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lordprettyflackotara · 4 months ago

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Hitchhiker || The End

warning: this chapter contains content that some may find offensive and/or triggering. viewer discretion is advised.

You tried to listen.

Truthfully you considered yourself an obedient person. When it came to your boys, you’d do anything for them. Anything they’d ask of you, you’d do without another thought.

Watching Tim dart away into the winter night to fight The Operator, was one of the hardest things you’d ever seen. Being asked to stay and wait for Jack to come get you? Was the hardest thing you’d ever been asked to do. You switched your weight on each foot, gripping your knife. You could hear screams in the distance, Nova’s lifeless corpse the only thing you could see besides blinding white snow. You hated that Tim ordered you to stay put. Nova was the second person you had slaughtered for them, yet they still found you precious enough to conceal from the real danger.

Exhausted you glanced down at Nova, her once caramel skin now fading into a pale white like the snow. You crouched down beside her, gently shutting her eyes with your fingertips.

“I love you.”

As you muttered the words you realized that you loved them. Tim. Masky. Brian. Hoodie. Toby. You loved all of them and then some. Describing your admiration and endless love for them was impossible. It was a different kind of love, the kind that one comes once in a lifetime. You couldn’t be with one and not the others, that was incomprehensible. They were your lovers. Soulmates. Twin flames. No matter which way you translated it, it all ended the same.

Where ever they went, you wanted to follow them.

And if they died, you wanted to die with them.

You boldly stood to your feet, your head throbbing as you began to run. Snow crunched beneath your weight as you followed the path of the screams. Their voices became louder and louder, your heart pounding in your chest. The static was almost overbearing, tentacles flying in the air as you approached the gruesome scene. Toby was attempted to chop one of The Operator’s tentacles off, while Brian was stuck in its suffocating hold. Tim’s gun was out of bullets, the small golden shells scattered across the snowy floor. Tim was currently dodging his attacks, his feet being to slip on the ice below. “You can’t have her!” Brian, no, Hoodie screamed, the edge of his voice revealing the alter switch. You assumed The Operator to be communicating telepathically again, the boys growing more angry by the second. “F-fuck you!” Toby growled, the insult sending the odd creature over the edge. You gasped as more tentacles appeared, wrapping themselves around your lovers throats.

Your feet carried themselves in front of The Operator, the proxies thrashing and kicking in the air. If you didn’t do something he was going to choke them to death. “Stop it! Enough! I’m right here!” You exclaimed. Your knuckles were turning white from gripping your knife was tightly. You felt your heart race in anticipation as The Operator studied you.

“My dear foolish child. Your humanly emotions have brought you to your demise.”

His voice was cool and crisp, the creepiness he possessed lacing each and every word. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Let them go,” You said. You felt the boys eyes staring at the back of your head, watching your every move. “Y/n, run!” Masky tried to advise, the tentacle wrapped around his throat restricting his airway.

“No more. No more running. You guys deserve more than this,” You say. You looked over your shoulder, admiring Masky’s features. His skin was turning red from suffocation, his hands grasping at the sticky tentacle that stuck to his skin. “Let them go. They don’t deserve this,” You barked, your attention now centered on the The Operator.

“If I do that, i’ll have no proxies at all. Considering you slaughtered not one, not two, but three of my other ones!”

His slimy tentacle shot out towards you, wrapping itself around your neck. You could feel its suction cups gripping at your skin, burning it harshly as it pulsed around you. “Please! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll replace them!” You managed to sputter out, your fingers desperately clawing to free yourself from his grasp. The Operator lifted you into the air, your feet dangling hopelessly. You kicked at the air, struggling against his strength.

“What could possibly make you believe that you could replace all of my proxies combined? You self centered fool!”

His voice boomed in your head, causing you to see stars. You blinked them away rapidly, your lungs beginning to suffer from the lack of oxygen. “I killed Cat Hunter. I killed Nova. I caused Kate’s death. I did all of those things and i’m not even a goddamn proxy!” You argued. The creature brought you closer to him, his empty face inches away from yours.

“What is supposed to demonstrate my dear?”

You gritted your teeth, your mind spinning as he restricted your airway. “It means you should’ve anticipated this!” You hissed. With the last bit of strength you had you lifted your knife, stabbing The Operator in his shoulder. For a brief moment the creature stumbled, before waves of overwhelming static flooded your ears. You gasped as you felt something fly through your stomach, causing your mouth to fall open. You looked down, one of The Operator’s tentacles impaling itself through your stomach. You faintly heard Hoodie letting out a horrified scream, seeing his tentacle emerge on the other side of you. You choked on air as he yanked his tentacle out, mountains of blood and organs sticking to his suction cups. The creature then dropped you, your body thudding to the ground. He dropped the proxies as well, the three of them scurrying to your side.

They huddled around you, Toby immediately taking your hand and cradling it. Hoodie lifted your head, placing you on his lap. He stroked your hair out of your face, your vision becoming darker by the minute. Many ripped off his mask, his eyes welted and full of tears. “Dont cry, it’s alright,” You whispered. You began coughing, sputtering up blood as you did so. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, your vision becoming blurry. “Dont do this. Please don’t go,” Hoodie said, his face becoming red from crying. You reached up, using your last bit of energy to stroke Toby’s and Masky’s face. “I’m glad it was you guys in the end,” You said softly. Hoodie cradled your head, your fingers falling from Toby’s face first. Streaks of crimson red decorated his cheek, your attention turning to Masky. You gave him a sad smile, your hand falling from exhaustion. You looked above the tree line at the sky, the moon staring back down at you.

“I love you,” You whispered to all three of them, before allowing yourself to let go.

To say life was different after your death would be an understatement. Tim and Brian didn’t front anymore, your trauma too much for them to handle. Masky and Hoodie fronted permanently, taking over the shared bodies entirely. Your death brought The Operator exactly what he wanted. His proxies were back to being obedient, heartless killers. None of them were ever the same, hardly uttering anything at all. They were all haunted by the ghost of you. You lurked in their dreams, their minds. Forever and always.

Jack felt an incredible regret, upon hearing of your death. He was too blindsided by finding Nova’s corpse, his focus completely shifted. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave her body, even though her heart had stopped breathing long before he found her. The boys had decided to bury you both beside each other, far away in one of Jack’s hidden cabins that he had secluded in The Operator’s forest. Your graves sat side by side, both of you still together, even in the afterlife.

The proxies were never quite the same after your death, each of them feeling like they had lost the only thing they had ever truly loved.

Masky stood in front of your grave, watching Hoodie arrange flowers around your makeshift headstone. He inhaled his cigarette deeply, seeing Jack come around the corner from the corner of his eye. Silently Jack stood beside him, extending his hand. Masky gave him a cigarette, all of them picking up the nasty habit since you and Nova had died. “How are you holding up?” Jack asked. Hoodie’s head cocked upwards towards the window, the sound of Toby’s sobbing concerning him. Toby could never bring himself to visit your grave after the first time. Instead he opted to stay locked in his room upstairs, staring down at the grave that was now becoming overgrown with grass. Hoodie abandoned the site, walking into the house to check on the youngest proxy. “I can’t explain how I feel anymore. My thoughts are so scrambled I can’t even understand them,” Masky grumbled. Jack lifted his mask, allowing him to place his cigarette between his lips.

Masky handed him a lighter, the two looking down at their lovers graves. The two stood in comfortable silence, understanding the other one now more than ever. Jack didn’t have it in him to admit he knew your death was his fault. If Nova’s corpse hadn’t side tracked him, you’d still be alive. He tried to examine your body, to save you. But you didn’t have the proxies immortal properties and sadly, your body had long since shut down by the time he arrived at the gruesome scene. Jack knew it was his fault, even if none of them would ever admit it. His guilt led him to keep an eye on each of them, parenting them in an odd way. He had no control over The Operator, but he owed his life to them for introducing him to Nova and for failing to save your life. “It’s not your fault EJ,” Masky finally said. Jack furrowed his eyebrows, looking over at him. “We both know it was and you have no idea how much guilt consumes me everyday,” Jack replied.

Masky exhaled through his nose, the smoke evaporating into the air. “The Operator was never going to let us have her. To let her live. We tried to change our destiny. And sometimes, it’s our destiny whether we like it or not,” He grumbled. Masky couldn’t help but remember your sweet face, soft smile, doe eyes. He’d give up anything to touch you, even just for a moment.

Love is short. Forgetting is long. When you’re a hitchhiker, you’ll spend eternity remembering, no matter how much you wished you could forget.

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grotesquedarling · 6 months ago

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All Yours.

Toby Rodgers x Werewolf!Fem!Reader

Summary: You are assumed dead, after going on a walk and not coming back. Toby finds evidence of the 'death' and thinks the worst. You return hours later, your ability to heal not working well. Toby helps you clean up, which leads to much more.

A/N: This is a one-shot for a story I am writing for Toby, where reader is a werewolf. If anything is confusing in this one-shot, God I pray not, it is connected to my story and things will fall in place as I post it! Divider made by cafekitsune! Please go easy on me, this my first time writing smut, or anything really, in about 2 years, due to writer's block, so things may be clunky.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, P in V, descriptions of violence and murder, no protection. (If I have forgotten one, please let me know!)

Word count: 3k

“Wh- What now?” Toby yelled. “Sh-she is d-dead!” He was getting worked up, stuttering more than usual.

Tim and Brian couldn’t do anything, nothing that would be helpful anyway, so they listened. They listened for so long they were to the point of ‘listening’. Which consisted of sitting in the room and dissociating while looking interested.

Toby was getting louder, pacing faster, unsure of how to handle the situation. “Are y-you even li-listening to m-me? SHE’S GONE!”

Before Tim or Brian could say anything, there was a loud bang on the cabin’s front door. As soon as all their eyes shot in the direction of the sound, the doorknob was ripped from the door, leaving a gaping hole where it once was. A few bloody fingers could be seen going into the hole to open the door.

The door swung open and there you stood, bloody and bruised. The three men looked at you in awe and confusion.

“How-?”

“Don’t fucking speak to me,” you growled, “I am going to take a shower.”

Toby just stood there, unable to process the fact that you were actually alive, you may have looked like shit, but there you were, covered in blood and looking hotter than ever.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As the cold water started to run down your body, the dried blood and dirt washed away. The images of the people that had been mauled, maimed, and mutilated didn't go anywhere, though, as a matter of fact, they just lingered and kept replaying.

“Shut up! You stupid fucking cunt, just stay down. Quit fighting back, you won’t win.”

A hand grabbed your hair as you were being yelled at, dragging you over to the lake you had been brought to to be thrown in after being killed. The thought of not being able to swim crossed momentarily, it was gone as soon as it seemed to come. Staying conscious was getting harder by the minute, eyes trying to close and breathing was almost impossible.

Unsure of what to do, a last burst of adrenaline hit, right before getting dunked into the lake. Your hand wrapped itself in the hair of the woman holding you, and dragged her off the dock with you.

Fighting underwater was not as easy as one would hope for in this situation. All you could do was hold on to the throat of the woman trying to murder you. If you’re dying, so is that bitch. Time felt almost as if it was slowed, as you waited for the bitch’s partner in crime to try to help her, he never showed.

Even struggling was hard, but losing is something you were never okay with, you had to win, or not die. Finally, life seemed to have left the woman, but you weren't about to let her trick you. You pulled yourself above the water, dragging the woman with you.

Your hand scrunched a bunch of the woman's hair, and quickly, with all the strength you could muster, you smashed her head into the dock, probably a little more than what would kill her. She will not be coming back from that one, you made sure of it.

As you finished, you stood up and looked down, blood was everywhere, yours and your attacker’s. You had no time to worry about that though, there was a man, somewhere close, who also wanted you dead. Blood loss and pain seemed to start setting in as you reached the grass, knees bruising as you hit the ground.

“What the fuck did they do to me? Why am I not healing? And where the fuck is-?”

Dead. As soon as you saw something, or someone, out of your peripheral vision running off, you noticed the guy was way beyond dead. You gave the woman you left on the dock one last glance, there was absolutely no chance she was coming back, unless someone were to gorilla glue her brain back together.

With both of them dead, you took a few minutes to lay in the grass, in the hopes that regulating your heart rate would start the healing process. It did not.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Tears fell down your cheeks as you sat on the floor of the shower, the back of your head against the wall. Pain was something foreign to you, considering your healing factor, but the healing wasn’t happening, not as fast as usual anyway. The pain was almost unbearable, but the feeling of possibly being dramatic due to never having to feel pain for long seemed to cross your mind.

Unaware of how long you’d be sitting under the warm water, you realized it had been at least 20 minutes. The water started to get cold, the change in temperature wasn’t a bother, considering you run hot anyway, but that meant someone would be checking on you soon, probably Toby. You two had gotten close recently, very close. Too close, according to Tim.

Keeping your composure under the cold water was getting hard, the adrenaline had worn off and everything hurt. Suddenly, you were hyper aware of every bruise and open wound you had, your legs hurt, your body ached, and breathing started getting hard again. A panic attack hit.

A heavy knock hit the bathroom door, and the door opened. The realization of how loud you were sobbing seemed to bring you back to reality. Trying to speak to Tim, who just slung the bathroom door wide open, was impossible at the time, the only thing coming from you were sobs.

The shower curtain moved to the side ever so slightly, Tim’s eyes met yours as you looked up at him, curled into a tight ball, knees against your chest.

“He wanted me to check on you first, can he come in?” Tim seemed to be hiding the worry he had for you, hoping that if he didn’t worry, Toby wouldn’t worry as much. That didn't work. Toby peeked over Tim’s shoulder to see how fucked up you were.

“G-get out Tim,” Toby shoved Tim aside and out the door. Once the bathroom door closed, Toby just stared at you for a minute, taking in the wounds that were not healing. “Why are you st-still bleeding? I th-thought you-.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the wall in front of you, unmoving as your head rested on your knees. Words weren’t coming easy, the panic attack seemed to subside, breathing still seemed to be a big task, and you felt mentally numb.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Toby crouching now and knew he wouldn’t go away without getting the information he wanted and making sure you were okay, and since being okay was not a thing at the moment, he would not be leaving.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and stare at me like that, you might as well get in.” You deadpan, eyes still glued to the wall. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

His eyes widened, “I-I,” he stuttered out, shocked by your offer. “I’ll h-have you know, I haven't ever s-seen you n-naked by ch-choice. You don’t l-lock doors.” He was flustered, but he wasn’t going to turn down the offer. He started to remove his clothes, and quickly.

