled to his feet, but looked a bit woozy from the loss of blood. "I'm... com-...ing..."

"Shadow!" Manic unsummoned his drums and kept a firm grip on his magical necklace, but grabbed Shadow to help him stand better. "What'd he do to you?"

"Urk... She... needs my... help." He tried to move forward, but Manic helped him not fall.

"I know, I know! But she'd never forgive me if I didn't help you first!" Manic looked to see Scourge's crew start coming too, and Ember's insane form fighting Mephilis. "This looks ugly... I know you guys recover fast, what do you need me to do?"

Shadow gave him one look, and he knew.

Save Ember...

for me, in my place.

Mephilis began compiling all his being into one, super mass of his collective consciousness. "Now... you're mine!" as though a miniature storm, flashes of lightning formed around the purple mass as the shadows circled all around it quickly, helping to move it towards Ember's insanity frame. Diving into Ember's form, other shadows leaped up from the shade of the trees to tie her down as she remained on her feet, growling and straining against their takeover.

"At last... though not Iblis... you and I shall be... Cursembaris!" Mephilis's ball of dark energy blasted the dark aura-wolf as it howled in defiance, but was absorbed into his purple and blue darkness, which then engulfed Ember's body.

No matter the power of the Cursed Emerald, Mephilis the Dark soon sealed himself in fire within it's core...

The shining emerald suddenly dulled with shadows, and soon...

"I can't waste another moment..! You're power must fuse with mine, or I will fade from existence of all worlds! I can't fight any longer without a host... You will do nicely! Hahahaha!" Mephilis got her down to her knees, as her form took on a crystallized state, and her eyes shifted to Mephilis's own...

Suddenly, her form was overwhelmed by flames, bursting up and spreading out to form her into light that mixed with his shadows.

The fire raged and burnt the ground beneath as she was lifted into the air, and then made into a black flame, crystallized, large wolf.

Cursembaris looked at it's new body... moving up to its full height, it laughed manically in a monstrous howl that blasted the wind back and forced the others to brace against the wind storm.

Suddenly, with the power of a cursed chaos emerald, it summoned many shadows. All resembled his previous form: Mephilis, and a deadly horde began to materialize to finish off Mephilis's original goal as Solaris.

"Now... to finish off this world... and burn it all, as I have promised you, Scourge... Hahaha!" Mephilis's voice was mixed with Ember's, and their laughter was more fine-tuned, making it sound even more sinister than before...

"Grk..!" Manic forced himself up, his drums ready for battle again. "I've fought you once and held my own! Release Ember, now!" he hit the drums hard, but the fused creation just flicked his wolf's paw, and thousands of the shadow-horde began to run towards Manic.

Cursembaris laughed through it's crystallized body as though cackling howls from rocks banging against an echoing cave... Ember's voice being drowned out by Mephilis. It stalked around the battlefield as though eyeing its prey, watching Manic desperately fight back against the horde. It kept it's head low, readying to pounce at any moment...

The shadows were destroyed by different drumbeat sonic booms, but Manic was already feeling the weariness setting in. Gritting his teeth, he tried to send the blasts where they needed to go.

"This world will be too easy..." Mephilis mused, holding a clawed, crystal paw out, as though ready to hunt. "I will destroy the ultimate life form... take out Sonic once and for all,... and then leave you as a toothpick for when I'm bored!" Cursembaris's snarl spewed fire through its bared teeth. This was driving Manic insane, he hated it with a deep passion and anger, hearing Ember's lovely voice mingled with such evil.

Shadow, still hunched over, brought out his hand to his side, 'I can't let this stand... I won't lose her. I won't lose anyone else!' He looked up at his sister, seeing a form which he didn't know or understand. His fist tightened, "I had to let you go once... I won't do it again!" He took off his limiters, preparing himself as he stored his power up. "Chaos... spears!" he was able to successfully target a few spears that pierced through the shadows, having them automatically disintegrate and then strike through Cursembaris's crystal hide. They were made of pure light and chaos energy, stabbing with an effect into a dark being like Mephilis and the Cursed Emerald meant it began to weaken the shadows around it, causing actual damage.

It's crystal wolf body was jammed back with each successful spear glowing an area of effect around it, spreading light through its being...

"Hopefully... you can... push through it..." Shadow fell back to his knees, then fell down as his body began to recover and forced him to yield.

It's head slowly looked up to Shadow after examining itself, and almost with concern, it stared... until Mephilis's voice, the dominant sound, rang through again in it's muffled cry. "You'd injure your own sister..? For the sake of the world..? Shadow... I never thought you so cruel..."

Shadow frowned openly, his fangs bared, gripping his injured side as he twitched helpless on the ground. "I'm not aiming for her..!"

