#josh batch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

talesfrommedinastation · 2 years ago

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Your favorite member of TBB is:

Tech!

Because:

He reminds me SO MUCH of my (neurotypical but very logical) husband! So much so that my youngest pointed him out on the screen when I first turned the TV on, screamed ‘DADDY!’ and that’s how I got sucked into this show. He is one of the few ‘nerd’ characters that is also caring, kind, and reflective–just a treat of a character. I refuse to let my daughters watch the finale, but the oldest one got told the ending by a friend (she had no idea what ‘sacrifice’ really meant, until that moment, I found out 😣)

You identify the most with:

Echo!

Because:

I’m not only a mom to an Omega and a teeny-tiny girl version of Wrecker (PLEASE HELP ME), but I’ve taught a couple of classes on ethics and robotics. Being able to keep your humanity while in incredibly hard, tough situations is no joke, and Echo does it beautifully. Also as a woman in academia, a program director and a writer, I’ve had to deal with my voice being ignored or belittled, and seeing Echo deal with it makes me love him so much.

Your favorite minor character from the show:

Fennec Shand.

Because:

Loved her in the Mandalorian and Boba Fett, loved that I used a screenshot of her in TBB to convince my buddies that there was an animated version of The Expanse and she was Camina Drummer.

They were not thrilled, but I thought it was funny.

A TBB-centric piece or post of yours that you are most proud of:

I feel weird putting my longfics aside, but writing up my redneck neighbor Doug and his hot takes on the Bad Batch, especially how he described the main cast.

Because:

Because Doug truly doesn’t care and makes fun of EVERYTHING. But most importantly, that it’s made so many people smile and laugh (and be inspired, see further below) when we’ve been unhappy a lot recently.

Link so that we can appreciate it:

A TBB-centric piece of art that slaps so hard you enjoy (and why):

Of course it’s inspired by Doug! @amalthiaph did this 9 piece that is amazing. Hilarious but adorable!

https://64.media.tumblr.com/9e8de219217877e5b743dee5fa451fa0/debe30dcc808a98f-4c/s640x960/65328be1074050b6c3a3066488fc9a4f34423d9b.pnj

A TBB-centric fanfic that gives you life you enjoy (and why):

A one shot by @skellymom based on Doug’s interpretations, of course. I actually woke the dog up, I was laughing so hard reading this (especially Crosshair being the Gross Brother).

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/727626634459529216/redneck-dougs-bad-batch-oneshot-background-bad?source=share

A TBB headcanon or trope that is 100% canon to you:

Crosshair is in a very weird, but very committed, relationship with his rifle, which has a lady’s name like ‘Jessica’ or ‘Cassandra’ or ‘Christina’. It’s his weaponized waifu.

Color(s) you think would suit if Crosshair gets "Mercenary" armor:

Green, silver, and black. Partially for camo, mostly because Crosshair has raw Philadelphia Eagles fan energy. Win or lose, he’ll happily burn Broad Street to the ground.

One thing you NEED to see happen in Season 3:

Echo going absolutely APESHIT. Everyone’s going on about Hunter’s Joel Miller era coming up, but after the intro scene of ‘Tipping Point’ and seeing how a turnt up, focused, angry Echo can obliterate a whole damn Imperial vessel in the time it takes me to reheat leftover Chinese in the microwave…well, I need more of that.

Let's go @eyecandyeoz @commander-sunshine @moosethren @amalthiaph

Fellow Zealots of The Bad Batch, Unite!

Please share your answers to these questions and pass them on to some of your Bad Batch-loving buds!