While trying to stand up so Toby could get in the shower, stars filled your vision and put you right back on your ass and a little yelp left your throat. You leaned into the wall again, completely and utterly ready to give up.

Toby sat down beside you, both of you completely vulnerable, and seemed to be scanning the severity of the damage to your body. He was quiet, more quiet than usual, it was almost scary. His eyes finally made his way up to yours, tears started streaming once again. Never in your life had you wanted to be held so badly, you had always been able to be independent and take care of yourself.

With his eyes still locked on yours, the words ‘hold me,’ slipped from your lips. Without hesitation he pulled you into him, causing you to wince with how fast and rough the action was.

“S-sorry,” he whispered as he gently loosened his grip on you. His fingers started tracing the bruises on your arms, then stomach, then your thighs. Something about him having to be gentle with you for the first time, made you feel a way, you couldn’t tell what that way was, but it was nice.

Leaning into him was a lot better than leaning on that hard ass wall, as he continued looking over your body, you listened to his heart as your head rested against his chest, regulating your own breathing and heart rate.

Pain started to slowly subside, your chest was not as tight, and the anxiety had melted away. Healing still wasn’t happening, at least not fast enough, it only seemed to be slowly coming back, and being the most impatient person in the world it might as well just be not working.

“I don’t understand why I am not healing,” you thought aloud, “If you're done looking at my tits from over my shoulder, will you help me just clean up? I feel absolutely disgusting.”

Toby was flustered once more, and hid his face in your shoulder for a moment. “Y-yeah, I can,” he whispered before helping you up.

Being in such a vulnerable state with you was something he never thought would happen, at least not when you first met anyway. Something about the innocence of sitting with each other, naked in the shower, made him want more than that. He was craving you, in so many different ways.

His impulse control was in overdrive but now, he didn’t want to hurt you, he was supposed to help you clean yourself up. All he could think about, though, was having his way with you. His hands were a little shaky now, trying not to think about grabbing you and pushing you against the wall. That seemed to be the only thought his brain could manage to give him, he was getting frustrated.

“You know, as a werewolf, I can smell many different pheromones, and I-,” you were quickly interrupted before you could finish the sentence.

“Sh-shut the f-fuck up!” Toby practically shouted. “You s-stink and you need h-help showering, let me f-finish helping you.”

“How about I help you after this, then? If I’m not too sore anymore.”

The look on Toby’s face was of pure confusion, “with what?”

You shook your head, “Let’s just finish here first.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Toby caught on a lot quicker than you thought he would, you hadn’t seen him move that fast and sporadic before. He needed you though, and when you offered yourself to him, even with the state you were in, he was not going to let opportunity slip away.

Your healing seemed to be back to a semi-normal speed. All you felt were light aches and any open wound looked like a gnarly scar, but they were closed up and not bleeding. What more could someone ask for?

“What the fuck were you two doing in there?” Brian asked, but quickly took the question back. “You know, don’t actually answer that. You two share way too much information already. Pretend I never asked, I am leaving.”

As Brian walked away, Toby practically dragged you to his room. His excitement was unmatched. He has wanted to do this since you two beat the shit out of each other sparring, which was about three weeks ago. Something about you looking feral unlocked something within him.

The thought of you scraping your sharp canine teeth across his neck, bringing blood to the surface while riding his thigh was something he never knew he wanted or needed. He wanted to be buried deep in your pussy, he wanted to be between your thighs, he wanted, no he needed to have you in every way possible.

Toby couldn’t decide what to do first, his thoughts were racing as you stood behind him while he locked the door. Once it was locked, he turned to you and lost the little bit of composure he had left. He grabbed you and ripped the shirt you had just put on after the shower completely off your body, and pushed you down on his bed.

Now all that was left on you was your panties, his focus wasn’t there yet, though. His kisses were sloppy yet held so much passion. His hands seemed to wander your body as he started kissing down your jaw line and making his way to your collarbone.

A small gasp escaped you when his hands finally found their way to your breasts. The way he squeezed them made you think he’d been waiting for the moment. The way he held onto you in general made you wonder how long he’d been wanting this. You had to admit, you had also been waiting for this, the way Toby had been acting around you, the way his glances started lingering, or how you could hear his heart rate change slightly when he’d see you.

His lips were back on yours now, and he was growing more and more desperate by the second, he whined a little as he started grinding into your thigh. You smirked when you realized how needy he was. He took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You could tell he didn’t know what to do next, the way he moved, twitched, and whined into the kisses. Pulling away from his lips for a moment caused him to become confused, but when your hands moved down his chest and started pulling at his pants he realized you weren’t trying to get away, you were helping him. A giggle came from you when you saw the look on his face.

“Wh-what? D-did I do something wr-wrong?” He was slightly worried.

As you shook your head, your hands went to his hair and pulled back into a kiss. He seemed to melt into you. He was so rough, even while trying to not be rough, then there was you. So gentle and loving. Despite being some sort of monster, you were just so patient, it drove him crazy, he loved it.

“I, I don’t kn-know what to d-do first.” He stuttered through his kisses.

Deciding to take things in your own hands so he wouldn't have to decide, you flipped him onto his back. His eyes went wide, he forgot about your strength, he was not going to argue though. With you on top, he seemed to be in awe. The way you looked was angelic.

“Are you ready?”

All that came from Toby was a whine as you went to sit on him, but you were going slow, way too slow. His hands grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise you as he forced you down. He started grinding up into you, and moving your hips whichever way he wanted, there was no rhythm, just random thrusting.

Now it was your turn to whine. Your hands rested on his abdomen and your claws started to come out. A growl escaped you, as your hips rocked in a more rhythmic way, syncing with his.. The moans and little growls rumbling through you were almost enough to get Toby to cum then and there.

His grip tightened on your hips as he started controlling your movements again, very sporadically. You didn’t care though, you were close too.

“Toby, I’m…” was all you could manage before a warm feeling came over you and you were orgasming. Your head went back and your eyes shut tight, and with your pussy clenching around his dick as you rocked your hips through your high, Toby quickly found ecstasy after you.

A string of moans and cusses came from Toby as he rode out his high with you still on his dick. He didn't want you to move, not yet. His grip on your hips was so tight by now that his knuckles were white. It felt as if he was making sure this was real.

“F-fuck,” He managed to moan out. “That was s-so much b-better than any of the p-porn I’ve ev-ever watched.”

You giggled again as you rolled from the top of Toby to the side of him. You laid your head on his chest for a moment, just listening to his heart. You gently kissed his cheek, before throwing your legs over the side of his bed and putting on a shirt that was on his floor. You were almost certain it was not a clean shirt, you used it though, just in case Tim or Brian came in and saw you with absolutely nothing on. Not that they would ask you any questions about what you were doing though. They have learned their lesson asking that one too many times.

“I don’t know how much longer they will be gone, but I have to pee. When I come back-”

“We’re fucking even ha-harder. I have s-so many th-things I want to try wi-with you.” Toby was very serious saying this, but laughed a little, until he heard Tim and Brian walk in through the front door. He wasn’t going to be able to do anything with you now, they would complain about the noise.

Brian was quick to speak as he walked in, “We’re back, please don’t be fucking in my line of sight.”

Tim shook his head at that statement. “I am going to bed, if you are fucking, do it quietly,”

“They are such party poopers. Looks like it’s bedtime at the old folks home. Whatever, you good if I sleep in here tonight? That couch is going to give me tetanus with those rusty springs stabbing me in my ass cheeks.”

Toby looked from you to his bed, and gave you a strange look. “Your bed is way more comfy!”

“H-how do you kn-know that?”

“I take naps in here when you’re out or whatever.” You spoke matter of factly. The two of you stared at each other, unblinking for about ten seconds. Toby sighed, and promptly made a small space for you.

“D-don't make this a habit.”

“Sleeping in your room? We just fucked in your bed. Shut up.”

#creepy pasta #creepypasta #marble hornets #ticci toby #ticci toby smut #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby x reader #marble hornets smut #marble hornets x reader

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justagalwhowrites · 9 months ago

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Stitches: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Joel comes into the clinic after getting hurt on the job. A non-canon one shot set in the Lavender universe.

^Gif not representative of reader's appearance, just here for the vibes.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author to be paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender, QZ era

Warnings: Brief description of injury. Angst. Smut (P in V sex). No use of Y/N, Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 4k

A/N: Sooooo this one got a little away from me (shocking, I know.) I can't promise all of this collection will be this long but apparently I really missed Joel and Doc. Written for @suzmagine after she requested QZ era Joel and Doc with angst and smut :)

For You Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Sunday, September 20, 2015

“I’ve got one more for you,” Marta hovered outside the patient room, a file folder in her hands.

You groaned.

“Another one?” You asked. “Shouldn’t we be done for the day by now? Shouldn’t we have been done for the day an hour ago?”

“I’m not any happier about this than you are,” she replied. “I’m the one who’s been pulling double duty all day because Andrew’s out…”

“And I’m the one who’s had twice the patient load because the entire QZ has the flu,” you sighed before you pinched the bridge of your nose. This wasn’t helping either of you. “Alright, just… Please tell me this is the last one.”

“Last one,” she said. “Doors are locked.”

“Speakeasy after this?” You asked, opening the folder.

“I would but Brian and I are going to a friend’s place tonight,” she smiled, almost sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed. “I just need to get a life….” You glanced down at the intake notes. Just stitches and antibiotics, on order from FEDRA. “This looks basic, why don’t you head on out. I can finish up here.”

“Really?” She asked. You just nodded and she squealed a little. “Thank you so much!”

You tried to not be jealous of the fact that she had a life to go home to. In all reality, you shouldn’t be upset about staying late at work. It’s not like you had anything else going on. Once Tommy left the QZ and Andrew and Jess started spending more time just the two of them while she was down for the count because of her pregnancy, you pretty much spent your time not at work at home, doing a lot of nothing.

“I need a hobby,” you muttered to yourself before making your way down to the exam room where your last patient was waiting for you.

You knocked once on the door and gave the patient a moment to answer before you opened it, reviewing the intake notes as you did.

“Hi there,” you said, looking up from the file. “I’m….”

Your voice trailed off. Joel was sitting there, perched on the end of the exam table, his eyes ranging over you.

“Don’t think you need to introduce yourself, Kid,” he said, giving you a wry half smile.

You looked back at the file. In the name field was just J.M. - FEDRA. You frowned and looked back at him.

“FEDRA sent you in?” You set the file down on the counter before going to wash your hands. “Why, did you pick a fight with a guard?”

“No,” he quirked his jaw. “Just some equipment on sewer duty.”

“Lucky you,” you said, pulling your chair up beside the table. You sat down, closer to him than you’d been since you’d been almost blown up before Tommy left the QZ. “Well, I’m sure you’d rather see anybody else but I’m afraid there’s something going around and I’m the only doctor who’s here right now. Since you’re here on FEDRA orders, I can’t really let you leave and come back another time…”

“S’fine,” he cut you off. “It’s not… I don’t mind. That it’s you, I mean.”

“Oh,” you said, a little taken aback. You tried to hide it as you pulled on your gloves. “Well that’s… good. Why don’t take off your shirt, looks like the injury is on your stomach?”

“Yeah,” he said, unbuttoning his top. “They put a bandage on me there but said I’d need stitches and shit to keep it from gettin’ infected.”

“Yeah, I feel like dying from an infection that doesn’t turn people into monsters in this day and age is a bit of a raw deal.”

Joel snorted and shrugged out of the shirt. You saw a bandage, stained with blood, near his belly button. You winced a little, even though you’d seen so much of Joel’s blood at this point you thought you should be used to it. But it never got any easier, knowing he was putting himself at risk, knowing he was in pain.

Blood was a good distraction, though, when you thought about it. Joel without his shirt had always been a weak spot for you. Blood was one way to keep you from focusing on things you shouldn’t. Like the fact that his chest was broad and firm and you knew just what it would be to rest your head against him there and listen to the steady thrum of his heart as you fell asleep.

“I’m going to remove the bandage, OK?” You said, looking up at him through your eyelashes. You watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He just gave you a single nod and you pulled down the bundle of gauze and tape to expose a jagged cut that dipped into the muscle of his abdomen. You hissed a little in sympathetic pain. “What’d you do, Joel?”

“Had to jump to dodge an out of control truck,” he said. “Ended up landin’ on something sharp. Hurt like a bitch but… had worse.”

“Had worse is a damn low bar for you,” you said, gingerly examining the wound. “Good news is, this is even cleaner than I expected. Actually, you’re cleaner than I expected, you don’t smell like you were on sewer duty.”

“Yeah, well, figured patchin’ me up wouldn’t do much if I was covered in shit,” he said, voice beaten down by the misery that was QZ life. It was a tone you knew well. “Showered before I came.”

You nodded slowly.

“I’ll numb you up and get this all closed,” you said, sitting back from him. “Go ahead and lie back for me while I get set up.”

You gathered what you needed and came back to find Joel flat on the table, his hands folded over the base of his chest. The cracked face of the watch glinted in the florescent light and you tried not to think about how his arms looked bare. You hadn’t seen his arms bare in so long.

You cleared your throat and pulled the chair back up alongside him and changed gloves.

“Small poke,” you said as you injected the local anesthetic. He grunted but stayed still. You gave it a few minutes to kick in before you gently prodded the wound. “Feel that?”

“No,” he said.

You nodded and set to work, flushing out the wound and aligning his damaged skin to stitch it closed.

“So,” you said after the silence was heavy in the room. “How’ve you been since Tommy left?”

His body tensed a little.

“Fine,” he said gruffly. “Just a bit quiet around the apartment.”

You nodded slowly, focusing on your stitching.

“I hope you’re not just sitting in there all alone,” you said, half teasing half serious. “Even you need social contact now and then.”

“M’fine.”

There was something in his tone that made you feel like he was not, in fact, fine. As much as you tried to forget, you carried so much of the intimacies of Joel Miller within you. How he looked when his face was relaxed in sleep, how he felt when he held you like you were the only thing he had left in the world, how he sounded when he was in pain. He sounded that way now.

“Are you?” You asked, lifting your eyes from his stomach to look up his body to his face. His head was raised just enough to look back at you.

“Not your damn business what I am or what I’m not,” he snapped, lowering his head back to the exam table. “Leave it.”

“I’m just…” you paused as you finished the last stitch. “I worry about you sometimes is all. I know you don’t have a lot of people, Joel, and…”

“I’m not your fuckin’ problem,” he bit out, sitting up so fast that you shocked back from him. “I don’t need you pokin’ around my life and fuckin’ it up anymore than you already have so just leave it, alright!”