Cursembaris tilted it's head, then turned to see Scourge had fought off Sonic, throwing him off of him but seeing his team still apprehended. He glared to it and charged, jumping and grabbing the Cursed Emerald in glowing purple as he was burned by its natural protection of itself. "My turn!" his eyes blazed with power... though the Cursed Emerald wanted to lash back and fight, it was being controlled by Mephilis... So it could only sear him for now...

"This power is meant to be mine!" Scourge used all his imbued Master Emerald strength to try and force the Cursed Emerald out. The natural repulsion was actually working in his favor... The gem began to move out from the spiraling flames and dark purple mist... Thanks to Shadow's Chaos Spears still giving the creature splotches of yellow glowing light to weaken Mephilis's control and power over it.

"N...Nooo!" Mephilis, weakened by the now exploding Chaos Spears Shadow had thrown, felt them pulse off with every hit from Manic's other light and sound based attack...

Soon, Scourge's tug-o-war was actually succeeding, as his gloves were consumed in flame, his insane smirk never left him.

Manic's feelings pounded the drums with a powerful beat that exploded his sonic booms to push Mephilis back and Scourge closer to pulling the Cursed Emerald out. Shadow watched as he flicked his fingers and wrists, letting the Chaos Spears go off one by one in rhythm with Manic's attacks.

Howling into whimpers, Cursembaris reeled its massive form skyward, leaning its head back in the pain and slowly defusing at Scourge's persistence.

"Nooo..! I refuse to lose! I must at least destroy Sonic The Hedgehog! The Iblis Trigger!" Mephilis began to fade... his time running out. He turned to Sonic and his gang, who were unsure of how to approach the creature without getting burned. Bringing out the pure Chaos Emeralds, Sonic turned Super, and stared into the magma stones that made the being's eyes... dead in their centers as his form glowed the same way the Chaos Spears had...

"You want some?" He gestured to his new, light-based form. "Come and get me!" he bolted off at incredible speeds, flying behind Cursembaris and charging into it's neck. Digging his way through, Sonic pushed and punched the Cursed Emerald towards Scourge, helping to remove it.

According to Tails, if the Cursed Emerald was removed from Mephilis, Ember would return. He noticed the shift of polarity around the two converging timelines that were still being affected by Mephilis's presence, and determined that if they stalled long enough, Mephilis the Dark would fade from this reality, his own being wiped out in the process...

"Why... can't I... fight back?!" Mephilis's voice rang through as Cursembaris swung it's head around, trying to resist the urge to create more destruction and hacok. With all these forcing whamming into it, causing great damage to the Dark forces controlling it, the light side began to shine through...

It leaned it's head up, it's eyes filling with the white fire that Ember's would have had if still in her insanity mode.

"I ... won't... hurt... my family."

Ember's voice... was finally in control.

Scourge—at last—had gripped a Chaos Spear that hadn't exploded yet, feeling his hands burn from the light of that as well as the whipping backlash from the Cursed Emerald, and ripped it out of place. He forced it deeper into the beast, jamming it behind the Cursed Emerald and desperately trying to excavate it out as he wiggled the Chaos Spear around to hopefully pull it lose. Finally, he ripped Ember's fusion out from Mephilis as he faded away in a blaze of glory.

"Ah... HAAA...ahhhhh..." Mephilis's form began to drift towards the ground, as Ember's landed in ashes... "Now... I shall truly be... forgotten..." Mephilis's consciousness, a purple mass of shadows, slowly dwindled out on the ground... a puddle becoming less and less... before all at once... getting blown gently out of reality and time...

Ember opened her eyes gently, seeing the ash below her clawed fingers drift as scourged sunglasses tank'ed against the ground near her. As Mephilis disappeared, Super Sonic slowly returned down to the ground, and looked around for Scourge. "Where is he..? What..?" He saw the sunglasses, as Ember seemed to refuse to reach for them.

Super Sonic remained silent, horrified but also dropping his jaw at the fact that the heat had been so intense that perhaps... Scourge was was burnt into oblivion too...

He turned his head down and closed his eyes, but in his moment for the dead, Scourge was glowing green behind him. "Aw, I'm touched." and then sucker-punched Sonic. "But if that emerald won't budge, I'll kill her and take it for myself!" Hearing that he may try and fuse with the Cursed Emerald, Ember slowly got up, clutching her now completely black and soot-covered chest... forcing herself upright.

Shadow gripped his side and stumbled over to Manic, giving him a nod. He knew now that Manic would do whatever it took to protect Ember and keep her safe. Giving him a thumbs up... he turned to Ember, mouthed words she only wished she could have heard... and then collapsed.

"Shadow!" Manic didn't leave his drums again, seeing Scourge crash Super Sonic against multiple trees and then grab Ember, still trying to control her power.

However,...

"You never learn..." Ember muttered, sending him back in a backlash as she moved her arm and let him grab the Cursed Emerald again, but was blown so far away in its fury... She then, seeing the damage done, knew what last thing she should try.

