#manny's tools

[object-obsession]

| Combined post #5 | Some kids series

Inanimate Object Characters List | Entry: 49

I've said this before: I'll probably won't be able to cover ALL kids shows, because there are TOO MANY and I know barely any of them. But I want to mention at least A COUPLE of them, because some series are just very famous , so they can't be ignored - and I find some of the eligible characters really fun, so I won't ignore them.

(And those characters that I find fun will all be in this post.)

I'm not gonna do kids shows with vehicles right now, because as expected, the list is long with such series. There are MANY.

--

We're starting of with Dora the Explorer, because who doesn't know Dora? Just like many other people, I grew up watching Dora as well. Strangely enough, I do not remember Map being my favourite character back then... Now I'd say he is (I mean, of course I don't watch Dora anymore, but I like him as a character best - aside from Dora herself - and I wish there was Map lore), but I might have watched this show even before my obsession started? Maybe...?

Characters: Map, Backpack

TV series: Dora the Explorer (2000-2019)

Next, we have Dora's cousin, Diego! I didn't watch this series as a kid (maybe a few times with my younger brother, but that's all). Though I do remember playing both Dora and Diego's video game on the Wii.

Character: Click

TV series: Go, Diego! Go! (2005-2013)

Handy Manny is another series that I did not watch myself as a kid - and I also didn't know about it until recently, but I came across it a few months ago (because apparently people have been saying that every single guy looks like one of these, lmao) and to be honest, it certainly seems like a kids show that I would have found a blast when I was younger. The characters look fun and I'm fond of tools.

I'm female, so the comment of looking like one of them wasn't addressed to me, but I'd say I'd be Turner. My face is round, too. Lol!

Characters: Rusty (pipe wrench), Pat (hammer), Flicker (flashlight), Dusty (handsaw), Felipe (Phillips head screwdriver), Squeeze (pair of pliers), Stretch (tape measure), Turner (flat-head screwdriver)

And there's a bunch of other tool (and two non-tool) minor characters throughout the show.

TV series: Handy Manny (2006-2013)

Finally, we have Finley the Fire Engine and yes, I said I would not do kids shows with vehicles just yet, but 1. there's a character I like in this series and 2. not all characters are vehicles (including my favourite).

I didn't grow up with this series, plus, I found out about it at a relatively "old" age (considering the very young target audience), but because of that one character, I have seen some episodes anyway.

It's Suds, by the way. That character I'm talking about is Suds.

Don't ask me why, but he's is just too good for this series. I'm serious.

Characters: main characters (Miguel, Finley, Jesse, DJ, Gorby, Isabelle), Suds, Mr. Bell, Polly, Lyle (left) and Lois (right)

And there's a bunch of other vehicle characters throughout the show.

TV series: Finley the Fire Engine (2007-2012)

[neishroom]

it feels like summer 𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

CLEO'S DIVORCED PARENTS VS HOOKING UP AT EVERY FAMILY EVENT???

mind you... they're both MARRIED/ENGAGED???

[manny98645]

[kittyundercover1]

I accidentally made a Fix-It flag yesterday and I really like it.

[realchickenmanny]

What's your favorite word?

Add me to the wall of fools please:3

I turned YOU into a really shittly made flower on my wall of fools

[cerberus253]

Sun learns that I’m you’re a good traditional artist:

Sun seeing me you own the 150 PrismaColor colored pencil set:

Sun seeing me you own the 120 Castle Arts colored pencil set:

Sun after being told he’s allowed to use them (but be careful with them):

[littlexdeaths]

𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 - 𝐚.𝐚.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞

abby anderson x plus size reader

part one | masterlist

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ only, gay pining ofc, brief mention of overeating, light smut, some cheesy goodness, a literal wet dream, manny and nora are a meddling duo we hate love to see coming

a/n: i just want to say thank you so much for all the love on the first part of this fic! genuinely wasn’t sure on the kind of reception it would receive. also a huge thank you to my bestie @undead-supernova for beta reading and helping me edit. i do plan on making this a into little series, so i hope you all enjoy xx.

“Late again,” Nora says in a sing-song-like tone as you burst through the flaps of the medical tent. 

There’d been a lull in patients since this morning and thankfully it’s still just the two of you. Nora has seen you in worse shape than this since you became roommates over a year ago, so it’s not nearly as embarrassing when you hunch over, bracing your hands on your knees to steady your ragged breathing. 

“Jesus, did you sprint all the way here?” she asks, tone bordering on playful concern. 

“Y-Yeah, just…need a minute. I’m fine,” you wheeze, giving her a thumbs up. 

She just shakes her head with a fond grin but continues to sterilize her tools while you take a seat on one of the empty cots and allow your breathing to return to normal. 

“So, ya gonna tell me why you came sprinting in here like a bat out of hell?” she eventually asks once you’ve calmed down, a knowing look on her face.

You simply shrug, unable to meet her gaze as you return to your feet. 

“Just realized how late I was,” you lie, continuing across the tent. “Didn’t want to leave you stranded.”

You cringe inwardly when your voice raises an octave, something she clearly catches. 

“Uh, huh, okay,” she snorts, unconvinced. “If you say so…”

She thankfully drops the subject for now, but knowing Nora, she wouldn’t give up so easily. You just hope you can come up with a better explanation by the time your shift ends. The last thing you want to do is own up to your own cowardice. So you try to keep yourself busy by organizing the supply shelf, compiling a list of items that are getting low. 

The both of you settle into a comfortable silence as you work, but that calm doesn’t last for long—it never seems to. 

Another group of recruits comes stumbling in from their first patrol, and the chaos of the morning resumes. You're just thankful she doesn’t have the chance to bring up your flustered state the rest of your shift. You’re exhausted by the time Mel comes to relieve you a few hours later, giving you stern orders to go eat something and get some well deserved rest. 

But you inevitably find your way to the library, wanting to bury your nose in a book after the day you just had. It definitely wasn’t an excuse to avoid your friends that were enjoying dinner in the mess hall.

The library is practically empty when you arrive, which is unsurprising. Majority of the soldiers in the WLF don’t seem to have much of an interest in literature, even if it would do them some good. You begin to wander the makeshift stacks in a daze, your fingers lightly trailing over the worn spines. The aroma of frayed paper and oak welcoming you back like an old friend. 