“Alright,” you said quietly, tears pinching at the back of your throat.

“You done sewin’ me shut?” He snapped. You nodded, still trying to resist the urge to cry. “Good.”

He snatched his shirt up and stalked out of the room, not even stopping to put it on.

You took a deep, shaky breath, staring at the place where Joel had just been. You tried not to think about how, for just a few minutes, there had been a quiet intimacy there like there had been with him before. How he felt comfortable and safe beside you, where you could run your fingers over his skin and see where his hair was starting to gray.

You gave yourself a few minutes to calm down before you started cleaning up, trying to focus on getting home so you could curl up in a ball in your bed where you were warm and safe, even if you were alone. You were starting to clear the tray of tools when you realized the syringe of penicillin was still there, shiny and full.

You’d never given him the antibiotics.

“Shit,” you muttered, voice wet.

You set it aside and finished cleaning up before grabbing a bottle of pain killers and an oral course of antibiotics and setting out to Joel’s place.

He answered quickly, all but ripping the door open and looking surprised to find you there when he did.

“What do you want,” he snapped.

“You still need antibiotics,” you said quietly, fighting to not flinch back from him. You held up the small bag with the syringe, bandages and pills inside. “You left before I could give them to you.”

He quirked his jaw but stepped aside, opening the door wide enough for you to come in. You set the bag down on the table and started taking off your coat.

“Didn’t say you could fuckin’ stay,” Joel said, voice still sharp.

“I figured you’d want me having full range of motion with my arms when I’m sticking you with a needle,” you said harshly before closing your eyes for a moment, forcing yourself to calm down. “I need to get at the wound again so… shirt off.”

He ground his teeth but obeyed, pulling the shirt off. You sat down at the table and got the syringe ready and he stood beside you there and you had the strangest urge to kiss his stomach. You pressed your lips together instead.

“If you didn’t run off this would probably hurt less,” you said. “But the anesthetic might be wearing off already so… small pinch.”

You pressed the syringe into his skin and pushed down on the plunger. He flinched once and that was it.

“Just going to bandage you up,” you said, not waiting for a response.

“Why’d you come here,” Joel asked as you taped the bandage over his damaged skin. You looked up at him, frowning. His eyes were on yours, deep and warm and chocolate brown.

“You needed…”

“Don’t give me that,” he cut you off. “You could have fuckin’ left it, told you enough times that I don’t want shit to do with you now so why are you really here? Not like FEDRA was gonna come and check and make sure I was on their ordered drugs so what is it?”

“Do you really think I’d just let something happen to you?” You asked quietly. “You might not care if I live or die anymore but I care about you. I’m always going to care about you.”

You didn’t wait for.a response. You looked back to his stomach and finished taping the bandage in place before taking the pills out and setting them on table before getting up and pulling your jacket back on.

“Instructions are on the bottles,” you said. “Take all the antibiotics, every last one, I don’t care if you’re feeling well and your cut is magically healed, still take them. Change out the bandages every 24 hours for the first few days, come by the clinic if there’s a lot of blood or discomfort. Pain medication as needed. I’m sure you’ll just sell whatever’s left…”

You grabbed the now empty bag off the table and turned to go to the door but Joel’s hand closed around your wrist, pulling you back around. You frowned, looking at where he was touching you before looking back to him.

“Joel…”

“You really think I don’t care about you?” He asked, voice heated. “You really think I don’t give a shit? Hm?”

You shrank back from him as much as you could while he held you in place, his grip on you tight.

“Joel…” you said again but he cut you off.

“You think I don’t care if you live or die?” It took you a moment to realize that he didn’t sound angry. He sounded… hurt? Offended? Both? “Jesus…”

“You’re hurting me, Joel.”

He scowled but dropped your wrist.

“After everything I’ve done,” he snapped. “After everything we’ve been through, you think I don’t fuckin’ care?”

“Why would I think you care?” You tried to sound mad but you just sounded hurt, your voice quivering. “All you’ve done for years now is tell me how I hurt you, how you wish you’d never met me, how you don’t want to see me again! Even when you’ve done something that you say is for me or because of me you act like your obligated to me in some way but you’re not and I wish you’d just leave me alone! I can’t keep doing this with you, I’m so tired of being your burden, Joel!”

You tried to turn to go but his hands were on you again but on your shoulders this time, his fingers digging into your flesh there. His eyes searched yours for half a moment before he pulled you sharply to him, his hands flying from your shoulders to your face to tilt your head to just the right angle, gripping you tight and desperate, before his lips crashed into your own.

It took you a second to fully understand what was happening but your body responded before your mind. It might have been years since you last kissed Joel but your lips knew his. They conformed to his like the familiar ground they were, giving to the hot press of him as he licked into your mouth.

You moaned and wrapped your arms around his waist, forgetting, for a moment, that he was injured. He hissed in pain and you tried to pull back but his grip on you grew tighter, fingertips pressing into your skull. Your body curved against his and you were suddenly acutely aware that he was shirtless, that you could feel his skin on yours if you could just take your own shirt off, too.

His hold on you eventually loosened and he pulled back from you, the brown of his iris almost entirely swallowed by his pupil now as he panted for breath. His thumbs traced the arch of your cheekbones.

“I care,” he said, voice hungry and low. “I care more about you than about any other person left on this godforsaken planet…”

“Joel…” you were breathless, heat and tension pooling at your core.

“And I’m tired of tryin’ to stay away from you.”

He pulled you back against him, gently that time. His lips were soft on yours, his tongue tracing the seam of you until you opened for him. You could properly taste him now, the mint of his toothpaste and the bitter tang of liquor and the familiar flavor of his skin. You drank it up, needing it like water. His hands left your face, sliding down your body to your waist. He pulled at your shirt, separating from you just enough to pull it up and over your head, taking a moment to look down at your body, an expression of almost reverence on his face as he panted for breath.

Joel tugged you toward him again, his mouth quickly finding yours, as he unhooked your bra. He slid that off your body, too, and cradled you to him.

You moaned into his mouth, you couldn’t help it, as your arms went around his neck. His skin was everywhere, so soft and so warm and just like you remembered. He felt so good against you, like home, and the ache of missing him flared to life inside your chest, sharp and cruel.

Part of you knew you should put a stop to this now, before it went any further. He was only going to push you away again, just like he had after Boston. It was only going to hollow you out and leave you feeling more desperately alone than ever.

But you couldn’t resist him. You’d missed him too much over the years, he was too much a part of you to ever dream of pushing him away. You needed this. You needed him.

You let him guide you toward the couch, his fingers prying at the button of your jeans before pushing those and your underwear down your body, too. You stepped out of them and your shoes together before Joel gently lowered you, completely bared to him, to the rough, aging fabric of the couch. You watched as he stood over you, your eyes wide, as he opened his own pants, freeing his cock and swiping his thumb over his leaking tip before stroking himself in long, slow strokes.

“Tell me you want this,” his voice trembled. “We can stop right now…”

“I need you,” you cut him off with a needy whisper. “Please.”

He didn’t need any more prompting. He shoved his pants and underwear down before he nudged your legs apart and settled between them. He gripped the root of his thick, heavy cock and trailed his tip over your leaking slit, moaning as he did.

“Missed this wet little pussy,” he notched his head at your entrance before thrusting halfway inside you with a short, sharp stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, your back arching and fingers scrambling at the tattered upholstery. “Fuck, still so fuckin’ tight. Gotta be fuckin’ dripping for me or I’d never get inside you…”

He pulled back just a little, his thumb finding your clit and pressing into you there, working you in a slow circle. He thrust back into you, a little further this time.

“You get this soft and hot and wet for anyone else?” He asked, a possessive edge to his voice as his eyes ranged over your naked body. “Or you save that just for me?”

“Just for you,” you didn’t care that you sounded desperate and pathetic. You just needed him inside of you, filling you totally. “It’s all for you, I’ve always been all for you.”

“You all mine, Baby?” He asked, pulling back and thrusting deeper. “This little pussy all mine?”

“Yes,” you rocked your hips up against him but he pressed down on you, holding you in place and making you whimper. “Fuck, please…”

“How about the rest of you?” He asked, his hand leaving your clit as he lowered himself onto you. His skin was on yours, the plush swell of his stomach against you, his chest tight to your own. His hand came up to brush your hair back and cradle the crown of your head, his thumb tracing over you there. His eyes searched yours and, for the first time in years, you saw the Joel you’d fallen in love with so long ago. The quiet strength of him, the gentle care, the fierce love, the raw and aching whole of him there with nothing holding him back. “Want all of you, want that so much more than your perfect fuckin’ pussy…”

“Joel…”

“Say you’re mine,” he thrust deeper and you keened at the feel of him inside you, so close to having all of him within you where you’d known he belonged from the first time you’d taken him into yourself. “Tell me I’m not gonna lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you breathed. “I promise, you can’t lose me.”

He pulled back a little and you whimpered at the loss.

“Say you’ll let me protect you,” he thrust in, almost to the root this time, and held himself there. Your channel tightened around him.

“Joel,” you were having a hard time remembering how to say anything but his name, that single word the most vital one you’d ever known. “Please…”

“Tell me,” he ground himself against you, his skin on your clit, his cock pressing into your most sensitive places. “Let me take care of you, protect you. Say it.”

“You can protect me,” your hands found their way to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin there. “You can take care of me, I promise…”

“Let me love you,” he pulled back again but it was his words and not how he was moving inside you that made you gasp. “Say it. Tell me I can love you, that it’s safe to love you.”

You reached up and gently traced his hairline before threading your fingers through his curls, your eyes on his.

“I haven’t been the one stopping you from loving me,” you whispered.

“I never stopped,” he rocked himself part way into you again before pulling back. “Always loved you, always. But I need it to be safe, I can’t love you without it destroyin’ me if it’s not. Please, baby. Tell me. Tell me I can love you.”

“You can love me, Joel,” you said softly. “It’s safe. I’m safe.”

He kissed you, his mouth claiming yours and he pressed all the way inside you then, making your back arch and legs go tight around his hips. You moaned against his lips as he held himself deep within you for a moment before pulling back again.

It might have been years but your body knew Joel’s. You knew just how to take him and he knew just how to make you come, his hips grinding down into you when he was fully seated inside of your tight channel, making his cock tease your most tender places while his hips worked your clit. He fucked you deep and hard and greedy, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he wanted to lay claim to all of you.

The tight band of pleasure inside of you wound tighter and tighter until it snapped when he was pressed deep, your walls fluttering over him. He moaned against your lips and fucked you through it, never slowing, never letting up, making it so your orgasm never really subsided. It just rolled into building the next one until he pulled his desperate and needy mouth from yours.

“Not gonna last, Baby,” he ground himself deeper, as if to make his point. “Where -”

“Inside me,” you panted. “I need to feel you, please don’t leave, please, inside me, please…”

He kissed you again, fucking you a little harder and faster, driving the band of pleasure tighter and higher until you felt him press deep and pulse inside you, triggering your next orgasm.

You came with him, your pussy rippling over him as he throbbed, emptying himself into you.

His body went slack for a moment before he propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes returning to their normal color. They looked over your face for a moment before locking onto your own and you had a moment of fear that the walls would go up again. That the cold, disconnected Joel who had taken over since he’d come to the QZ would be back. But his eyes stayed soft and open and warm, his large palm still cradling the top of your head.

“Tell me you meant all that,” you whispered even though you were afraid of what the answer was.

“Oh, Baby.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead before trailing his nose over your own. “I meant every word. I promise.”

You smiled, looking into Joel’s eyes and realizing that, even though you were still stuck inside the QZ, you were right where you belonged.

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #lavender #smut fic #For You

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part one)

(This is part one; part two is here.)

I am objectively very bad at visual art. I am bad at vision, period – I'm astigmatic, shortsighted, color blind, and often miss visual details others see. I can't even draw a stick-figure. To top things off, I have cataracts in both eyes and my book publishing/touring schedule is so intense that I keep having to reschedule the surgeries. But despite my vast visual deficits, I thoroughly enjoy making collages for this blog.

For many years now – decades – I've been illustrating my blog posts by mixing public domain and Creative Commons art with work that I can make a good fair use case for. As bad as art as I may be, all this practice has paid off. Call it unseemly, but I think I'm turning out some terrific illustrations – not all the time, but often enough.

Last year, I rounded up my best art of the year:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

And I liked reflecting on the year's art so much, I decided I'd do it again. Be sure to scroll to the bottom for some downloadables – freely usable images that I painstakingly cut up with the lasso tool in The Gimp.