Your favorite member of TBB is:

Because:

You identify the most with:

Because:

Your favorite minor character from the show:

Because:

A TBB-centric piece or post of yours that you are most proud of:

Because:

Link so that we can appreciate it:

A TBB-centric piece of art that slaps so hard you enjoy (and why):

Link:

A TBB-centric fanfic that gives you life you enjoy (and why):

Link:

A TBB headcanon or trope that is 100% canon to you:

Color(s) you think would suit if Crosshair gets "Mercenary" armor:

One thing you NEED to see happen in Season 3:

@wwheeljack @wrenkenstein @floundrickthewayfarer @raevulsix @enigmatist17 @slenderboo @echojedis @nika6q @zaana @wiseowl18 @toastyrobos @eclec-tech @jigget @destril @niobiumao3

#tag game #bad batch questions #long post #I'm addicted to long posts #it makes me feel like I'm writing journal articles #which are actually read and appreciated #I hate you josh you stupid talentless HACK #you are the worst editor in chief ever and no one likes you #why am I talking academic journals right now

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faggotmox · 1 year ago

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something wonderfully important has happened! my "wrestling dad" josh shepard got his book of wrestling erasure poems published & it is up for sale (either 10$ or "name a fair price"). this is incredibly important to me as im one of the first people to have gotten the privilege to read these poems as josh wrote them. josh is incredibly important to me as a friend, he is the guy who introduced me to wrestling & gave me a deep, unrestricted passion for it.

josh is so fucking talented, & creative. he is also my favorite poet, not just bc he's my friend. the book's flow is dedicated to the flow of a wrestling match, following all the hallmarks (the lock up, big heat, the comeback, ect) with the themes of his poems to create a match like narrative for the book.

there are like three specific poems in the batch that i want tattooed on me, a stone cold one, a mick foley one, & a briscoe brother's piece. the aj lee pipebomb poem moved me to actual tears, even when i read it now. the macho man poem abt being bipolar struck me so hard i rethought my own feeling on my mental health. josh pushes impressive themes of capitalism, mental health, poverty, & family theoughout many of his poems. i know ive got a few wrestling fans here, & if you're also into poetry please considered josh's work. or just if you want to support a friend of mine.

a cool way to support josh's work is by requesting it at your local library! even suggesting to bookstores that have poetry sections or interacting with the work thats already published. following/reposting josh's work for exposure also is great.

bruiser zine said this:

The second volume in the BRUISER Zines series, Cutting Promos is a collection of pro wrestling erasure poems by the Oklahoma City poet Josh Shepard. Printed and assembled in Baltimore, this limited edition zine collects 26 poems previously published in BRUISER, HAD, The Daily Drunk and many other fine publications.

After being laid off at the onset of the pandemic, Shepard found comfort and inspiration in the glow of professional wrestling and its performers—their violent struggles, fighting spirit, and electric language—and from their speeches and promos that have inspired wrestling fans across the globe he delivers Cutting Promos, a collection of erasures that echoes the personalities, pursuits and perseverance of pro wrestling’s greatest, standing as a testament to life lived during Hard Times and deliverance through them.

[ IN CASE YOU MISSED THE LINK ABOVE TO BUY JOSH'S BOOK ] [ JOSH'S TWITTER | INSTA | LINKTR.EE* ] *a lot of the links don't work bc the publications went under :( but there's still quiet a few up for free here

support my kayfabe father!!! i watched him turn his hard times into beautiful pieces. even in the beginning when he only had 3 or 4, before he even thought he could make the book i saw his passion for these pieces. i was there for every heart wrenching rejection letter & every hard earned spot. every time he was working late at the library sending me new ideas bc he couldn't watch dynamite. every single wrestling poem josh has written has now been published & that is a huge success. he puts in the work like a wrestler puts in the work in the ring. hard hitting, gritty, & beautiful.

#hope i got all the info and claims right in here lmao #ny memory aint so good #and hes been working on thus for FOUR YEARS #god im so proud of him #please please please reblog this #poetry #poems #poet #wrestling #pro wrestling #aew #wwe #poetry book #book #abt ranger #im also rb the fuxk out this #twice a day

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pavartijanuswrites · 2 months ago

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Characters: Jake, Josh, Sam, Danny

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings/tags: Cabin in the woods, sleepovers, mentions of violence, alcohol and drug consumption, explicit language, blackouts

Chapter One

As night gradually falls, the thin, guttering light sculpts the silent crags of the mountain faces into unfeeling grins. Their slate gray edges slip into twilight and their cold dormant trees turn to stone as frost encroaches with the setting of the sun. Birds and creatures lie dormant in hibernation. Ice mutes the world and the witch’s brew sky darkens and roils with the coming night. January stakes its claim on the barren Earth.