While you weren’t always able to find comfort in food, you still had books. You’d willingly lose yourself in tales of romance and make believe for hours, anything to make the horrors of your day to day reality a little less daunting. So you peruse the aisles with intent, pulling book after book off the shelves. But nothing seems to capture your interest like you’d hoped. 

You’d skimmed through the pages of multiple books, but knew you didn't have the mental wherewithal to endure a story about cancer ridden teenagers falling in love or a woman faking her own disappearance to get back at her shitty, cheating husband. You didn’t need any more tragedy plaguing your thoughts. 

You’re about ready to abandon your search altogether, feelings of frustration beginning to bubble up inside you when you pass one of the many reading nooks. There’s a thick novel that’s been left behind discarded on one of the chairs but it’s the picture on the cover that stops you in your tracks, causing a warm flush to creep up the back of your neck. 

You’d seen books like these over the years during patrols, spicy novellas as Manny had so lovingly referred to them—but you’d never taken an interest in one before. 

A couple is sprawled out on a deserted beach, their bodies entangled in a passionate embrace while the raging sea continues to crash around them. The woman is devastatingly pretty, a sheer nightgown clinging to her unmistakably curvy figure. Her head is thrown back, a look of complete bliss ingrained on her soft features. But it’s the male that you are unable to tear your gaze away from. 

His face is obscured, buried completely in the woman’s bosom as he ravishes her. His dark blonde hair is long and luscious, cascading over his broad shoulders. And his body, while toned in all the right places, has a feminine quality to it that makes your breath catch. 

Why does he remind you of her? 

But before you can decide to overthink it, you quickly snatch the novel off the table, keeping it tucked securely under your arm as you rush back to your room. Nora is miraculously absent when you slip inside your shared space, but you’re grateful for the solitude as you speed through your bedtime routine. 

You feel so much more relaxed after washing your face and brushing your teeth, slipping on an oversized t-shirt before crawling into bed. You pull the covers up and over your bare legs, clicking on your bedside lamp before rolling onto your stomach and flipping open the book. 

The premise is…incredibly cheesy to say the least, a damsel being taken aboard an enemy vessel and held captive while out at sea. And yet somehow it’s still entertaining enough to hold your interest. But once you are introduced to the captain of the ship (and the eventual love interest) you almost toss the book aside, because of course his name is Gabriel… 

The universe has to be playing some cruel joke on you. 

You don’t remember exactly when you dozed off, the worn romance novel left dangling between your nimble fingers.

But you awake to a pair of strong hands grazing over the dip in your hips, the sound of waves crashing around you. You can taste the salt in the air when your lips part, a soft sigh tumbling from them. 

A gentle drawl of your name has your eyes fluttering open and the sight before you sets your pulse racing. 

Abby, always Abby. 

She’s breathtaking. Her blonde hair is down, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves as she hovers above you. Her freckled cheeks are flushed from the harsh wind, her look of initial concern melting away when your lips curve up into a warm smile. 

“There she is,” she murmurs, her calloused fingers cradling your jaw. “Thought I lost you for a minute there, pretty girl.” 

Blurry images of the sea overtake you, water filling your mouth and lungs before a pair of strong hands pull you out of the treacherous waters and onto the sandy shore where she breathed life back into your lungs. 

A biting gust of wind has a small shiver wracking through your body, your nightgown entirely soaked through. The thin material clings to each dip of your curves, leaving very little to the imagination. But she isn’t faring much better as the waves continue to crash against the shore, washing up and drenching your entangled bodies. 

Salty mist clings to your lashes, a few droplets wetting your lips when she leans closer but the warmth of her breath stops them from trembling. Another forceful wave has her hips rocking forward, pulling a needy moan from your throat. 

“Touch me,” you breathe. 

And the dam breaks. 

Her lips are soft but urgent when they collide with yours, kissing you with a kind of desperation that makes you dizzy. Your hands slip around her waist, swallowing her throaty moans when you nip at her lower lip. You only pull away when your lungs are begging for oxygen, but her mouth never leaves your skin. They trail along your jaw and down your throat, sucking on a spot behind your ear that has your toes curling in the sand. 

“Abby, please,” you plead when her fingers dip between your parted thighs, the blonde hushing you with another firm kiss. 

Her fingers slide easily through your slick folds, the pad of her fingers barely brushing over your clit before they continue their descent. She curses softly when she feels the full extent of your desire, gathering more of your wetness on her fingers. Your hands slide up her back, nails digging into the broad expanse of her shoulders when she slowly guides one of her thick digits inside—

A loud knock on your door startles you awake, your body jolting upright in bed. Your body is flushed, chest heaving as you try to come back down to reality. The red light from your alarm clock blinks, reading 4:45 am, and you let out a frustrated groan before collapsing back against your mattress. You weren’t supposed to be back at the medical bay until much later in the afternoon, so someone must have been dead or dying if they were pulling you this early. 

The throbbing ache between your thighs continues to mock you as you glare up at the crack in your ceiling, and you honestly want to throttle whoever is on the other side of the door. They couldn’t have given you fifteen more minutes? 

Another knock sounds again, but this time they’ve grown more impatient as they bang their entire fist against the solid wood. 

“Okay, I’m coming!” you shout, unable to stop your annoyance from bubbling to the surface. 

Well, you certainly would have by now… 

You slide the blankets off your bare thighs, swinging your legs over the side of the mattress. You hiss when your feet touch the cold tile, blindly searching for your bunny slippers that you keep tucked under your bed. But you end up finding that cheesy romance novel first, the cover an almost carbon copy of your dream. 

There she is… thought I lost you for a minute there, pretty girl. 

You unintentionally press your thighs together, further damping the fabric between them. But you quickly shove the book under your pillow before you allow your mind to wander again, reaching back under to find your slippers. Your arms stretch above your head as you stand, rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes while you pad over to the door. 

You pull it open without a second thought, not exactly caring about your disheveled appearance until you see who is waiting for you on the other side of the door…

and your heart just about falls into your ass. 

Abby is casually leaning against your door jam, her eyes immediately dropping to skim over the bare skin of your thighs before they flick back up to meet your startled expression. Her hair is still damp but pulled back into her signature neat braid. She looks so effortlessly gorgeous it’s really unfair. She’s wearing her normal patrol clothes, a gun strapped to her upper thigh and her pack draped across her back. 