The original AD&D hardcover cover art is seared into my psyche. For several years, there were few images I looked at so closely as these. When Hasbro pulled some world-beatingly sleazy stuff with the Open Gaming License, I knew just how to mod Dave Trampier's 'Eve Of Moloch' from the cover of the Players' Handbook. Thankfully, bigger nerds than me have identified all the fonts in the image, making the remix a doddle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

Even though I don't keep logs or collect any analytics, I can say with confidence that "Tiktok's Enshittification" was the most popular thing I published on Pluralistic this year. I mixed some public domain Brother's Grimm art, mixed with a classic caricature of Boss Tweed, and some very cheesy royalty-free/open access influencer graphics. One gingerbread cottage social media trap, coming up:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

To illustrate the idea of overcoming walking-the-plank fear (as a metaphor for writing when it feels like you suck) I mixed public domain stock of a plank, a high building and legs, along with a procedurally generated Matrix "code waterfall" and a vertiginous spiral ganked from a Heinz Bunse photo of a German office lobby.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/22/walking-the-plank/

Finding a tasteful way to illustrate a story about Johnson & Johnson losing a court case after it spent a generation tricking women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talcum was a challenge. The tulip (featured in many public domain images) was a natural starting point. I mixed it with Jesse Wagstaff's image of a Burning Man dust-storm and Mike Mozart's shelf-shot of a J&J talcum bottle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

"Google's Chatbot Panic" is about Google's long history of being stampeded into doing stupid things because its competitors are doing them. Once it was Yahoo, now it's Bing. Tenniel's Tweedle Dee and Dum were a good starting point. I mixed in one of several Humpty Dumpty editorial cartoon images from 19th century political coverage that I painstakingly cut out with the lasso tool on a long plane-ride. This is one of my favorite Humpties, I just love the little 19th C businessmen trying to keep him from falling! I finished it off with HAL 9000's glowing red eye, my standard 'this is about AI' image, which I got from Cryteria's CC-licensed SVG.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Though I started writing about Luddites in my January, 2022 Locus column, 2023 was the Year of the Luddite, thanks to Brian Merchant's outstanding Blood In the Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When it came time to illustrate "Gig Work Is the Opposite of Steampunk," I found a public domain weaver's loft, and put one of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes in the window. Magpie Killjoy's Steampunk Magazine poster, 'Love the Machine, Hate the Factory,' completed the look.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/12/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk/

For the "small, non-profit school" that got used as an excuse to bail out Silicon Valley Bank, I brought back Humpty Dumpty, mixing him with a Hogwartsian castle, a brick wall texture, and an ornate, gilded frame. I love how this one came out. This Humpty was made for the SVB bailout.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

The RESTRICT Act would have federally banned Tiktok – a proposal that was both technically unworkable and unconstitutional. I found an early 20th century editorial cartoon depicting Uncle Sam behind a fortress wall that was keeping a downtrodden refugee family out of America. I got rid of most of the family, giving the dad a Tiktok logo head, and I put Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes over each cannonmouth. Three Boss Tweed moneybag-head caricatures, adorned with Big Tech logos, rounded it out.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

When Flickr took decisive action to purge the copyleft trolls who'd been abusing its platform, I knew I wanted to illustrate this with Lucifer being cast out of heaven, and the very best one of those comes from John Milton, who is conveniently well in the public domain. The Flickr logo suggested a bicolored streaming-light-of-heaven motif that just made it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/01/pixsynnussija/#pilkunnussija

Old mainframe ads are a great source of stock for a "Computer Says No" image. And Congress being a public building, there are lots of federal (and hence public domain) images of its facade.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

When I wrote about the Clarence Thomas/Harlan Crow bribery scandal, it was easy to find Mr. Kjetil Ree's great image of the Supreme Court building. Thomas being a federal judge, it was easy to find a government photo of his head, but it's impossible to find an image of him in robes at a decent resolution. Luckily, there are tons of other federal judges who've been photographed in their robes! Boss Tweed with the dollar-sign head was a great stand-in for Harlan Crow (no one knows what he looks like anyway). Gilding Thomas's robes was a simple matter of superimposing a gold texture and twiddling with the layers.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

"Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in wage-stealing Skinner boxes" is one of my best titles. This is the post where I introduce the idea of "twiddling" as part of the theory of enshittification, and explain how it relates to "reverse centaurs" – people who assist machines, rather than the other way around. Finding a CC licensed modular synth was much harder than I thought, but I found Stephen Drake's image and stitched it into a mandala. Cutting out the horse's head for the reverse centaur was a lot of work (manes are a huuuuge pain in the ass), but I love how his head sits on the public domain high-viz-wearing warehouse worker's body I cut up (thanks, OSHA!). Seeing as this is an horrors-of-automation story, Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes make an appearance.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Rockefeller's greatest contribution to our culture was inspiring many excellent unflattering caricatures. The IWW's many-fists-turning-into-one-fist image made it easy to have the collective might of workers toppling the original robber-baron.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

I link to this post explaining how to make good Mastodon threads at least once a week, so it's a good thing the graphic turned out so well. Close-cropping the threads from a public domain yarn tangle worked out great. Eugen Rochko's Mastodon logo was and is the only Affero-licensed image ever to appear on Pluralistic.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/16/how-to-make-the-least-worst-mastodon-threads/

I spent hours on the sofa one night painstakingly cutting up and reassembling the cover art from a science fiction pulp. I have a folder full of color-corrected, high-rez scans from an 18th century anatomy textbook, and the cross-section head-and-brain is the best of the lot.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Those old French anatomical drawings are an endless source of delight to me. Take one cross-sectioned noggin, mix in an old PC mainboard, and a vector art illo of a virtuous cycle with some of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes and you've got a great illustration of Google's brain-worms.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

Ireland's privacy regulator is but a plaything in Big Tech's hand, but it's goddamned hard to find an open-access Garda car. I manually dressed some public domain car art in Garda livery, painstakingly tracing it over the panels. The (public domain) baby's knit cap really hides the seams from replacing the baby's head with HAL9000's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Naked-guy-in-a-barrel bankruptcy images feel like something you can find in an old Collier's or Punch, but I came up snake-eyes and ended up frankensteining a naked body into a barrel for the George Washington crest on the Washington State flag. It came out well, but harvesting the body parts from old muscle-beach photos left George with some really big guns. I tried five different pairs of suspenders here before just drawing in black polyhedrons with little grey dots for rivets.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Illustrating Amazon's dominance over the EU coulda been easy – just stick Amazon 'A's in place of the yellow stars that form a ring on the EU flag. So I decided to riff on Plutarch's Alexander, out of lands to conquer. Rama's statue legs were nice and high-rez. I had my choice of public domain ruin images, though it was harder thank expected to find a good Amazon box as a plinth for those broken-off legs.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

God help me, I could not stop playing with this image of a demon-haunted IoT car. All those reflections! The knife sticking out of the steering wheel, the multiple Munsch 'Scream'ers, etc etc. The more I patchked with it, the better it got, though. This one's a banger.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

To depict a "data-driven dictatorship," I ganked elements of heavily beribboned Russian military dress uniforms, replacing the head with HAL9000's eye. I turned the foreground into the crowds from the Nuremberg rallies and filled the sky with Matrix code waterfall.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

The best thing about analogizing DRM to demonic possession is the wealth of medieval artwork to choose from . This one comes from the 11th century 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.' I mixed in the shiny red Tesla (working those reflections!), and a Tesla charger to make my point.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Yet more dividends from those old French anatomical plates: a flayed skull, a detached jaw, a quack electronic gadget, a Wachowski code waterfall and some HAL 9000 eyes and you've got a truly unsettling image of machine-compelled speech.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

I had no idea this would work out so well, but daaaamn, crossfading between a Wachowski code waterfall and a motherboard behind a roiling thundercloud is dank af.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Of all the turkeys-voting-for-Christmas self-owns conservative culture warriors fall for, few can rival the "banning junk fees is woke" hustle. Slap a US-flag Punisher logo on and old-time card imprinter, add a GOP logo to a red credit-card blank, and then throw in a rustic barn countertop and you've got a junk-fee extracter fit for the Cracker Barrel.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Putting the Verizon logo on the Hinderberg was an obvious gambit (even if I did have to mess with the flames a lot), but the cutout of Paul Marcarelli as the 'can you hear me now?' guy, desaturated and contrast-matched, made it sing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

Note to self: Tux the Penguin is really easy to source in free/open formats! He looks great with HAL9000 eyes.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Rockwell's self-portrait image is a classic; that made it a natural for a HAL9000-style remix about AI art. I put a bunch of time into chopping and remixing Rockwell's signature to give it that AI look, and added as many fingers as would fit on each hand.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

#pluralistic #illustration #collage #fair use #creative commons #stock art #blogging #art #practice makes perfect

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mosquego359 · 25 days ago

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𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 4: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Chapter 3 (previous)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 2.7K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: Two weeks after you became partners with Cedric, Hogwart's Rival Schools arrive.

Notes: Please comment anything I should change to improve this. Also, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK. Also, Wix is the gender neutral term for witch and wizard and, like in the books Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are a school with mixed genders. This is the video I'm basing for the guests' introduction.

Content warning: One curse word. It's also a bit fruity.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

Around a week or two later, you decided to hang out more with Alistair. Your judgy grudge against him had dimmed to a slight annoyance, and the two of you agreed to not bring it up.

It was now the 30th of October, and Hogwarts’ rival schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were to arrive in the evening. You personally hadn’t given the Triwizard Tournament much though for you were too young to participate and not keen on putting your life in dangerous situations.

The rest of your friends, however — particularly Alistair and Ziggy — were buzzing with anticipation.

And that was how you, Brian and Ziggy’s friend — whom you found out was named Roman Conyngham — silently watched Ziggy and Alistair passionately fantasise about the Triwizard Tournament.

Their conversation buzzed around the air of the grand Dining Hall, a complex and complicated interaction that caused you to zone out from boredom. Your eyes strayed from any of the boys you were with and to Elsie, Winnie and Destiny, sitting together at the Hufflepuff table.

Your mind shifted to the day you and Cedric became partners.

After class, you watched as Elsie rapidly marched away from the classroom, Destiny by her side. You swore you saw her glance back at you before finally disappearing into the corridor.

At lunchtime, you swiftly devoured your meal, curious yet concerned for Elsie. She was often serious, and that meant what she would tell you was something important. It was probably rather personal since, if it wasn’t, she would have informed you on the spot.

You craned your neck to see if she was still in the great hall — which she was not — before heading to the library with a goodbye from Brian and Winnie.

It wasn’t hard finding Elsie; she was pacing by a window at the corner of the library — your usual studying spot.

“Elsie?” You said softly to grab her attention.

Her head snapped up, and — with a furrow in your brow — you noticed a stressed look in her golden eyes. She gestured for you to come closer, simultaneously looking around for any snooping students.

“(Name),” she paused, nervously playing with her hair, “It’s about the party…”

You nodded carefully as curious thoughts circled your mind. Was this about Alistair?

“You see, after the whole…fiasco with Campbell,” Elsie cringed, “I went to the drink table since I was looking for Winnie. And I may have taken a couple too many shots. So I was drunk when I finally found Winnie. Stay with me on this, alright?”

You arched a brow. This was about her? Was there drama between them you didn’t know of? If so, why had they been so friendly with one another since the party? Sure, they seemed a bit off at some points, but you didn’t think too much of it.

Elsie glanced nervously to the side, “Winnie agreed to tell you. Please don’t say anything to Alistair, (Name). We’re telling Brian later.”

“You can trust me.” You promised, “Take your time.”

Tugging her brown curls, Elsie stayed silent momentarily, staring at your eyes. You saw how hesitant she was about the conversation and mentally applauded her for opening up to you. She inhaled a big breath, “I kissed Winnie.”

“So, Alistair, how do you feel with your little sis getting along with your ex?” Ziggy asked, snapping you out of your daze.

Alistair shrugged but looked visibly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat as he replied, “Eh, don’t care much for it. I mean, Winnie can do whatever; I don’t control her life.” He puffed his fringe out of his face.

Ziggy and Roman shared a look, and the former responded in mild disbelief, “Yeah, of course.”

Personally, you were glad that they were all finally getting along, but a small pang of jealousy shot into your heart when you recalled barely talking to them for the entire day. In DADA, they had moved their seats to the back where Destiny sat, and you barely saw them in Herbology because of your project with Cedric Diggory.

Professor Sprout had given you a different room to work in, and when you came out covered in cuts and bruises from the Snargaluff, your class would joke that you were physically fighting.

For example, earlier that day, the Snargaluff was particularly peeved and somehow tangled you and Cedric in its bulky vines. You felt embarrassed to say that Professor Sprout had to rescue you from its grasp.

Needless to say, you felt triumphant when Cedric had to hobble to the nurse to get his scratches checked. Apparently, the Snargaluff’s vines had squeezed his leg so hard it turned blue, thus causing him to get healed. You, on the other hand, felt fine despite an ache in your core and a few scrapes from being compressed by the plant.

You admitted that you felt an odd pang of pity seeing your usually all-powerful rival limp out of the class like a fragile bird. You weren't used to seeing his vulnerable side.

Hands-on your cheek, you glanced over to where he was sitting with his friends. He was laughing, his perfect pearly smile gleaming charmingly. You felt as if some of the girls you knew thought of him as a fairy prince with those gorgeous grey eyes and soft-looking brown hair.

The last time you saw him was in the hallway, walking to his next class, which you believed to be his Transfiguration class. His leg was still in a cast, but he looked to be trying to apply some weight to it with the help of his mates and a mutual friend of yours — Chunhua Chang, also known as Cho.

A wave of warmth subconsciously flooded your heart at the thought of him recovering from the incident. You were honestly glad of his healing and smiled when you noticed he was recounting something to his friends. He was so…

Wait, what were you thinking?

You shook your head, and despite no one being able to hear your thoughts, your neck grew warm in embarrassment. Sure, you were mildly aware of your attraction to boys, but there was no way you liked Cedric Diggory of all people.

You felt a nudge from your right, “You doing okay, man? Your face looks a bit red,” Roman asked in concern. Sometimes, you were glad most of the other students were ignorant of your odd condition.

“I’m alright, thank you for your worry, Roman,” You smiled calmly at him, and he shrugged.

“Did you see the chariot outside?” you heard a 4th Year student to your left ask her friend with excitement, “Today is the day the foreign students arrive!”

Her friend giggled, “Ahh! Do you think there’ll be any cute boys?”

“Obviously,” the first girl huffed, “French boys are hot.”

“What about those at Durmstrang?”

“Don’t even think about it, Emily! I heard they are troublemakers. Apparently they’ve been cheating at the Triwizard Tournament for years. I doubt any good guys go to that dreadful place.”

You turn away from their conversation, feeling rather awkward listening to a bunch of children for information regarding Hogwarts’ rival schools. Luckily for you, Ziggy and Alistair were now gushing about the games.

“Hey, Brains, do you think the new schools will arrive soon, I’m starting to get hella impatient,” Alistair huffed and nudged Brian, who was snoozing off. You stifled a laugh at his confused expression.

“Huh?” He asked, and you swore you saw drool trickling down his chin.

“When will we get introduced to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?” You rephrased Alistair’s question, leading forward curiously.

“So you were listening!” Ziggy jumped in.

Brian ignored him and frowned, “Well, I expect Dumbledore to give us a speech any minute now. I believe he is waiting for the rest of the students to settle in their seats. Surely he won’t make us sit here impatiently for long.”

You craned your neck to the entrances of the Great Hall, noting not a single student in sight seemed to be trickling in. Everyone was here so why wasn’t Dumbledore doing anything.

As if your thoughts were a trigger, the old headmaster stood up from his chair, and, like a magnet, attracted the attention of all the students. Despite your dislike for him because of how he favoured Gryffindor and detested Slytherin, you admitted he was rather excellent at drawing everyone’s eyes to him.

“Well now that we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement.” Dumbledore commenced. The door to the main entrance cracked open and Filch scrambled over to the headmaster as he continued, causing a few students — including yourself — to chuckle at his silly run, “This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well.”

The old man paused to listen to what Filch had to say. He nodded carefully, whispering something in his ear before continuing his speech. “You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament.” You glanced at the Hufflepuff table, seeing how Cedric’s friends were teasing him and the way he smiled in mild embarrassment. A pang of jealousy shot through your heart. It wasn’t fair that he got to compete, and you weren’t. You were just as powerful, perhaps even more.