Surrendering fully to its cursed power, she leaned her body back. "Shadow... I love you too. I won't forget again... that you accept the good I see in Manic, and that you don't want to lose me just as much... as I'd hate to lose you too." She let out some tears, as the Cursed Emerald began its last stand at defending itself. "Manic... I've seen you struggle, and do everything within your power to protect me... I won't forget this... I won't forget your love and devotion. Even if you only have the power of a mortal... you fought an immortal cause. You have gained your victory... And I will love you forever." Then she spread her arms out, "I'll remember... but you won't need too... This awful fate... that threatened my friends and family... will never be again." She closed her eyes, as Manic tried to run to her, "Chaos... Unleashed." A huge white light engulfed the entire area...

Time was rewritten, as is what the power of the Chaos Emeralds can do... though this power was reversed in that it could completely rewrite fate only if severely threatened by removal and/or death.

Ember was sitting down with Manic after the concert, leaning on his shoulder. 'Finally... Peace.' she thought to herself, proud that she was able to muster the courage to perform after all the emotional and painful turmoil of the time that never was...

Only she alone remembered... Shadow's figurative blessing to Manic in a simple accepting thumbs-up, and that mysterious figure that she still didn't know who or what he was... She had already called Shadow to warn him about Scourge's escape and they found him right away. It was as though she saved her family without a single soul knowing about it.

'Good... who needs another gloat, anyway?' she joked within her mind, smiling as Manic kissed her forehead, still thinking she was just calming down from stage fright.

Shadow's Chaos Spears had weakened both Mephilis and the Cursed Emerald's power, allowing Scourge to pull her out. Then, when the spears disappeared, Ember had control over her insanity power for a split second, and used it to go back... knowing Mephilis wouldn't be there to screw up her future this time... But the unleashed Chaos came with a price...

She leaned up to look at Manic, "When I predicted Scourge's eventual escape, I also told Shadow how much you cared about me... I think he's willing to see that I want time with him... and with you, too." she gently put her hand into his, grasping it lightly. "Is that alright?" she looked down as though shyly to his hand.

He chuckled to himself, growing nervous. "W-what? What brought that up all of a sudden?" He rubbed behind his quills, but she fiddled with his long-hanging bangs as he smiled warmly to her. "Did you learn my secret?"

"What secret?" she looked away, pretending like she didn't know he wanted Shadow's blessing. She had heard a lot through Mephilis's fusion with her, and his shadows and knowledge of them were something she was able to discover. Though... she still didn't understand his reasoning when she searched his mind for 'Iblis Trigger' or 'Solaris'. It was all too confusing, anyway, and she didn't stay fused for too long either.

But his influence over her was still there... the longing for destruction, the cunning and manipulation... her Cursed Emerald's flame would never glow the same...

"Never you mind how I know things~" she teased, fanning them away and disregarding her own sinister thoughts that she would push away. She was strong enough to resist whatever power was still infused in her emerald... she didn't care. She only wanted to use her power to protect those she cared about. The power would be used for nothing else, "Just come here and tell me what a great singer I was tonight..." she cupped his face, knowing he really did try everything to protect her in that other, erased timeline now. They kissed very sweetly, but he soon pulled her into a deeper, more passionate moment.

"You sang like a dark angel." he slowly moved over her, as she spread her back slowly against the stage's floor, letting him make his way over her. "Like a siren through the sea of lights..." She was feeling her heart rate escalate with the moment when...

Suddenly, a voice came from the rafters.

"Now, now, you two." The alluring woman's voice slyly added, "Play nice! After all, I'd hate to tell Shadow that when he sent me to look after you, that you and your new boyfriend —who he so graciously allowed for you to be with —were being naughty..."

Rouge's voice rang a thousand times in Ember's ears and mind when she pulled away from Manic and shook her fist in frustration. "SHHHADDDOWW!" she whined in disapproval, not liking that he sent Rouge to spy on her, still thinking her a child.

"Hmph!" she folded her arms, turning from Manic and pouting. "He still can't trust me!?"

Manic just laughed, "Ohhh, now I see the family resemblance!" he pointed to her frown and then clutched his head and stomach, belting out a hardy, but joyous cascade of laughter.

She couldn't help it, she may be imperfect but so was the rest of the world. She had a family... and no matter what twists in time or space was brought their way, they would always love each other, and want to spend time with one another.

That brought her peace. Love and family, imperfect people being perfect for each other.

She hugged Manic and laughed too, enjoying the moment with him, as Rouge smiled sweetly down to them and then flew off, giving them their alone time and space... since this was the timeline within this universe's space that they could do so... without any distractions or restraints~!

END.

#ember's story #ember the immortal wolf #cutegirlmayra #marydragnell #commission receipt #me commissions #me commission receipt #ember story #me writing #commissions

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