“Nice slippers,” she remarks and you suddenly wish the stadium would crumple apart and swallow you whole. 

It’s then that you finally notice Manny, who is also in patrol attire, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall. He lets out a low wolf whistle, raising his brows in a suggestive manner as you try to tug your sleep shirt a little further down your thighs. 

“Ay dios mío, princesa, gonna give a guy a heart palpitations lookin’ like that.” 

You scoff softly, rolling your eyes before tucking your legs safely behind your door. Abby looks between you both for a moment, a deep frown settling onto her features when she crosses her arms over her chest. 

“How long will it take you to get ready?” she asks, her tone strictly business. 

But it still makes your stomach flutter. 

“Ready for…” you trail off, your confusion evident. 

Abby sighs. “So Nora didn’t tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“We’re doing a supply run today, outside the city. She told Manny you were switching with her, because Issac wants her at the hospital for the next couple of days,” she explains. 

You immediately notice the smug expression on Manny’s face, now understanding the reason for Nora’s unexplained absence after work. Oh, you were going to kill them both. 

“She absolutely neglected to mention that,” you mutter, trying to keep the full irritation out of your voice. “Just…give me, like, 20 minutes and I’ll be ready.”

Abby nods, shrugging away from the wall and you can’t help but notice how her muscles flex beneath her shirt. Heat pools in your middle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as your traitorous thoughts begin to wander back to your dream…

And how her muscles felt when they tensed under your fingertips, her warm breath lingering against your neck, and her fingers, oh god, her fingers, when they slid in between the plush skin of your thighs…

“We’ll meet you down at the mess hall, chica,” Manny’s voice instantly snaps you back to reality, the male shooting you a playful wink before he guides them down the hallway. “Grab ya something on the way.” 

You don’t have a chance to answer before they turn the corner, Abby sparing you one last glance over her shoulder. You practically slam the door shut in a panic once they’ve disappeared from view, your body collapsing back against it. 

You are so, totally fucked. 

⇢ part three.

[marsmarvel02]

I have no idea how to begin this post. I’m shocked no one else on Tumblr has made it before me, since this news came out February.

But…

Starting “later this year” (no explicit date), Google will begin using AI to detect “minors lying about their age” (accounts that claim to be 18+ but aren’t.)

This is based on what you search, and the videos you watch on YouTube.

If you are an adult who watches things aimed at teenagers on YouTube- your account will be incorrectly flagged as “lying” and you will be, immediately and automatically, locked down. Restricted Mode on YouTube with no way to deactivate it, SafeSearch always on full force, privileges suspended.

It gets worse. If Google thinks you are under 13- the minimum age to have an account- it will, after a brief delay, DELETE YOUR ACCOUNT.

If you are a fan of a children’s show- say Thomas the Tank Engine, Super Wings, or Handy Manny- or even one aimed at “older” kids like Big City Greens- YOU ARE IN DANGER.

So… what can you do?

As far as anyone knows, the tracking is account-based, so if you browse or watch children’s content while signed out you should be safe.

WRITE TO GOOGLE. Tell them how displeased you are. Do not use “nice” words- they do not deserve them.

Search for alternatives to Google Chrome, Google Search, and every function an account can provide. Type these queries into the search engine a few more times than usual, to give them a little heart attack. They deserve it.

SPREAD THIS NEWS. Not just on Tumblr- spread it on every platform you have. And real life is a platform, too.

If you speak more languages than just English, translate this warning- this is coming to the US first, but that doesn’t mean it won’t eventually spread to the rest of the world.

And finally, WARN YOUR FRIENDS WHO MIGHT BE VULNERABLE TO THIS. To that extent, I’ll be tagging:

@ll-the-biohazards-ll @kylievershion @smashedatoms @roxyteal @hexamoron @nintendonut1 @agathazinha2009 @octoariadneeeeexoxo @dischiantoaster @rocket-powered-socket @tiffanyelectricity @castorfell @kittyundercover1 @joezworld @mean-scarlet-deceiver @funky-boat-zone @bogleech @great-green-hunslet @choc-ice-on-wheels @thosesillytrains @just-another-miserable-prick @bruhstation @6lovelytenders @kidlit-queen-competition @projectanimations @ladymiraclewings @stormvanari @object-obsession @vroomizing @missd476 @masterj @spaceboid @number1spongebobfan @ohmystarrynight @rouxipanda @thomasthetankengine-1 @ask-the-tool-gang @colorfullaudino @darkcrafter @solarbeingash

[lelelego]

is there a canon ending you have in mind for Eli and Boone?

god yeah. i'm gonna put this under a cut because it turned into a long one. this is not just the ending but the stuff leading up to it. word vomit galore

just want to reiterate this is all in my insaneo mode head and simply fnv eli's timeline as far as i'm concerned

in a nutshell eli decides an independent vegas is ultimately the best for the residents. he has a hard time deciding between an ncr rule (a somewhat more organized freeside and new vegas, and potentially more resources aside from energy), but seeing firsthand the idiocy operating under the monolith, incompetence, and corruption, does he decide to help the followers of the apocalypse establish control over the area with the help of the king, since julie farkas and the king are both actual people of authority who the people of freeside respect.

when eli tells boone he's not going to help the ncr, boone's conflicted. he's been following eli around because (1) eli makes good on his promise re:fighting the legion, (2) eli is a legion magnet because caesar + lanius hate his guts and keep sending hit squads after his ass, and (3) he genuinely thinks eli will die without him. (none of this is related to the fact that boone enjoys his company, obviously. not even a little bit. obviously.) he's torn between the ncr, the only system he knows, and the person who stands as the trigger of the largest political change in the region. is he responsible for changing this person's mind? does he want to change eli's mind? he doesn't know shit about the ramifications of the ncr leaving, nor the ncr staying. is he just following orders again? despite what happens at bitter springs (hopeful ending) he can't really let the idea of the nation he grew up with go.