“Now, for those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. For each school, a single student is chosen to compete. Now, let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint-hearted, but more on that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies and men of the Beauxbatons academy of magic and their headmistress: Madame Maxime!”

The doors of the main entrance slid open, and a bunch of students your age strutted in, perfectly in sync and classical music played as they walked.

They were all dressed in a similar fashion: a silky, baby blue uniform with an elegant poncho and small hat. The girls wore skirts over lights while the few boys wore tight-fitting pants that totally did not make you stare at their asses.

You heard Alistair whistle when they passed. The girl's repressed smiles at his flirtatious move.

At some point in the song, they extended their arms with a very flowy movement, making you realise they were dancing. They then separated themselves into two groups and lined up in a v formation in front of the students.

A tall woman dressed in furs and leopard prints walked after her students. She had to be at least 2.5 meters if not more. You assumed she was the headmistress, Madam Maxime, as you and many others gaped at her.

Ziggy and you shared a look, and he mouthed, “She’s humongous.”

In front of her, two students performed a gymnastic choreography, elegantly bowed to their headmistress and finally stepped into the lines their fellow students were placed in.

Hogwarts erupted into applause, and a few wix even stood up. However, you spotted many girls in the room with disapproving looks on their faces.

Dumbledore carefully took Madame Maxime’s hand and placed a respectful kiss on it. He then walked a bit higher up on the steps and quickly silenced the crowd with his hands.

Alistair whispered to your group with a smirk, “Did you see the pretty blonde one?” But he was quickly hushed by a few people to his left.

Your eyes scanned the Beauxbaton girls until you spotted one of the girls who bowed to Madame Maxime next to the Hufflepuff table. Her hair was a golden blonde, wrapped in a ponytail, and the front curled around her jaw like a perfect ribbon, framing her glowing face. Even at a distance, you could tell she was stunning.

“And now, our friends from the north!” Dumbledore boomed, grabbing your attention, “Please great proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang and their headmaster Igor Karkaroff.”

A more sombre music started playing along with drums. A band of mostly boys marched in, occasionally hitting their staff on the group and shouting on time with the music. They stuck their staffs forward and twirled them, performing a simple yet powerful choreography as they neared the front with the Beauxbaton students, who had moved to the sides next to the wall.

Suddenly, they rushed forward, and two of them executed a series of somersaults and gymnastics, breakdancing their way where the Beauxbatons students once were while the others placed themselves in a v shape.

Two men entered the Great Hall, and you heard Ziggy and Alistair gasp, and Roman whispering, “Is it really him?”. This caused you to recognise one of those faces as the famous Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum.

You assumed the mean-looking man in white behind him was the headmaster Igor Karkaroff. You finally noticed a smaller man trailing them, dressed in grey.

The two students who breakdanced blew fire from their wands like dragons, controlling it to make it resemble a phoenix, giving the other students a little spectacle.

When the fire disappeared, they rapidly lined themselves up with the others, making way for Karkaroff and Hogwarts erupted in applause. The Beauxbatons students clapped respectfully.

The headmaster of Durmstrang walked up to Dumbledore, who spread his arms wide in greeting, and they both hugged each other, patting each other on the back in a friendly manner.

Once Karkaroff had moved to the side, Dumbledore cleared his throat to grab the student’s attention from the attractive Beauxbaton candidates, the gymnasts from Durmstrang and Krum.

“Please, please, take a seat, you all, make yourselves at home,” Dumbledore smiled at the crowd of guests. The students shared a look before ultimately choosing their tables. Luckily for you, Durmstrang had chosen the Slytherin one and had settled into their seats. Krum sat next to Alistair and across from Ziggy, who both started shifting in their seats in excitement.

But before they could say anything, Dumbledore spoke.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and — most particularly — guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.” You heard a snicker from the Ravenclaw table and rolled your eyes at the disrespect.

“The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” Dumbledore continued, “I now invite you all to eat, drink and make yourselves at home!”

Through the meal, Viktor Krum, Ziggy and Alistair started having a conversation while you and your two other friends talked quietly amongst yourself.

Brian and Roman were rather alike: calm and collected, introverted and you found out Roman was a top student in most of his classes. At first, it confused you since you never saw him until he mentioned being in Year 7.

“You gotta have someone to control that energetic idiot,” he shrugged when you asked him about being friends with Ziggy.

Speaking of him, he and Alistair were gushing over Krum, whom you noticed was rather unresponsive. It wasn’t until the Quidditch player glanced at his peers and shifted in his seat that you realised he didn’t like the attention. You felt pity; he was worldwide famous and yet never enjoyed the attention.

At the end of the meal, Dumbledore brought in something called the Goblet of Fire and when he started speaking of signing up for the Triwizard Tournament, you tuned out, a jealous hole forming in your heart.

Like Alistair, you wanted to participate, but in contrast, you were too young. You recalled the Weasley twins complaining about it in the hallway earlier that day, and despite your indifference to them, you couldn’t help but relate.

Your eyes drifted away from the headmaster to the Hufflepuff table, first to your girl friends, then to Cedric Diggory. To your surprise, he was already staring. Since you were competitive, you instinctively kept your eyes on him until he turned away.

Slowly, you faced the front again. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks and neck for the second time tonight. Your hands were cold, so you pressed them to where your skin felt warm.

Merlin’s Beard, what was happening to you?

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evanpercy · 1 month ago

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The Couch in S8 and how it will tie to buddie canon, a 9-1-1 analysis

First of all, I'd like to say that this theory is based solely on observations made by myself and others, on camera and lighting choices which, as we all know, are always very important in a TV show. I'm NOT going over the previous couch theory from s6, 1. because I don't have the time and 2. because everything has already been said (Buck falling asleep on Eddie's couch because it's the only place he feels safe, Chris falling asleep in the same place, yada yada).

Next, this theory is going to be pretty much chronological, but I may be getting a little ahead of myself at times, sorry. In the end, you'll see, it makes sense, but I'm also asking you for a bit of imagination.

Let's dive into it!

Everything begins in 8x01. We get a scene between Buck, Tommy and Eddie, who are organizing a birthday party for Chris over a facecall. Eddie's couch makes its first appearance this season: Eddie sits on it to call Chris, and Buck and Tommy hide behind it.

Buck and Tommy share a moment. It's cute to see Buck so comfortable in his relationship and his attraction. Well, Tommy is awkward but, are you surprised? (no) As Eddie starts the call, Buck and Tommy jump from behind the couch and we get the first frame interesting enough for this analysis.

What can we say? Eddie is alone on the couch, Buck on his left and Tommy on his right.

(Eddie is once again between Buck and Tommy. In all their scenes together, there's always someone in between the other two. That's not the point here but I love to point it out.)

Buck isn't with Eddie, he's standing behind the couch. It's acting like a physical separation. Buck can only watch Eddie's pain from a distance as the call goes on, and he is useless. Powerless.

That will be the case throughout the early part of this season.

Buck doesn't do anything about Chris and Eddie. Why? I still don't know to be honest with you.

Eddie doesn't talk to Buck about Chris at all. They don't share a single scene alone in the privacy of one of their homes. There's always someone with them - Tommy, the rest of the crew - or they're at the station. Eddie will talk about Chris to Hen, Bobby, the cheerleader's father, Father Brian, even Brad in 8x08. NEVER Buck.

There's also something interesting about the fact that Eddie and Buck don't really talk to each other until Tommy breaks up with Buck.

It's probably not conscious, but I really think Buck is actually distracted by Tommy. He's in this new relationship, it's good, it's cute, it's really different from what he's used to.

We'll see that this will eventually go away...

(A quick interlude: Of course this isn't the first time we've seen 3 people with the couch. It also happened with Buck, Eddie and Chris in S3 - yeah, when couch theory wasn't even a thing. They're on Buck's couch though, but I'm planting a seed in your mind, watch out...)

Next time, it's not Eddie's couch we're talking about, but Buck's. It appears in 8x05, when Buck is sitting in his armchair after returning from the hospital and Tommy is looking after him. There's a lot to say in this scene, but I'm going to focus on one or two things.

Episode 5 was shot after episode 6. I can't stressed out how much it's hit after hit to show us that Buck and Tommy are not staying together (and indeed, Tommy breaks up in 8x06). I imagine the writers ran with the opportunity to show just how incompatible and how physically separated Buck and Tommy are, as well as drawing many parallels between Tommy and Eddie. Maybe I'll talk about that someday.

In this frame, Buck and Tommy are separated. Buck is sleeping in the armchair and Tommy on the couch. I know it's better to sleep in a sitting position when you've dislocated a shoulder, but they could have had Buck sleeping in his bed, snug in his pillows, Tommy next to him.

They didn't.

They made Tommy sleep on the couch. Buck's uncomfortable couch. The one I think he bought with Natalia (if I'm wrong, please don't hate me, season 6 is far in the back of my mind).

See, Tommy doesn't even fit properly on the couch. He's got his head on the armrest and he doesn't have a blanket that covers him completely. He doesn't fit into Buck's life, no matter how hard he tries. He's always out of place.

He chooses the couch Buck doesn't like, and he'll be the only one in this season so far to use it. He's comfortable on it and can sleep, something Buck has never been able to do. Buck will never choose this couch, even if he thinks it's the right choice.

(By the way, Oliver said in an interview literally released before episode 8 that Buck's couch is uncomfortable.... Thanks for that, I know you're a couch theory truther Oliver.)

Next couch, 8x06. Eddie's Risky Business moment.

He dances in his living room and jumps on his couch twice. The first time to recreate the scene. The second time, he chooses to lie down on the couch to bask in the euphoria a little longer. Eddie has his first moment of pure joy in years, and it's on the couch that he decides to settle and calm down. Not saying too much about it but I wanted to point it out, once again.

Where it gets interesting, you know it, is when Buck arrives. Buck, who's just been dumped and once again goes to Eddie for a little comfort. He hands Eddie a beer and sits down first on the couch to drink his own.

Let's take a look at this last frame. The framing ticked me off as soon as I saw it, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Now, I know.

Eddie and Buck are sitting side by side, yes, but! If you pay close attention, you can see several things.

First, Buck appears completely in the frame, from shoulder to shoulder. He takes up most of the space, sitting upright on the couch, staring straight ahead.

On the other side, Eddie leans against the backrest, but in doing so, he moves out of frame. The arm and hand holding the beer are totally offscreen. He's looking to the side, not at Buck.

It's already a weird composition, a very pointed choice, because why aren't they both clearly visible in the frame? Why is Eddie a little off the side? This could have been filmed in a slightly less close-up shot, to show them both fully, but it's not. It's clearly a choice.

Let me direct your attention to the wall behind them. You'll see, it's interesting.

Between them, but rather on Eddie's side, what can we see? A picture. Yeah, but not a random one. You can see it more clearly on this frame of Eddie.

Yep. It's an art of Texas. Quite ugly if you ask me. (Eddie, you're clearly making some strange choices when it comes to decorating.)

I won't try to analyze this framework any further, as you've already understood what I'm getting at if you've been paying attention.

It's a foreshadowing of Eddie leaving for Texas.

So we got Eddie leaning away from Buck, a Texas pic on the wall between them, while Buck is just here, choosing Eddie's couch (and Eddie) for comfort after his breakup. It's where he feels safe. Eddie is always here for him when he's not okay, he's his constant. See how the colors are warm, golden? It screams safe. It screams home.

They don't need to talk, they have each other... or so he thinks. Sorry Buck.

Let's move on to 8x08. Where it all makes sense.

Very quickly: Eddie isn't making his call to Chris on the couch, but on his coffee table. First, what the hell? It's weird, unless you think he considers the couch a nice place, and that this conversation will be far from nice in his head. Indeed, he was right.

Buck shows up at Eddie's after baking way too much bread, because he almost called Tommy. By the way, the mere fact that he decided to go to Eddie's to stop himself from doing so speaks volumes as fucking always, but let's not get into that.

(Look at his little basket, his bread all wrapped up. Buck, you're everything.)

When he realizes that Eddie is seriously thinking of moving to El Paso... well, he supports him. He supports him, because that's what a best friend is supposed to do, right? He suggests to Eddie, and I quote, “we should move this party to the couch”.

By the way, this is the first time he's explicitly brought the couch to Eddie. And we know that when a character mentions something for the first time when they never did, it's to emphasize it.

It's the same with Eddie saying he's straight… or when he says “we?” after Buck's suggestion. They are in this together, and it's what Eddie realizes when Buck goes to sit on the couch... He doesn't have to do all that alone. (Take that little side analysis, my treat. I fucking love this scene, I want to dissect it.)

Buck sits on this couch he's chosen many times over the years.

It's THE couch, the one he always goes to when something is not right in his life. After he died, when he couldn't sleep at home. After his breakup.

He's the first to sit on it ... yes, just like in 8x06.

(This may seem trivial, of course, but the fact that he always goes without waiting for Eddie... Imo, it screams “Buck will figure it all out first and Eddie will have to catch up with him later”. Or "Buck will be waiting for Eddie". Same with him already drinking his beer while Eddie struggles to open it. Maybe a bit far-fetched, but eh? Anyway.)

The setting of the scene is so cold, and I didn't realize it until I compared it with the other scenes on the couch. This creates quite a contrast.

(Sorry I need to talk about something. Let's open an analysis in the analysis.

Buck is dressed in blue - it's Eddie's color in the color theory - while Eddie is dressed in a brownish button down. When I first watched this scene last night, I didn't notice, but looking again… Don't these outfits remind you of anything?

Yeah. I know, they're not the same, but they're similar and it's enough for me to make the parallel. Buck was there for Eddie when Chris left, and he's now here for him when Eddie wants to move to Texas.

Something about "I love you, so I'm letting you go". I'm crying too, don't worry.)

Back to the couch.

Eddie is totally off-screen, he's gone compared to the last time we saw the couch. Buck is alone, something shifts on his face - I'm not gonna lie, it was like watching a fanfic from AO3 on my screen. I've read enough feelings realization to recognize something close. Okay, to be fair, I don't know if it's a total realization of his feelings, but it's a start... and how beautiful that it's happening on Eddie's couch.

The couch represents safety, love, family for Buck. We understood it in s6 when it was first brought up.

By sitting on it, Buck chooses this life with Eddie, in a way.

Can you see the frame with the Texas pic? It's now completely visible, in the frame. It's behind Buck, over his shoulder. Eddie's departure, and by extension Texas, will haunt Buck for a long time to come.