so at the end of second battle of hoover dam, the ncr gets chased out (mostly). eli still doesn't really know where boone stands regarding the ncr, because for all his talk and bluster he doesn't want boone to dislike him for prying (which has happened already before). forgive him, he's got a big fat crush that won't go away on the guy. he's tired. he's hungry. he's thirsty. but all he can do is think, "boone's going to follow them back." which is when the picture above happens. he snaps back to his senses obviously, because what right does he have to ask something like that?

but boone stays. eli goes to talk to julie and he's there. eli sits at the tops in benny's workshop for days, programming and reprogramming systems for the securitrons and tinkering with finer motor controls and he's there. eli negotiates with the crimson caravan and he's there. eli is confused but yknow. what is he going to do talk to the brick wall of a man about his feelings??

boone sees what eli does for the people of freeside. even helps, sometimes, even though the only thing he thinks he's good at is killing. he thinks, is this what being better is? is this what amends are? but like a reoccuring rash he gets the Itch. thinks about the ncr. about manny. they could enlist back into first recon, easy. he goes back to novac to look over things he'd left there, things he used when he'd freshly left first recon, spends the night in his old room.

only he can't sleep. he can't sleep because he can't hear the sound of eli playing some shitty video game on his pipboy. he can't hear eli and veronica arguing over which snack is the best for the road, or eli tuning ED-E to different frequencies to see what he can pick up. he can't see eli going to the bathroom what feels like every 5 minutes because of his wacked out digestive system. he can't hear eli cursing as he tries to take off his leg brace only for something to get stuck, and then him rustling around for his tools, not being able to find the right one, and then jamming whatever he can find in the joint to get it unstuck.

so he goes back to new vegas, and when he sees eli's smile when eli sees him, dirty and sweaty from working, he knows it's an easy choice to make.

(yes they eventually do h*ld h*nds. when is that? i don't know. when IS that. someone tell me please)

after that eli and boone stay in vegas for a bit to get everything as stable as possible, even though it's an uphill, impossible challenge, and then i think eventually eli's curiosity would get the better of them when he's a little older and he'd leave to find different things to prod and look at with boone at his side :^)

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.  

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...  

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.  

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.  

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing. 

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew. 

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did. 

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.  

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact. 

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there? 

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.  

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her. 

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.  

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.  

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar. 

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.”  He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.  

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind. 

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.  

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”  

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.  

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.  

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.  

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.  

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest... 

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.” 

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.  

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.  

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined. 

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.  

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.  

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”  

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled. 

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.  

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap. 

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.  

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.  

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her... 

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.  

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.  

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat. 

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable. 

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.  

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time. 

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.  

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.  

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-” 

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him. 

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.  

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth. 

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-” 

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...” 

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?” 

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.” 

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.  

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.” 

“He didn’t lie-” 

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!” 

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.  

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.  

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”  

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-” 

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction. 

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.  

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”  

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.  

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.  

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.  

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.  

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him. 

Why should he try anymore? 

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another. 

Corbin and Asher.  

 “Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”  

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...  

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.  

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.  

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.  

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.” 

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.  

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’. 

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.  

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.  

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.  

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.  

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.  

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...  

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.  

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep. 

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all. 

Forrest.  

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”  

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.  

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”  

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.  

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.  

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.  

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.  

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him. 

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.  

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.  

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings. 

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.  

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.  

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. ��What’s goin’ on?” 

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.  

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.” 

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.  

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.” 

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger. 

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.  

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.  

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...  

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to... 

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.  

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.  

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.  

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.  

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately. 

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.  

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question. 

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.  

The Mayor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself. 

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”  

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained. 

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.  

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.  

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.  

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.” 

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something. 

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...  

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?” 

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move. 

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.  

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound. 

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years? 

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”  

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.  

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”  

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.  

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...” 

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.” 

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”  

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.  

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...” 

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him. 

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”  

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone. 

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.  

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow. 

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.  

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.  

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again. 

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him... 

“Daddy!”  

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.  

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.  

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.  

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid. 

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.  

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”  

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving. 

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust. 

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.  

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.  

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.  

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.  

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.  

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?” 

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary... 

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.  

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?” 

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.  

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?” 

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.  

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.  

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?” 

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.  

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.  

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.  

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.  

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.” 

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.  

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.” 

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.  

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.” 

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”  

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.  

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”  

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster... 

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.” 

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.  

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...  

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.  

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you. 

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”  

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back. 

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.” 

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now. 

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!” 

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way? 

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.  

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”  

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...  

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”  

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.  

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...  

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded. 

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”  

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.  

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.  

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open. 

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.  

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.  

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.  

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.  

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.  

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head. 

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.  

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.  

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.  

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes. 

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”  

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...” 

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-” 

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips. 

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.” 

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?” 

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.  

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.  

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over. 

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.” 

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe. 

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.” 

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.” 

“Oh, shut up...”  you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?” 

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.  

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.  

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind. 

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...  

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.  

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...  

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.  

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.  

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

[triple-pupil]

Random thought.

I think Manny will never truly understand Diego and Sid's issues with blood family. The three unite in the loss of it but Manny's mate and cub loved him for who he was and apparently never doubted that.

Diego's pack did not see his worth as a member but as a tool and weapon, their "love" was conditional, manipulative and fake

And Sid's family, from my understanding, simply hated his guts SO much they just prefered to abandon him and possibly leave that social creature to die in the wild.

Something I would've loved to see would be the trio bonding and seeing these things about each other. Manny loves and protects and connects with the boys but Sid and Diego can have an intimate connection bonding over hateful/abusive families and their struggle accepting that.

But maybe too could Diego and Manny understand each other by their serious masks formed by need and their need to protect their herd, as well as maybe issues of self-worth if said mission to protect their loved ones fail. Idk. (I think they had something a bit like that in the third movie? But focusing a lot on their masculinity and, not gonna lie, their fragile view of it- Idk, I'm not a born man, I don't get it-)

[mxmajor]

The Hot Take Machine is up and Running

Back in I believe february someone made a poll asking if the Bear was a white show or not because the majority of the main cast is not white.

Here's the post I wrote essentially breaking down what made it a white show. And after Watching season 3 I feel like what I said is reinforced.

@currymanganese

What is any poc on the shows ethnicity besides Ebra?

We know the berzattos are italian, richie and jimmy are polish, the faks are faks, and we get a bit even if just from richie of them speaking other languages. What is Tina's ethnicity? Beyond sounding like a ny-er. Is Marcus Carribean? He's catholic, or his mom was? Just learned what league Gary played in via a Fak. Do Manny and Angel have last names? if we didn't know anything abt that yt characters ethnicities and cultures, I wouldn't care. But We Do lol. So there.

I didn't even know yt ppl could have this many fictive kin and play cousins, where is anyone else's immediate or extended family and background?

We know Marcus has a younger brother, was that just shared to fill in a larger motif around sibling relationships? I know there is an ongoing theme around going it alone (Donna through child birth, Marcus's mom, Syd's dad, and Richie being alone as a father) so it will echo through diff characters. But black and brown ppl of most ethnicities not having anybody to turn to at all? Not knowing a guy with a job? Not making any meaningful connections until they get to the beef? We know the name of Richie's grandma and his daughter calls Donna auntie DD. But none of the black or brown ppl have grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins.

I know the berzatto family can be like the island of misfit toys but like I do suspend my disbelief because of this lol.

Look at how Syd & Tina are being treated.

I know how the people being booted from the 4 top looked A Way™, but I think its highlighting that outside of Berzatto land, Syd is getting treated in a very wild way. Like ships are cool but I literally only started this show for Syd & Tina and they are used as introspection tools for the Berzatto brothers, or to reassure one. We know they have people that love them and why they are at the beef/bear. But my opinion stands, this is a white show about a large dysfunctional family that happens to have black people in it.

I honestly think the poc not neatly gelling and the extensive Berzatto-Fak-Jerimovich-Kalinowski & Co outset being insular is okay because who wants to be tied up in that? and we see Sydney weighing if she wants to be connected to or apart of it that we don't see any other berzatto +1 get to decide. Because it is warm when it's warm. But it is demoralizing dismissive and defeating when not. And her former hero sometimes is the initiator or amplifier of Syd being treated that way.

[0aurelion-sol0]

While I won't be able to review the show or talk about it the same way as I did it's first season, the discourse around The Last Of Us Season 2 (+ the games) has been abysmal for a while on a number of topics and for it to continue 5 years after the second game has been out is irking me a lot.

First off, the "critics" about the looks of the actors and/or characters in the story:

Unless needed and told in the story, a character being handsome or beautiful is not a requirement for a good character, development of it or story in general, it's an aspect of it. An aspect that can be changed and will be different from characters to characters. One that is either here to convey the concept of the character, add some diversity to a universe and/or story and/or have the characters (at least the more important ones) be different and unique because people in real life are that way and it's better to discern the characters.

Whether it's Dina with her nose and skin tone, Abby because of her arms but her being tall or not conventionally attractive, Manny with his bun or whatever else y'all fixate upon is a non-issue because again, we are all different people that come in different shapes, colors and with different attributes that are all as valid in their existence. And showing that through either concept, themes or just diversity is valid.

Not every characters are or should be made to be sexually attractive to you or reinforce something about yourself. Sometimes they are just a tool for a story, you don't have to identify with them nor do you have to LIKE them. We'll get back to that later.

I find it repulsive that a character like Dina got criticized because she had a nose that was different from what we usually see on female characters when she's been modelled after a real human being. And let's not even get into the antisemitic aspect of it because we very much saw what a certain group of people did when their "favorite" chatacter got offed from the game...

Same thing for Abby whose only flaws that should be criticized should be the terrible actions she does throughout the story but no, we have to worry about her arms and muscles when woman with muscles exists and have existed for a long time but apparently, the fragility with which certain people move in their life has led to the conclusion she must be trans because of some stupid pro-right wing theory about trans people and women in general and how they should or shouldn't appear in real life. And even if Abby had been trans, who cares ? It wouldn't have changed anything about the story anyway, nor whatever your feelings about her would have been like unless you are transphobic but that's another thing alltogether.

And it's even more infuriating now that we have the TV show versions of these characters who are far more conventionally attractive & are already considered better characters or more digestible CLEARLY because of that aspect, whether that part of the audience & fanbase does consciously or not. No shade towards Isabela Merced or Kaitlyn Dever who are, so far, doing a wonderful job as their versions of these characters but to see that these characters were criticized for literally everything they did or said simply because they were not conventionally attractive or part of the type of characters that part of the audience & fanbase gravitates towards pisses me off.

This aspect of the appearance of characters being WAY TOO important for people is very clear when you hear the reactions that certains actors have gotten by being cast in the series. The most annoying one is Bella Ramsey who is not considered pretty enough or looking old enough to play Ellie. Again nothing about Ellie's character tells us she needs to be conventionally attractive and two, Ellie from the game & TV show are not the same characters so whether she looks old enough to play Ellie in Season 2 is completely nonsensical, especially since Bella is more accurate about what a 19 year old is supposed to look like than Ellie in the game. I'm not saying there can't be a drastic change between 14 to 19 years old or that people can't look older than they really are but the average teenager doesn't look THAT different as they are compared to in-game Ellie. TV Show Ellie is far more accurate in that aspect than in-game Ellie.

In-game Ellie's appearance was indeed to show the passage of time both physically and psycologically and show the evolution of Ellie as a character and who she was as a person in that moment, to show off a new engine and have a clear evolution from the first game for these characters so that we see what the game is capable of compared to the first one. The show doesn't need to do that and even if there was, Ashley Johnson still plays Ellie in Part II, she wasn't recast. And she chose Bella Ramsay herself, so I am trusting the actress who played Ellie for literally a decade over some right-wing chickenshit who wants a conventionally attractive young woman to play a character that doesn't need to be attractive because he needs his masculinity and sexuality reinforced everytime he sees a female character because his only view and connection he ever had with women is how much they can they turn him on and how will he be able to f*ck & dominate them in the most disgusting ways possible.

But the most appaling ones are the ones saying she "looks" autistic or r*t*r*d*d which apart from showing how stupid they really are and that they don't know what they are talking about, it's how bigoted their views about anything that is different compared to them are. Again, it's not a bad thing to be of any disorser and it wouldn't have changed anything about the story if it was. And even if it did, it's an adaptation for god's sake, you have the original game if you want the exact same story and characters the way they exactly are but we will get back to that soon. Stop being disrespectful to actors, characters and people that look different or not appealing to you and keep your mouth shut. Not everything is about you and your perception of the world and it's people.