I have to say, this shot is incredible. The whole scene is. I want to play it again and again, I want it tattooed on my eyelids. I'm gonna think about it for 3 months.

In a few episodes, we've gone from Buck behind the couch - away from Eddie's problems - to Buck on the couch, alone - totally there and available for Eddie, even though Eddie soon won't be.

After the breakup, Buck can finally talk to Eddie, care about him - not that he didn't before that, but he's finally free to throw himself back into his relationship with his best friend as before.

Buck has found his home, his couch, the relationship he's most comfortable in, but maybe it's only now, when Eddie's about to leave, that he realizes it.

The couch was never about Eddie - it was always about Buck and his relationship with him. So it's even more powerful to see him behind it in 8x01, on it with Eddie in 8x06 and finally all alone in 8x08.

(I didn't know Oliver confirmed the symbolism of the couch back in S6 but, once again, thank you Oliver.)

(Even if Tim Minear tries to say he doesn't know what it means... Please Tim, we know you're smarter than that).

So what can we expect from this couch for the rest of the season?

If Eddie is really leaving, which I don't believe, he might offer Buck his couch. If the couch is how Buck will realize that he has feelings for Eddie, I'm going to send a gift to everyone who's believed this theory since it first appeared. You're the real ones in this fandom.

If Eddie stays, I think we'll be getting more scenes with the couch. We could go from 3-2-1 to 1-2-3. Stay with me, and grab your imagination. We're going full in theory mode.

1 - Maybe we could have another scene, this time with Eddie alone on his couch? I could see this happening when he's packing, Buck not far away, and Eddie starts to wonder if this is really the right thing to do as his gaze lingers on Buck for a moment too long.

2 - We need two people on that couch again. I'm a big "Buddie first kiss in Eddie's kitchen" truther, but it could also happen on the couch.

Or they could have a big conversation together on it, that will eventually lead them to confess their feelings to each other later on. Maybe that's when Eddie decides to fight to get his son back, to not move to Texas? To confront his parents?

That's two scenes on the couch, two scenes where they don't really talk, even though the couch is an invitation to do so. I'd find it extremely interesting if their first real serious conversation this season took place here.

3 - Finally, we could go from Buck, Eddie and Tommy to something much better for a 3-characters scene on the couch, a configuration we've seen before: Buck, Chris and Eddie. It could even be the last scene of the season, and that wouldn't surprise me at all!

Just imagine: Buck and Eddie have confessed their feelings to each other, maybe Chris knows, maybe not. The three of them end up on this famous couch. Chris is in the middle, and Buck and Eddie look at each other over him, a smile on their lips.

Everything is fine, they've survived the end of the season disaster, Chris is back, they've finally found each other after years...

What an incredible parallel this would make with the beginning of the season! Where Buck was with Tommy, Chris away from his dad, Eddie depressed...

There, they could finally be happy on the damn couch. I have a very clear vision of this scene and I hope they make it a reality. We need our little Buckley-Diaz family together again. With buddie canon of course.

That's it, you've reached the end of this analysis-theory. I hope you enjoyed it. It took me 3 hours to write and I got lost in other theories, but hey! I had fun.

We're entering a 3-month hiatus so let's try to be kind to each other! Let's share our theories, fanarts, fanfics and edits to make this break a little more enjoyable!

If you want to give your opinion on this theory, you're free to do so here in the comments, or on twitter and bluesky (in both cases, I'm there under @/yamatomee).

Self promo mode, I write fanfics that you can find on AO3 under the username Beezethe! I have one coda about the buddie scene in 8x08, pure angst with no comfort... Feel free to give it a read!

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astrophysicist-guitar-god · 10 months ago

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Behind the scenes pictures of Queen on iconic I Want to Break Free music video gives extraordinary glimpse into closeness of the band

The fascinating pictures show the band fooling around on the video shoot

By DAN SALES

Published: 03:42 EST, 24 September 2023 | Updated: 04:20 EST, 24 September 2023 (x)

Never-before-seen pictures of Queen making the trailblazing I Want To Break free music video shows the incredible bond between the band members. Candid images - all shot by veteran photographer Simon Fowler - show the sheer joy and fun of the group during the now-legendary filming of the promo. The video stunned music fans when it came out and had the rockers dressed up as housewives in a suburban home. In one of the newly-revealed pictures the band are shown in hysterics, with one crewmember wiping away tears of laughter as Freddie Mercury fools around behind a bewigged John Deacon. Freddie appears to be pretending to be a hairdresser as John chuckles in his seat, as Brian May beams by a back wall as they stare into the mirror at their new look. Later Brian can be seen clutching his curlers as he gazes into the distance as he is captured on film. Roger Taylor also looks to be having a ball in one of the archive pictures, pouting in his schoolgirl-style costume. Photographer Simon, who took pictures of the group throughout their career, opened up his archives to allow MailOnline to publish some of the incredible shots.

The band are seen having a great laugh backstage as they get ready to shoot the video promo

Roger Taylor in costume pouts as his picture is taken on the set of I Want To Break Free in 1984

He said he had no idea the theme of the video before he had turned up at Limehouse Studios in London to take the pictures. Simon recalled: 'On Break Free I didn't get any idea of what it was going to be. I turned up and saw them and thought "Whoa, what is going on?". 'It was obviously a pastiche of Coronation Street. I remember on the day everybody was just fooling around laughing. 'It was so much fun that I was amazed that they actually got a video done. 'They had no concerns about doing anything that was unusual - they would just do it. 'They were just messing around in between the filming. I remember one funny moment when they were trying the stuff on and asking each other "what do you reckon of this wig?". 'That was the great thing about it, you have got Freddie with his big old 'tache, giving it all. 'It was without doubt the most fun shoot I have done. 'Every time I think about it I smile, the day just went so fast because everyone was having such a good time - it just whizzed by.

Simon revealed that the band preferred to be photographed all together for their promo shots

Brian May looks like he has awoken from a deep sleep with the curlers in this of Simon's shots

'When you get there I didn't know the story and the PR told me and I thought "that sounds great". 'I went backstage and the first thing I saw was them getting all their clobber done.' Simon had photographed the band before after getting a phone call during the recording of their Hot Space album. That record spawned the Under Pressure anthem and at first the photographer admits he had no idea who he would be going to shoot. He recalled: 'I got a call out of the blue to do a job and originally thought they had said Cream at the time, which I thought couldn't have been right. 'Back in those days you would get millions of calls. I only realised later it was Queen and I was told I would only get ten minutes with them and it turned into three hours. It was for the album Hot Space. 'I think we just got on pretty well - I wasn't expecting much time at all and it was brilliant. 'Roger actually got me to do a bit of tapping when they were recording. I like to think I'm on Hot Space somewhere. It just went from there really.' The band loved his work so he was invited back and ended up doing numerous shoots with them.

John Deacon - whose character in the video was miserable - laughs in a moment of down time

Freddie Mercury poses up on the set, leaning on a cabinet as he looks to the side of the room

But he counts his work on I Want to Break Free as one of the most exciting jobs of his career. He admitted: 'I knew when I got called in for it, that it was going to be interesting. 'They wouldn't scrimp on stuff with the videos, they were big productions. If CGI was around then I am sure that would be what they were doing. 'When you were on set you would have to have eyes in the back of your head in some of the bigger productions, where there were cranes and stuff going round. 'When we went for lunch Brian was on the catering bus talking to me. He was still in the outfit with the curlers. 'I remember thinking "that's Brian May opposite me". It was so surreal. 'At the end of the day we saw the cut and it just looked great. 'I remember John taking a nap during the day, which he would have needed because the reality is they would have got there very early. 'They were trailblazers with videos, they really were. Queen were so unique in whatever they did. Brian with the sound and the guitar. I loved every minute of it

Veteran music photographer Simon Fowler is selling prints in aid of the Mercury Phoenix Trust

'Freddie was a trooper right up until the end. One of the things people don't notice about pictures of Queen is that you could never often get them out of the line-up 'They would not often move out of all four of them together for pictures. 'I think that's because they were a band but they were also incredible close friends too. 'They all had each others backs, none of them thought of themselves as the star - they were all equals.' The behind-the-scenes pictures were brought back into the spotlight as Simon as he compiled Fine Art Prints of Freddie, Brian, Roger and John from The Miracle shoot. They are being sold to help the fight against HIV and AIDS, with 50 per cent of proceeds going to the Mercury Phoenix Trust. Simon added: 'I was thrilled to do this and just give something back and help a really great cause. 'I was delighted by the response and hope it can keep helping people.' (x)

Prints of Freddie, Brian, Roger and John from The Miracle shoot can be found here

#Brian May #my guitar god love #before anyone gets too excited .. this is from 2023 #found this while I was *hoping* to find the unreleased pics mentioned the other day #GOOD ARTICLE!#Roger Taylor #John Deacon #Freddie Mercury #Queen #Queen: Academia #once again I am wishing for a time machine

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justinspoliticalcorner · 15 days ago

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Chris McGreal at The Guardian:

The killing appeared so well-planned that at first glance many assumed it was a professional hit. The gunman who shot dead Brian Thompson, head of one of the US’s largest health insurance companies, on a New York street before dawn lay in wait with a weapon fitted with a silencer, kept his cool as his gun jammed and made a nimble escape after ensuring that his victim had been fatally struck.

However, within hours, an intense police manhunt turned up a trail of clues and possible mistakes, suggesting that while the killer had taken care to cover his tracks, he also made amateurish missteps that may yet lead to his identification and capture. But millions of Americans were less interested in the mechanics of what New York’s new police commissioner, Jessica Tisch, called “a premeditated, pre-planned, targeted attack” than the possible motive. Despite the fact the killer’s motive remains completely unknown, the death of UnitedHealthcare’s CEO unleashed an eruption of anger from people mistreated, or untreated, by the US’s rapacious medical industry and even a grim schadenfreude from some at Thompson’s death.

Hundreds of thousands of Americans are driven into bankruptcy every year by medical debts, with many of them losing their homes. Thousands die because insurance companies find reasons not to pay for treatment, including UnitedHealthcare, which denies about one-third of claims. Anthony Zenkus, a lecturer at the Columbia School of Social Work, spoke for many in a post on X.

“Today, we mourn the death of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, gunned down.... wait, I’m sorry – today we mourn the deaths of the 68,000 Americans who needlessly die each year so that insurance company execs like Brian Thompson can become multimillionaires,” he wrote.

The revelation that shell casings at the scene were marked with the words “deny” and “defend” and “depose” added weight to speculation that the killer had had a vendetta against UnitedHealthcare, which earned $280bn in revenue last year insuring about 50 million people in the US. Two of the words are used by the industry in policy documents and were included in the title of a 2010 book Delay, Deny, Defend: Why Insurance Companies Don’t Pay Claims and What You Can Do About It.

Thompson was in New York from UnitedHealthcare’s headquarters in Minnesota for an investor conference. The 50-year-old father of two had been appointed the company’s CEO in 2021 and was paid $10m last year after overseeing a sharp rise in profits to $16bn that some critics said came from using artificial intelligence to routinely reject claims. His killer appears to have been well-informed about Thompson’s movements. The assailant apparently knew when his victim was likely to arrive at the New York Hilton Midtown hotel close to Central Park and which entrance he would use. [...]

Thompson was separated from his wife, Paulette, who fueled the speculation that he had been shot by someone with a grudge against UnitedHealthcare in her initial reaction to NBC News. “There had been some threats. Basically, I don’t know, a lack of coverage? I don’t know details. I just know that he said there were some people that had been threatening him,” she said. That there was plenty of public anger at UnitedHealthcare was not a secret.

Earlier this year, protesters from across the country rallied outside the company’s headquarters in Minnesota over its refusal to pay about one-third of claims, according to research by ValuePenguin, more than any other health insurer. Regulators and politicians have accused the company of boosting profits by systematically rejecting care to which people are entitled under their policies or of refusing to meet the full cost and leaving patients in debt. In October, a US Senate committee released a report cataloging how UnitedHealthcare and other companies deny patients care after they have been discharged from hospital following acute operations, even when doctors say they are necessary for a full recovery. The report said that the denials were principally made to drive up profits.

The day before Thompson was killed, the American Society of Anesthesiologists issued a statement condemning another health insurance company, Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield, for imposing a limit on the amount of time for which it was prepared to pay for patients having surgery to receive anaesthesia. The company reversed its position after the shooting. But Thompson’s death unleashed something more visceral from people who feel helpless in the face of giant medical corporations with the power of life or death. [...] The backlash came not only from patients but doctors who recounted UnitedHealthcare refusing to pay for a child with cancer to receive medicines for the side effects of chemotherapy and questioning the necessity of lifesaving care. The outpouring of anger from within the medical profession at Thompson as representative of the greed of the insurance industry at the cost of lives caused Reddit moderators to delete a thread for the medical community, according to the Daily Beast. The health insurance industry is only one part of a medical system that the Princeton economists Anne Case and Angus Deaton, who won the 2015 Nobel prize for economics, have described as a “Sheriff of Nottingham redistribution” in the fleecing of ordinary Americans to give to rich corporations.

The murder of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson has ignited bipartisan rage against the for-profit health insurance industry and its CEOs for their roles in creating unnecessary deaths fueled by delayed and denied claims.

#Brian Thompson #Healthcare #Health Care #UnitedHealthcare #Health Insurance

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endataraxia · 11 months ago

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sage forest mental institution.

chapter 5. in which you discover...well, something. word count: 2.6k note: straight up this fic has stopped making sense. i am losing it cw: toby has mood swings. some crying too.

You make up for the lost dinner with a big breakfast, scarfing down your food as quickly as Jeff had grabbed the soul out of you the previous day. You almost worry that you’re eating too noisily beside the artificially smiley faced-man, but he seems to be eating more noisily than you. Absolutely no manners.

“Morning!” Chirps Toby like a baby bird, except in a baritone as he enters the dining area, in the same clothes as yesterday. Jeff growls at him through a mouth full of food to shut up.

Whoosh.

Barely a second and a whirlwind of brown and orange later, Toby’s at his throat. You did not expect this to occur during your peaceful meal.

“What did you say.” Toby growls at him, gripping Jeff’s collar so tightly you think his shirt might just tear apart. But Jeff matches that iron grip with his own on Toby’s wrist. “I said,” Jeff snarls, “shut the fuck up.”

How do you de-escalate a situation between two angry, violent people?

You remember a really stupid viral video from years ago and stand between them, your cereal bar between your lips.

“Whatcha dooooin’,” you mimic Toby’s line yesterday, keeping the tremble in your voice to a minimum. You need them to regain a sense of normalcy, or at least confuse them enough that their anger will end.