Secondly, the constant critics about the HBO show's choices in it's adaptation of the story.

This is just getting tiring every time I see comments like: "They're not following the story of the games!" or "They cut this moment ?!" or "This isn't like the game!" because guess what, it's not supposed to be like the game!

I'm going to share something with you that's going to blow your mind, get ready, if you want to relive the same story all over again...

...you can go and replay game! Wow, how revolutionary!

The HBO show is an adaptation and as such, not just that it's bound to be different, it NEEDS to be different. If not, what's the point. Criticizing whether things needed to be changed or not, what should have been changed or if it worked is normal and should be done for any work of art.

But constantly complaining that it's not exactly like the game is another thing alltogether!

Certains aspects of the game and the story cannot translate well into another media and so you had to adapt, cut & modify so that it moves and feel better when watching it. And so far, to me at least, it's been able to do that rather successfully. Has it been able to replace how I feel about the game and it's quality ? No. But I can appreciate it for what it is and what it's trying to do. In fact, I find the show to be quite complementary to the game as it helps understand certains parts of the story better.

What you all lack is media literacy, first but also patience, (which is funny given everything that happened in Episode 6 of Season 2), that is needed for a story like The Last Of Us Part II which thrives on what is unsaid, the jumping in time and revelations. In constantly asking why certain things are not there the way they exactly are, you're missing the point of the show which is asking why it was done the way it was, why it was put there and what it does for the story & the characters. And also why certain things were removed or done differently.

Thirdly, could the Fireflies make a cure ? Yes! How are you sure ? Because I said so.

No but more seriously, between the creators, the game, the show + the characters themselves, how much more do you need to understand that YES a cure would have been possible ? I get it, you don't cure a fungus with a vaccine, the writers could have did further research on that but let's be honest...

...who the hell in 2013 knew that ?

Apart from medical expert, no one knew or cared until said medical experts brought it up but even they knew that this was a work of fiction when said possible vaccine would have been used against a version of a fungus that don't exist and would likely not even be capable to do what it does to humans in-game even after years of mutation. What happened to suspension of disbelief anyway ?

Ellie's very own existence is a proof that a cure is possible and Fireflies even pushed to the limit of their capacities have been shown to remain capable, so much so that they are regrouping themselves in present time in the story.

Jerry would have made a cure despite what everyone is saying. AND NO, HE WASN'T USING OTHER IMMUNE PEOPLE! He was working on people who got infected or infected themselves, if he was working on other immune people, he wouldn't be amazed at her existence and eager to use her to make a cure. They wouldn't have been working on monkeys and Joel wouldn't have felt the need to lie about that because it wouldn't have been a lie but it is because apart from Ellie, at least that we know of, NO OTHER IMMUNE PEOPLE EXIST.

God misunderstanding that artifact in the game and spreading false informations to keep a certain narrative afloat is so disingenuous.

If the Fireflies were not able to make a cure or the entire foundation of it was shady to begin with, than the entire weight of Joel's actions and choice at the end of the game goes completely away! It's what makes his decision so strong at the end, he sacrifices the whole world for her so that he can reexperience life again but also so that she can discover a life that isn't just survival & discover a purpose that isn't about her sacrificing herself because deep down, he doesn't believe the world should take away something like Ellie to get better especially after it took his daughter from him for similar reasons.

It's also what drives the entire plot of both the first game and second game, a good chunk of Joel and Ellie's relationship and how it degrades through Part II and is the main motivation of Ellie as a character. If it's not possible, much of the story is pointless.

The question is not whether or not a cure would have been possible, but whether one should be made given the current look of the world and it's people ? There are reasons to do it, people like Sam, Riley or Dina, places like Jackson but reasons not to do it because of people like David, Isaac &/or conflicts like the one we see in Seattle or because of groups like FEDRA. Would a cure even change anything anyway ? Sure, the world could rebuild itself but it would take a long time to fix it and given the horrors people have enacted upon each other, would it fix conflicts and tyranny ? Would it fix starvation and other issues related to survival ? The conflit between the WLF & The Seraphites shows us that it is highly unlikely it would have helped change anything about that situation. The problems of the world of The Last Of Us have existed way before the infected showed up, it's just the natural conclusion of all of it and if a cure is made without humanity changing. But places like Jackson show that it is possible, so maybe creating a cure is indeed worth it ?

These are the questions you should be asking, and we didn't even go through all the other questions that are left, not whether or not it was possible to make a cure because the hospital didn't look very good on the inside! Hospitals in war zones or impoverished areas were able to do quite a lot despite the lack of means to do certain things, that is if they're not being bombed but that's a whole other subject which we can't get into right now.

What I'm seeing are people that deep down are unable to cope with the fact they would actually sacrifice the whole world including innocent & good people for their own needs & goals and not go out heroically as so many of us would like to say and are trying to find every justification possible to explain why they would actually kill everyone in that hospital if they could. Instead of maybe acknowledging the fact that they are looking at this the wrong way.

And lastly, Joel's character during Part II and how for some he acts out of character during much of it. Again, I disagree.

I also don't agree that he went "soft", as in lost his cautiousness in his years during Jackson, to me it shows his character development from the first game where he has learned to trust other people again instead of shutting himself from almost everyone. It's something that is explored again in the 2nd game and even in the show, how much trust can you give someone in a world like this one ? Even your loved ones, when they lie to you or keep things to themselves ? Joel & Ellie, Ellie & Dina, Abby & Owen, etc...

When Joel saves Abby, there is no reason to think she's a hunter or after him, they are in the middle of a blizzard with hordes of infected all around and she's completely alone; she doesn't seem like a threat. It's also common for Jackson to attract people who travel around or are completely lost and it's common for people on patrol to find them as well. And they also TRADE with other people & communities, which Joel does with coffee.

Tommy & Joel also already say their name twice before saying it at the lodge, when they fight the infected & at the ski resort lookout, so she's already aware of their names, there's no need to hide. They help each other and she gets them to safety. And when they arrive at the lodge, none of Abby's group attack them right away and they even offer to help them with their horse.

The Fireflies have shown no sign of activities since Salt Lake City, Joel killed tons of them and the hospital was empty when he went there to find Ellie, there's no reason to think they are still after him or even Ellie for that matter.