“Uh.” Jeff stares blankly at you. “What the fuck are you doing?” His lip curls up in a sneer of disgust. You suppose they were actually stupid enough for it to work…?

“Oh!” Snaps Toby back to attention. “Can I join you for—woo—can I join you for breakfast, Y/N?” He grins down at you like a ray of sunshine, like nothing ever happened.

Extreme mood swings.

“Sure,” you reply, and in no time Toby is shoving Jeff to one side so he can sit with you.

“There’s a left side and right side on her, lover boy,” complains Jeff, but he leaves all the same when he’s done with breakfast as Toby yaps into your ear about random topics. One sentence it’s the weather, and the next it’s torture methods. The range on this boy is a bit too concerning for your liking.

“Oh-oh, Y/N, Y/N, did you know that if you shoot a person in the head, they’ll…”, he giggles childishly here, “pee their pants?” It’s amusing how he giggles, a literal “heeheehaha” kind of sound, amongst small vocal tics. Smiling at him both out of amusement and out of politeness, you say, “Do you wanna know something?” His eyes light up even further, and you wonder if there’s a limit to how bright one’s eyes can be. “Wh-what?” His legs shake up and down and he clenches his fists, almost vibrating in his seat. Wow, that’s a lot of energy. But given his mood swings, it’s likely this won’t last too long.

“Sometimes,” you begin, “sometimes they live. It’s not a guaranteed death.”

“I know!” Toby exclaims, slapping the tabletop with both hands. You try not to give away your startle with any sudden movements, for fear that his current state is truly volatile and may be overtaken by negative emotion if you show any sign of hurt or fear. “Brian has sh-sh-shot many people, and, sometimes they—fuck, crack!—don’t die!” His grin is brighter than the sun, the corners of his eyes crinkled with joy, and you could almost mistake him for a young child if not for his sunken eyes and dark eye circles.

“But,” he begins thoughtfully. “Sometimes I throw my hatchet at their heads, uh, and, they die! Instant K.O!” He makes a bzzzzhhhh sound, like a buzzer. His attitude towards death is…concerning. You wonder if you could observe him in action as he kills his targets.

Your mind seems to have entirely shifted to an “I’m a therapist and nothing fazes me” mode, but you know that if he were to actually let you follow him on a murder spree or whatever it is he does, you might piss your pants and have a panic attack at the sight of the death of another human being. Did he ever have to get used to murder? Or was he always so cheerful about it?

“I see you’re getting along well,” comes a male voice, a slight grouch to it, a couple feet behind the both of you. Toby’s neck cracks as he whips his head around to face the person, and so do you turn to face them, though not at the same literal breakneck speed.

“Timmy!” Exclaims Toby.

What a strange nickname for such a stand-offish man.

One second he’s seated beside you, and the next, in a blur of brown and blue, something that you can only presume to be Toby clings itself onto Tim-not-Masky, and the two men go tumbling onto the ground, yelps of pain coming from Tim and more “heeheehaha”s coming from Toby.

“You fucking bastard,�� spits Tim(my), but with little venom in his voice. Their relationship is almost that of brothers.

“You love me anyways!” Toby teases, nuzzling the man, who protests by saying something along the lines of “Toby I’m not gay,” and “Toby you’re not gay”.

“How would you know?” Says Toby lowly, grinning in a mockingly malicious manner like a fifth grader trying to mock-flirt with his friend. Tim shoves him off with a disgusted look and an ugh, then hurries to the kitchen to get away from the boy, who looks prouder of himself than he should be.

“So…” You tread carefully. “Are you gay?” Then, almost stumbling over your words, you blubber, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

Toby goes quiet for the first time today, deep in thought. Just as you worry that you might’ve said something wrong, he speaks up. “Nope! I’m straight as a stick! I…I think.” He frowns a bit at that. “I dunno.”

“That’s okay, Toby,” you reply, taking another bite out of your toast. “I don’t know either.”

“But…you seem like you…—wa-woo!” He swallows, putting his thoughts together in his head. “You seem like you know everything!” He seems to be idolizing you already, which is not good. This is not good. You’re not qualified to be regarded as an actual therapist; you can only be an equal to whom they spill their worries. You conjure the brilliant idea of straight-up telling him you’re not to be put on a pedestal.

“I’m a normal person just like you and Tim, Toby,” you say. But this does nothing to put out the flame of wonder in his eyes. Did he even process what you just said at all?

You’re alerted of Tim’s presence as he sets a bowl of cereal and milk down on the tabletop, right opposite Toby. “He thinks normal people are the best,” he states flatly. “Because Brian and I are normal to him and he thinks we’re his whole world.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or dig a hole, cry, and wait for The Operator to come after your ass.

—

After your little…learning experience with Toby, you get to setting up your office. The proxies were surprisingly resourceful, having transported entire bean bags, a big-ass carpet and a table from wherever they raided straight into your little extra room, along with a thoughtful little box of snacks and the stationery you requested. Just as you wonder if you actually did write your request for snacks down onto the paper yesterday, you find a little note in the snack box. It’s surprisingly cute, and could be mistaken for a kindergartener’s work. On it says, “With love, Toby,” in very shaky handwriting, along with a cute little heart next to it, equally shaky.

Chuckling to yourself, you set the note aside and get to work. To your relief, you do not overestimate your strength and actually manage to shift everything in place. The carpet doesn’t cover the entirety of the ugly blue tiles, but it’ll have to do. You’ll also have to do something about the cold lighting in the room, flickering every so often. What if you just place a piece of yellow paper on it? Easy fix, you laugh to yourself. But for now, you don’t have a ladder nor a means of getting up there, so you can’t even slap Toby’s cute note onto the light bulb.

Speaking of Toby, you think about the “patients” under your care. The most prominent profile in your mind right now is the youngest boy. If you had any access to the internet right now, you’d be able to do more research on his symptoms and conditions. Alas, you’re literally off the grid right now, and have to settle for descending into a half-sleep half-daydream sort of trance when bored.

And so it is that trance you descend into as you shuffle boxes here, boxes there, furniture back and forth, playing idly with placements, rolling pens across the desk—

“Hey Y/N! —woo!— I like what you’ve done with the place!” Comes Toby’s cheerful exclamation from the doorway.

The place is desolate. It’s absolutely dismal for a therapist’s safe space, one that they offer to turmoiled patients.

“Uh…thanks, Toby!” You try as hard as possible to not sound sarcastic, but it seems you don’t have to worry about it—the boy’s already flopping himself onto the beanbags, rolling around and frolicking. Damn, proxies don’t get many good things, do they?

Nonetheless, you take the chance to get some work done and pick up a pen and foolscap. “Toby?”

“Yeah?” Comes his reply, his head immediately turning to you from his ridiculous position. It looks like he’s trying to do a backward roll on the beanbag, with his ass in the air, knees beside his head.

“Wanna talk about life?”

—

And so the both of you talk. And you talk, and talk.

Toby had sat up normally—well, as normally as he possibly could, with his fidgety mannerisms and all—and he’d spilled. It’s how you come to learn of his past, or to be precise, the fact that he has no memories of it.

But as much as the empty cup can, it spills, even just a few drops. He can’t get into cars without severely panicking, so when sent out on missions, they use vans instead.

“I pretty much only remember my name,” he informs you. “Other than that, I don’t know much. I mean, I’m pretty sure I had both parents…and sometimes, I think I remember having a sister,” he says wistfully. “I think I loved her.”

You jot the information down as furiously as you can, letting the boy run his full train of thought.

“Sometimes…sometimes I wake up in the—mm!—middle of the night, and I feel like I remember everything…and then I can’t help it. I start crying.” He twiddles his thumbs even more furiously in an attempt to negate the negative energy he’s radiating. “Sometimes,” he continues quietly, “I think I remember her name.”

You allow the boy a moment to catch up to his feelings and thoughts. Then, you ask gently, “What do you think her name is, Toby?”

“Um…” He scratches his head, his messy brown hair curling every which way. “Lyra. I think.”

You smile. “Lyra must have been beautiful.”

“She was, I think.” A sniffle. A tear runs down his cheek, and you begin to panic, before reaching over for a box of tissues—you’d forgotten to write this down, but the proxies were thoughtful enough to bring you a few—and passing it to him.

“It’s okay to cry, Toby,” you murmur what little comfort you can. “I doubt you’ve talked to many people about this, in such a vulnerable manner.”

He sniffs. “Thank you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m grateful the—sniff—that The Operator had us bring you back alive,” he says. “He ss-sent us to the asylum, and told us—sniff—to wait for someone to come, and when that ss-someone came, he’d let us know.”

“Many people came and went, and Jeff kinda…” He gestures vaguely, but you chuckle. You know exactly what he means. “He—ah!— killed ‘em all, except for you.” He forces a dry chuckle. “You’re lucky. B-but, I still can’t believe he sent us to look for a therapist, of all things. Probably just wants to prolong our shelf life o-or—mm!—something,” he mutters the last part.

Wow, the Operator’s kind of turning out to be a bit of an asshole, huh? You think to yourself, but pay it no mind. It’s something to ponder later, no matter how important it might be. The patient’s health comes first.

You nearly fail to catch the fact that Toby just stated that they did not kidnap you at random. He said, he sent us to look for a therapist. You don’t know what to do with this information. Laugh? “Haha, tall-ass eldritch monster sends his tiny humans to look for a shrink!” Cry? “Fuck, tall-ass eldritch monster knows what a therapist is. Who knows what else he knows?” That doesn’t make too much sense.

But the Operator’s powers still remain a mystery to you. Though, you suppose he was being literal after all. How else did he perceive your presence and make the (fortunate? unfortunate?) decision to bring you back alive? Hell, does this even concern you when your life is at stake? Is your life even at stake? Well, it is, but it also isn’t if you can treat his proxies.

It’s all a little too complicated.

“Y/N?”

You shake out of your stupor. You’ve been absently gazing at Toby staring back at you for the longest time, but it’s only now that you actually see him. Your vision is blurred and you dismiss it as a product of not blinking for a while.

“Are you ok-k-kay? You’re crying,” worries Toby.

Oh, so that’s why your vision is blurry. What kind of therapist cries in the middle of the session?

Before you can get the words “I’m fine” out of your mouth, Toby’s body language shifts to that of an obviously anxious one. Too quickly for you to even try to convince yourself he’s fine, he shoots up and shakily pulls out a few tissues from the tissue box, but he shakes so much that the box falls to the ground, and he follows, crouching over the fallen object.

“No, no no, no no no,” he mutters shakily, voice thick. A sniffle.

You act before you think. “Hey, hey,” you soothe him, hand reaching out for his shoulder. “What’s going on, Toby?”

He looks back at you, eyes and nose red, lips curled downwards, stifling sobs. “I-I’m so—sss-sorry, Y/N,” he mumbles. “I can’t do this to you. I love you too much.”

And all of a sudden, he shoots back up to full standing height, and before you can even blink he’s reaching for the handle of the door, slipping through faster than light and slamming the door back closed.

You’re left there to stare blankly.

chapter 6 is out.

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wandamaxim0f · 1 year ago

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Brian 'Otis' Zvonecek one-shot — Peace

Words: 1.2k

Otis x Female reader

TW: the tiniest bit of angst and lots of fluff! Also: pregnancy, anxiety, mentions of panic attacks

A/N: finally dared to post this one! I really like how it ended up, but please keep in mind english is not my first language so there may be some mistakes. I wrote this one with Peace by Taylor Swift in mind, enjoy!

Taglist: @winchesterszvonecek

And you know that I'd (...) give you my wild, give you a child

Your hands were shaking as you went to grab your cup of freshly brewed tea, the chamomile smell soothing you before you could even take a sip. You did your best to focus on the way the tea tasted, and how the warmth went through your mouth and down your throat, really trying to keep yourself grounded and not give into the panic attack that you felt around the corner.

Silly panic attack. You felt the clink of your wedding band against the beige cup. Your wedding ring, of all things. You two were married, and had been for almost a full year. Turning your head, you found the fridge with all of its magnets and notes. Some were sweet and loving, both in your handwriting and his, knowing some days one left for shift without seeing the other.

“I love you”; “Stay safe”; “Come home to me” were some of the messages the both of you had left, a reminder you had someone waiting for you after your shift at the Intelligence Unit, and he had someone waiting for him after his shift at firehouse 51.

A photo from your wedding day caught your eye. You two were married. He wouldn't leave. He wouldn't step back. He had literally signed up for this. He had scribbled down his signature on a paper that was securely put away on a folder full of important documents, and he had vowed to love you until death do you part.

The door opening startled you, even when you had woken up early to talk to him. Not that you could really sleep, anxiety keeping you awake and turning and tossing in the bed sheets; the smell that came from his shirt that you were wearing doing nothing to calm down your mind.

“Baby” called Otis, as soon as he closed the door and saw you sitting down at the kitchen island. He knew something was going on. Usually, on your days off, he would just get home and find you asleep in bed, not drinking tea in the kitchen.

Immediately, he dropped his bag and his arms found your figure, pulling you into his warm embrace and stepping in between your legs, holding you to his chest as his hands caressed your back in the way only he knew how.

“Are you okay?” he asked, already knowing you weren’t, by the way you clung to him, embracing his body with your arms and legs, and let out a shaky breath against his chest. Still, he gave you the choice to not speak about what had you up on your day off, not until you were ready.

You split from his hug, knowing you wouldn't speak if you found refuge between his strong arms. “We need to talk” you said, finding his now worried brown eyes.

Otis swallowed audibly, and a neutral expression took over his face, trying to hide the fact he was terrified. Were you going to leave him? Was your marriage over? Or did it still stand a chance? Had he messed up? Forgotten a date? Forgotten your birthday? Valentine's? Anniversary? He quickly crossed those options, your anniversary was still a month away, he already had the reservations for the weekend getaway done, and your birthday had been three months ago, he had gotten you that necklace you liked. And February was still away, so there was no chance he had forgotten Valentine’s.

“I’m sorry” he blurted out, his heart shattering at the idea of letting you down, of disappointing you “I don’t know what I did, but I will make it up to you. Please don’t leave me” he was not above begging, not when it may make the difference between you staying in his life or giving up on your marriage. Not when you were the single best thing that had ever happened to him.

Your heart melted into your chest, and tears gathered in your eyes. His forced neutral expression switched into a worried one when a tear escaped your right eye, and his thumb was quick to catch it. Whatever it was, it could not be good if you were this distraught. He had seen you in some of your worst moments, and he could count on one hand the times he had witnessed such distress in your pretty eyes.

“Babe?” he called, preparing himself to beg you to talk to him if it came down to it. You were worried, and he wanted, he needed to help you out.

“I’m pregnant” you whispered, your voice so low, Otis thought he had misheard you.

“You... what?” He exhaled, trying as hard to not let his hand find your lower abdomen, since he wasn’t sure you were happy.

Sure, the two of you had discussed starting a family, but that conversation had been held ages ago, at the early stages of your relationship. He remembered you saying you wanted to have kids, and how that was a deal breaker to you; and he remembered getting home and pestering Joe about how he had found the one.

Had you not seen his small smile, you would've freaked out. But he was smiling, and his eyes were shining with tears, so that was a good sign, right?

“I’m pregnant” you repeated, louder this time, and allowing your own hand to find your nonexistent bump.

Otis let out a high pitched scream, before hugging you tightly. His arms pulled you closer and out of the kitchen stool, picking you up and spinning you around the living area, excitement washing over him. Finally, he put you down, and his hands cradled your face, whipping away any tears.

“We’re having a baby” he whispered, happiness dripping from his words, before he started peppering your face with kisses.

“We’re having a baby” you repeated, giggling at his affection, your hands now holding his biceps.

You couldn’t understand how you could’ve been that panicked, your husband wanted desperately to be a father, but only with you. Now you let yourself feel the happiness that you had put away on a cage in your heart, and the world felt more colorful than ever.

The next morning, as you untangled from your still asleep husband, you made your way to the kitchen to get some breakfast. A new note on the fridge caught your eye, and butterflies came alive in your stomach.

Last night, Otis and you had sat down and tried to guess an estimated date in which your baby would join you, a date he had scribbled down on a piece of paper before adding “Best day ever”. Next to it, a note he must've put up while you headed towards the bedroom “Get on desk duty”.

Years ago, the idea of desk duty would’ve killed you, hating the idea of being away from the action and the adrenaline it provided, but now you were beyond happy to spend your whole day at the district.

“You two were leaving without saying goodbye?” Otis’s sleepy voice called out as he walked into the kitchen. Without saying another word, he sank to his knees and kissed your abdomen “Leaving without saying goodbye to your dad is actually kind of rude. Guess your momma and I will have to teach you some manners once you’re out of there, bub” he spoke, his hands firm on your hips.

You laughed, a hand coming to caress his hair, and he looked at you with nothing but adoration and love shining in his eyes. How could you have been so worried? You would be okay. The three of you would be okay.

#brian zvonecek #one chicago #chicago fire #otis #otis x reader #brian zvonecek x reader #otis one shot #tw: pregnancy #otis x yn #tw: anxiety #tw: panic attack

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pepperminthotchocolate · 3 months ago

Text

I know, I feel like I'm only here to lurk and post once a year about a cool thing I found, but CALL TO ACTION FOR THE G/T COMMUNITY:

Yesterday one of my favorite performers, Brian David Gilbert, announced that he has been working on a kids show called Outdoor Ed for the past year or so. The entire premise surrounds Ed, a (in his words) "20-foot-tall mountain man who wants to make a nature show with the help of his woodland friends". There is a proof of concept video for this show coming out tomorrow on his YouTube channel.

For those who don't know BDG, he is a fantastic actor, extremely creative video producer, incredibly talented at making music in a variety of genres. If you aren't familiar with his work on the regular, you may have seen his Unraveled series on the YouTube channel Polygon (including his 40-minute presentation at PAX East about creating the perfect PokeRap):

youtube

Or possibly a video of his that went viral last year, explaining the US health insurance system:

youtube

What I'm trying to say is, he's got the range. If you want any modern video creator working on a creative children's show, it's him.

Not to mention, he's working with an extremely talented team to bring this proof of concept video to life. Look how cute these shots are!

Here's where the call to action comes in: this video premieres tomorrow on his YouTube channel. The more it gets shared and seen, the more likely it is to be picked up. Brian David Gilbert is also currently working at Dropout, an internet media production company that does a ton of insane things, so it's possible that he already has a potential foot in the door.

Everyone needs to watch this tomorrow specifically and share it around as much as possible. I can already tell it's going to be great, and if the video proof goes viral in the first few days, that could lead to more episodes being made or even a full show being produced. I'll post the link here when it premieres tomorrow. Please spread the word!

#giant/tiny #giant #tiny #g/t community #gt community #g/t #giant/tiny art #g/t related #sfw g/t #sfw giant/tiny #Youtube #gentle giant

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mvltisstuff · 2 years ago

Note

Eddie Diaz coma fic if possible? The reader gets shot like eddie in 4x14 and ends up in a coma. Lots of angst, heartbreak if possibly but also fluff too please. 🩶

hold on to me - e.d

summary: request :)

eddie diaz x reader

gif from @agentoutofdiaz

a/n: guys i def just ate my history final up and left no crumbs, enjoy this request 🤌🤌

the gunshot passed right through y/n’s stomach. the massive bang had ricocheted throughout the street and off the buildings, every crouching down as an instinct to the echoing noise. she immediately felt the impact it had right in the center of her abdomen. she brought her hand slowly down, pulling it away to see the overwhelming amount of blood on her fingers. she brought her head back up weakly, before falling onto the concrete.

eddie was held back by buck, who yanked him under a wall. he watched as his girlfriend was thrown to the stained ground, the blood pouring out of her. this couldn’t be a mistake, it was a perfect shot. she was saving someone’s life, and an evil person wanted to take hers. eddie thought he was dreaming. he thought he would be shaken awake by y/n and she would be next to him without a bullet inside of her.

eddie was screaming her name over and over again, and she heard every single time. she wanted to respond, but the blood gurgling in her mouth made it near impossible. she turned her head on the ground to look at her boyfriend. he was laying on the ground, looking directly at her.

he couldn’t contain himself anymore, he had to get out there and save her. “y/n!” he yelled. “hey, y/n?” he pulled her head up as her breathing slowed down. “come here, come help me!” he shouted at his coworkers, who came piling over and putting her into the truck. eddie sat by her head, cradling it gently. a part of him wanted her to pass out, to not have to feel this pain anymore. when she finally lost consciousness from the strain, he panicked as he still wanted to see her eyes, completely contradicting his earlier thought. buck had been applying pressure to the wound, switching out the cloths multiple times as they were drenched with y/n’s blood.

he carried her out of the truck, yelling at the doctors to help her. they took her and placed her on a gurney, turning her on her side. “y/n y/l/n, female, GSW to the abdomen, severe bleeding, may have hit a major organ but pulse is steady. wasn’t through and through, bullets still in here,” he spat out rapidly at the mob of nurses and doctors. as she was wheeled away, the tears in eddie’s eyes were reappearing, dripping down his face. buck had pulled him into an embrace, trying to erase the violent sight in front of him. the constant reminder was the her very own blood on their uniforms.

y/n woke up in her old apartment in her home city, still recalling the smell and feeling of her old rooms. she stretched out of bed, looking around. the confusion in her head was very abnormal. she moved to LA years ago, and her lease was up. she knew this place like the back of her hand, one of her first places that she was able to escape from home. her home life wasn’t bad, but certainly not memorable.

she heard a knock on her door, stepping out of the room to pull it open. in front of her stood her siblings behind her parents. “hi, sweetie!” her mother exclaims. y/n doesn’t recognize the change in attitude.

“hey, mom, what are you all doing here?”

“we had lunch plans, remember? it’s ok if you forgot, you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“w-we did? i mean since i’m visiting from LA?”

“visiting? from california! how hard did you hit your head?” her mom laughs, walking into the apartment, her brother and sister following in with her father.

she sat down on the couch slowly, feeling awkward at how kind her parents were being. she picked up the glass of water on the table next to her. “did something happen?”

“no, just coming to see you and brian, where is he?”

“brian?”

“your…fiancé?” y/n chokes on her water, wiping it off her face.

“my what?” she asks.

“honey, now you’re really scaring me.”

“i’m not engaged, who the hell is brian? where’s eddie?”

“y/n, eddie left, remember?” y/n remains silent. she knows eddie would never leave her. he’s been left before, and he could never put that weight on someone’s shoulders.

back in the hospital, eddie sits with a recovering y/n. her waist was wrapped with a bandage, several IV’s in her arms pumping the drugs into her system. the tube in her throat was forcing the air into her lungs, being unable to do it alone.

a coma. the state of deep unconsciousness. the state that lasts for an unknown amount of time. eddie has heard the words thousands of times being a paramedic. but it doesn’t feel the same when someone you love has been purposely separated from her body.

he wondered what she was thinking, or even if she knew he was there. “i, um,” he starts, stuttering. “i don’t know if you’re there, completely, but you are coming back. i know you are, because you have to. there are too many people relying on you, y/n. i need you to survive or i don’t know if i’ll be able to. so i’m begging you, for the sake of how much i love you, please wake up,” he looks back at her sleeping figure, figuring it’s no use. he just sits in the chair, staring at her condition and the monitors.

“no, eddie wouldn’t leave me, i live in los angeles and i am a firefighter,” y/n speaks harshly to her parents.

“c’mon, y/n. what kind of crazy dream did you have?” her brother says, shoving his face full of food. “i think you need to go back to bed.”

“shut up,” she tells him. “i am not where im supposed to be.” she didn’t say the one detail that gave it away. the one that she’s well aware of. her parents have never been that nice to her, at least not as much as they are in this reality. she kind of loves it, but certainly not as much as eddie. “i am a firefighter,” the memories of the previous day came back to her, the images flashing in her eyes before they faded away again. “i… i was hurt.”

suddenly, y/n has convinced her parents to take her to the psych ward. almost, but they bring her to the ER instead. she must’ve hit her head or something, but y/n knows she is not supposed to be here.

she sits on the bed, her mother in the chair next to her. she looks around, trying to figure out a way to escape. “mom, can you get me some water, please?”

“of course, sweetie. i’ll be back.” she leaves a kiss on her forehead and exiting to get her daughter a drink. y/n takes her opportunity to leave. not the hospital, but the ER is not where she can be. she sprints around, desperately looking for a sign of herself. she goes the the ORs, the regular rooms, and finally she stops in the ICU. she looks in each of the rooms, every single one being dark and empty until she comes across one in particular.

her frail body lay in the bed, with the muffled sounds of doctors speaking and beeping. she looked so weak, and watching herself not be able to fight back against the storm broke every part of her. she stands in front of the doors before hearing a voice behind her. the same voice she fell in love with years ago, and the one that saved her heart and stole it like a thief. y/n whips around at the quick sound of her name. “do you think you should be there?” the duplicate of eddie says.

“why am i here, and not there?”

“because that wound on your body is not the only thing that needs to be healed. you’ve imagined a perfect world. and this is death, y/n.”

“why are you here?”

“i’m your imagination. because if you go back, you don’t know what’s going to happen in a few years. that’s the point of this.”

“because i don’t know if you’ll be there?”

“because you want to be loved forever. and there’s a guarantee at this place,” eddie explains. y/n looks at him calmly, but confusion is written all over her face.

“you love me. i know you do. you said you would forever, and you don’t here. why are you even talking to me? why are there no dead people or something?”

eddie steps closer to her, looking down into her eyes as she stares back at herself. “you want to be loved by these people. why do you think i’m just showing up now?”

“don’t play this game with me, diaz. i do not know why i’m here or why you are here because nothing makes any sense!”

“you said the answer yourself. you know, you know,” he repeats. y/n is scared. she’s a fearless person, but dealing with this alternate life has shown her a whole new side. the world is an uncertain place and no one knows what’s on the other side until you get there. once you’re on that side, there is no going back. that’s it.

the repetition of something she knows runs through her frightened mind at a hundred miles an hour. from the moment she entered that fire station and saw his beautiful face looking at her. she knew she’d be loved. over and over again, he’d told her. and it was enough.

what felt like minutes to y/n was a week to eddie. a week of the prolonged unconsciousness from y/n with no signs of living other than her steady heartbeat. the doctors said it was a good sign, but until eddie saw her eyes again, he didn’t believe it. he’s not one to take something for granted, but if he’d known he would never see her mesmerizing irises again, he would’ve never looked away.

the team of surgeons and interns had piled back into the room, attempting to remove the tube. eddie’s stomach ached from the anxiety of this being her last shot. it was now or never, and he despised that he couldn’t control it. if the tube is removed and she takes a breath on her own, there is a high likelihood that she’ll wake up in the next few hours.

eddie prays to any god that might listen to him, begging, almost on his hands and knees that he will be able to hold her again. when the harsh rise of her chest puffs up, eddie’s own drops. he releases the breath and all his pain, sending it away with her coma.

after the dark clouds rolled over, the sun of y/n’s smile came out. she was giggling and happy, and no one would think that she was just in the condition she was in. the doctors have finally cleared her to go home, no longer needing medical supervision and observation. she was regaining strength at an impressive rate which was optimistic to eddie. several visits from christopher and carla, along with her co-workers had happened over the week of her spell. eddie helped her gather her stuff, still needing help to lift things and stand. the second she tries to stand on her own, eddie is there in the speed of light.

“hey, hey, don’t stand up yet,” he says, walking over to the straining woman on the hospital bed. “if you push yourself it’ll be worse.”

“i’ll be ok, eddie,” she says a little passive-aggressively. eddie knows how hard the recovery stage can be, especially when you have a lot of people nagging you about it. she loves to work more than anything. it’s her mission to save people and make the worst day of their life as easy as it can be. y/n’s clearly frustrated with herself and her situation, but she never wants to make eddie feel bad about his good intentions. “shit, i’m sorry.”

“amor, i told you not to apologize. this trauma is yours to carry, and it sucks. i just want to make this easier for you.”

“i just, i saw you and my whole family. in my… coma,” she cringes at the word. “they loved me, eddie. they really cared instead of putting on a face. i considered staying. but you had, um,” eddie places a reassuring arm around her shoulder, silently letting her know it’s ok to say what’s on her mind. “you left me and i had no clue.”

“god, you know i would never do that, right?”

“i do, it just felt so real. the way you looked at me in that reality and how couldn’t say you loved me hurt so bad and i had to come back to you.”

“i love you, so much,” eddie touches his forehead to hers. “i would never, ever leave you. i couldn’t imagine my life without you when you were sleeping.”

eddie looks into her eyes. he takes in every speck of color, and the movement of her pupils. his hands wander across her body before pulling her in, helping her get a sense that he is real. the knowledge that he is not going anywhere away from her until their last breath.

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