And to finish, Joel is still cautious when they are at the lodge as he is the one that's really removed from everyone and keeps questioning them after Tommy asks how long they've been at the lodge, he places himself in the middle to avoid being cornered just in case and takes a moment before saying his own name again. He also says to Nora before all that they won't be staying for too long & leave when everything calms down outside, first, because they are need elsewhere and secondly, because it's clearly not safe to stay too long with strangers outnumbering you for a long time.

Abby & her group searching for them and finding them happened to be a coincidence. And Joel & Tommy happened to trust the wrong person this time, yet it showed the development of Joel since the first game.

Joel is not just a violent survival machine, he is a man with wants & needs which Jackson was able to give him before he died. Joel is a man who also loves music, wood, coffee and his family and that's who he is first before being the cold brute that so many people seem to love & identify with, not realising that's the wrong thing to uplift about Joel.

Jackson didn't kill him, Abby did but more importantly, his own actions as this cold heartless brute over the years that changed him into something that he wasn't to begin with or needed to be killed him. Because even if a cure wouldn't have changed anything, Jerry was no Marlene or other Fireflies soldier, he was just a doctor that wouldn't have been able to hurt Joel in any way, even with a scapel. Joel could have easily knocked him out but the violence & trauma that yes, was forced upon him for so many years of survival led him to do it that way. And that still wasn't right. Whatever justification we would like to find.

He said it himself: "I've been on both sides."

While I realise that on Tumblr, I won't really have that much pushback against what I say, this needed to be said given the amount of misinformation and bad faith criticism that have existed around everything The Last Of Us related since the second game has come out. You have the right not to like something &/or think that something is not good but if it's done the ways I've talked about above, even if it's not with The Last Of Us, you are in the wrong place to criticize whatever you want to criticize.

With that said, we only have one episode left before the 2nd season ends. And well, for those who know, the story still has a lot of punches to give us.

Pun intended.

[dyke-dyke-goose]

the handy manny tools be getting freaky

[communistkenobi]

sorry im at work scrolling your blog its 3 am this is incoherent and u may disregard but anyway ive not seen the acolyte but ur jedi post made me think... like jedi rly dont have a choice in being jedi right it literally isnt a choice. its not even for luke even tho he was an adult when the choice was offered to him bc obi wan kind of manipulated him into alla that like he wasnt offering any other choices. you can be a jedi just like your father (my master coerced your father into becoming a jedi but ignore that). its framed as the only choice. and its so annoying sw actually that they dont explore that maybe they do in the acolyte ive not seen it maybe i should manny jacinto seems to be in it. anyway. sw doesnt explore that the jedi actively supress there being any other choice for force sensitive kids, a way for them to remain with their families and loved ones and not become tools of the state... the church of the force stuff is so intetesting in r1 and its not rly expanded on bc chirrut and baze do seem to still be monks but maybe its a different vibe. theyre clearly allowed attachments maybe its a different philosophy that the jedi seem to have actively steered ppl away from. u have to think about the purpose of all of this as well bc the jedi are so highly militarized so u have to think it serves a political purpose as well as a religious one to tame them away from not only their families but their cultures bc this way theyre only loyal to the jedi and the jedi only answer to the senate! does this make sense. revelations of an addled mind. i think its less useful to think of the jedi as a cult and more useful to think of them as a military police who are based around religion (which is basically christianity im.not gonna get into how i think actual buddhism could be better explored in star wars)

no literally like star wars demonstrates that there are so many ways to use the force outside of the Jedi/Sith dichotomy but the Jedi are also like the ones who gained the most power and prominence throughout most of galactic history (iirc? I don’t know a lot of old republic canon). so like there is clearly something very effective in the way they build and maintain institutional and political power and that is almost certainly tied to the lack of choice that initiates are given when joining the Order. like you systematise recruitment by making it mandatory. it’s like a specialised state-sanctioned version of standardised education. which is coooooool it’s cool I love that shit so much like the debate about them being evil or not is so boring like idc it’s cool that there is this ancient order of force users who basically monopolised the way the force is used in most of the galaxy and this monopoly also led to their downfall when they became a formal military organ of the republic. that’s sooo fucking sick

[sshbpodcast]

I’ll Spock the world and meld with you, Pt 3

By Ames

If in The Original Series, the mind meld was mostly used as a Vulcan superpower get-out-of-jail free card (sometimes literally), and in Voyager, it served as a tool in Tuvok’s security chief belt to aid in investigations quite a lot, then Enterprise goes an entirely different direction with it. The show uses its prequel nature to explore the troubling history of melding, retconning something that frankly didn’t need retconning, and then course correcting perhaps a little too hard. Like all of Enterprise, it’s pretty messy.

But that’s why your A Star to Steer Her By hosts are here to dissect these chronologically early instances of the Vulcan mind touch in Enterprise and in the Kelvin movies. Did the writers really need to make the practice taboo during this time period? We already know that by the following century, Spock is melding with a different entity nearly every other week, so what gives? And what does JJ Trek have to say about the practice? Follow along below and listen to this week’s episode of the podcast (wend your way to 49:34) to touch our minds and find out!

[Images © CBS/Paramount]

“Fusion” We’re already starting off on the wrong foot with an episode that we here all loathe. Whatever point the writers are trying to make gets lost in the extremely uncomfortable mind rape scenes and the wholly unnecessary retconning of the mind meld to be illegal in Vulcan society. Like, why? Watching Tolaris acting as a sexual predator the whole episode long is disgusting. I don’t want it in my Star Trek. It’s not even good social commentary because nothing comes out of it, except T’Pol getting Pa’Nar Syndrome as we learn later in “Stigma.” We still have no idea why the writers did this to us.

“The Forge” Interestingly, we don’t get any more mind melds until season four, when Enterprise had basically morphed into an entirely different kind of show. You could tell Manny Coto was trying to bridge that gap between Enterprise and The Original Series. First up was fixing that massive problem with mind melds being taboo. So in “The Forge,” we learn that Soval (of all people!) can mind meld when he probes the mind of a comatose Corporal Askwith to learn what happened during the bombing. Not only do we get the meld used as an exposition machine again like old times, but the added layer of the series’s most anal retentive Vulcan being a melder creates a new character dynamic.

We get another mind meld in “The Forge” later when that weirdo Syrran (whom Archer knows as “Arev”) is on the verge of death and dumps a katra into Archer. So we’re basically hearkening back to The Wrath of Khan when Spock downloaded his own katra into McCoy. It’s another moment of deliberately paralleling TOS in order to get the show more aligned with what fans know of what was to come. I do still find it a crappy idea to have Archer be the vessel for the katra over T’Pol, who would have had a more meaningful and introspective experience as someone who doesn’t initially believe in katras, but what are you gonna do?

“Awakening” In this Vulcan story arc, we get even more mind melds to make up for the several seasons free of them! After Syrran has passed a katra over the Archer last episode, T’Pau melds her way in to double check whose katra is in there, and determines that it is indeed Surak, their logic hero. It’s mostly one of those expository mind melds to get characters the information they need to fulfill their scene, but we’re also reminded that this band of Vulcans is perfectly okay doing mind melds all over the place, contrary to the rest of Vulcan society. This is why T’Pau is the bomb.

Later that episode, we also see T’Pau make an attempt to get Surak out of Archer. But apparently the father of Vulcan logic likes it in Archer’s noodle and opts to stay in there instead. Who knew that was an option? Why couldn’t Spock’s katra in McCoy have been a little more comfortable in there instead of driving the doctor insane in The Search for Spock? What’s with all the superfluous new Vulcan lore that retcons all our existing superfluous Vulcan lore, huh Enterprise? Does this count as yet another Vulcan superpower? Does a sehlat shit in the woods?

“Kir’Shara” While wrapping up this three-parter story arc, T’Pau also fixes a big problem Enterprise had saddled itself with when the writers gave T’Pol a neural disease in “Stigma.” What a terrible mistake that whole idea was. Lucky for us, they fix it now and save T’Pol’s life when T’Pau melds with her to remove the Pa’Nar Syndrome so easily it’s almost laughable. The Vulcan badass goes on to shit on those V’tosh ka’tur weirdos when she tells T’Pol that melding is safe if you’re properly trained, and also that the High Command has been perpetuating myths that there’s no cure to Pa’Nar Syndrome when there is. It’s a lot of retconning, but we’ll allow it because it fixes this stupid plot. Oh, and presumably T’Pau shares some memories of T’Les too, which is nice.

We also get a super quick denouement scene in which some unnamed Vulcan priest takes Surak’s katra out of Archer, just to tie up that loose end before we finish off this big three-part bonanza. It would have been much more interesting if it’d been T’Pau who gets the katra of the founder of Vulcan logic, since she’s an established character and everything, but whatever. We can close the book on this Vulcan nonsense for now knowing that we’ve paved the way for melders in the future, I guess.

“Affliction” You know how I just said that melding is safe if you’re an experienced melder who knows what you’re doing? Well, does it strike anyone else as counterintuitive when a few episodes later T’Pol is mind melding Hoshi to figure out who kidnapped Phlox? T’Pol has no idea what she’s doing (and knows that doing it wrong can have dangerous results), but don’t worry, Archer is apparently an expert on the subject and talks her through it. It all feels kind of cultural appropriationy to have the human white dude do this, which is why I maintain that putting Surak’s katra into T’Pol would have been a better idea from the get go.

“In a Mirror, Darkly (Part 1)” We have one final mind meld from Enterprise, and it’s another meld-as-a-weapon sort of moment. I forgot that we do get to see this meld because there’s a flashback scene in “In a Mirror, Darkly (Part 1)” that depicts Mirror T’Pol forcibly mind melding with a struggling Mirror Tucker to get him to do her bidding and then mindwipe him at the end. It all sounds very par for the course for Vulcan mirrorfolk to use their superpowers with such evil intentions, so this one works for us. Plus they’re just so hot together.

Star Trek (2009) Need to info dump a whole series of context onto a character in under a minute? Well the mind meld is perfect for that! Prime-timeline Spock needs to get Kelvin-timeline Kirk up to speed, and talking to this guy would be a) boring to watch and b) fruitless because he knows young, brash Kirk won’t listen anyway. So Spock mind melds the guy to give him all the exposition on the Romulan backstory, the time travel weirdness, their friendship from another timeline, all that stuff, all in one memory montage that he still has to narrate over for some reason. It makes for a pretty generic film device, but it’s better than a boardroom scene for sure.

Later in the 2009 film, we also see Quinto Spock mind meld some unconscious Romulan just to pry information from him about where everything is on the Narada. That ship does look like it’d be impossible to navigate even if you did know the layout already. So we’re basically back to using melds to get information to characters when they need it because looking it up on the computer would not make for a very dynamic scene, and torturing a random Romulan (as was apparently in the original script) wouldn’t be very in character. Yikes.

Star Trek Into Darkness Pike’s having yet another rough day when his conference is attacked and he’s dying all over the place, and for some reason Spock mind melds with him. The SSHB hosts haven’t settled on exactly why Spock does this. If it’s to alleviate some of Pike’s pain while he’s dying, that’s not clear in the scene. If it’s to gain any intel that Pike has on the situation, it never comes up. If it’s just to connect with his friend one final time, that seems a little invasive and non consensual. He does bring up during his fight with Uhura that Pike’s final emotions remind him of his emotions when Vulcan was destroyed, but that doesn’t really doesn’t get significantly explored aside from that one line. We’re just kinda uncertain why this was here…

We totally forgot to bring this one up in our discussion on the podcast! I didn’t even remember this happening until I was literally Control-F’ing around in the Into Darkness transcript. To get Khan to stop crushing his head for a hot second during their fight scene, Spock reaches over and tries to mind meld with that limey bastard. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, and it’s not even clear that that’s what Spock is doing unless you’re well versed on mind melds. Nothing comes of it because Khan fights it off anyway, but it’s there.

—

That’s gonna be it for mind melds for a while. One of these days, when we’re through some more of the streaming Trek, we may circle back to cover the mind melds we see in Discovery and Strange New Worlds and the rest. Which means you should not only keep your eyes on this blog for that, but also keep following along with our episode watch-through over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts. You can also probe our thoughts over on Facebook and BlueSky, and never meld on an empty stomach.