The world is cooking up a batch of sorcery. The brothers just don’t know it yet.

A lone light shines, nestled in the darkness: A cabin window. A dwelling squats in the night, only a black smudge of crooked shingles and solid carpentry in the descending evening. But the wavering aged glass glows yellow, giving the only evidence of conscious activity for miles. The panes lie nestled into rough-hewn and weather-scarred logs, the walls wearing a skin of ice and the delicate spider-web of frost as the evening breathes a frozen fog from the surrounding mountains. Within, shut tight against the wind and frost and vicious cold of a Tennessee winter, is a pocket of warmth. Firelight. Bodies. Laughter. It’s here that four brothers have found a refuge, a safe-haven from a loud and tumultuous world.

Four men have found an escape. An escape from the back-breaking pace of their daily lives–from touring between dozens of cities, from the seas of screaming faces, from the constant cacophony of sound. Here, there is nothing. There are no rigid schedules. No jumping from tour bus to amphitheater stage and then back again until their brains rattle out of their ears. Here, now, the crackle of the fireplace is their symphony, flannel pajamas their regalia, and their only company in this silent, wintery retreat is their own time-weathered brotherhood.

The living room floor is decorated with an assortment of bedclothes, from sheets to quilts to granny square afghans. And there the four of them languidly lie in their peaceful slumps against cushions and pillows, faces aglow in firelight. Each holds a near-empty rocks glass, their whisky darkened with Coke and their cheeks flushed with drink and laughter as the shared bottle of Jack Daniels, which rests solidly in the center of their seance ring like a relic on an altar, slowly dwindles into nothing.

Josh, once a glittering, rhinestoned caricature, is a soft lump swaddled in sweaters and blankets. A short, wild bramble of chocolate curls crops up above his blanket like a berry bush, and deep brown eyes sparkle merrily above the pink apples of his cheeks. He isn’t smiling like a frontman appeasing a massive crowd, but genuinely, deeply, like a sibling growing raucously giddy whilst reminiscing over fond shared memories.

“I really beat the shit outta you–” Josh cackles with mirth.

“Hey, as I recall, I beat the shit outta you,” Jake cuts in indignantly, crunching his abdominal muscles to sit fully upright, perhaps in an attempt to conjure some dignity. He’ll be damned if he takes his twin’s slander lying down–no matter how cozy the flowery-detergent-scented-afghans may be.

But, “Whoa, remind me never to drink while lying in one place.” Jake laughs as his vision shifts as though he’d taken his first, disorientingly solid step on land after being on a boat for too long.

“I mean, the split lip said otherwise,” Josh points out, gesturing with his glass, “That fucker was so swollen you couldn’t whistle for three days.”

“Nah, I think I’d remember if it was that bad. What were we even fighting about?” Jake squints at his twin’s identical face, the same brown eyes sparkling back at him.

“No fucking idea!” Josh guffaws, setting off another round of ridiculous, drink-fueled laughter.

Jake’s hair is long and smooth in contrast to his brother’s, his eyes deeper and sadder and his smile more reserved. He isn’t as bright and radiant, doesn’t need to force huge, friendly grins or use wide gestures as he welcomes crowds through booming microphones. He doesn’t have cameras on him from every angle, waiting to capture his every word. He can simply play his instrument into the voids of the dome-shaped arenas and leave his face in its withdrawn, focused mask as he turns off his wandering mind. His guitar is his microphone, his fingers his language.

“Fellas, it appears we underestimated our pirate bellies; the booze is almost gone,” Sam interjects. Long, bass-guitar fingers drum distractedly on the floor. His puppy irises reflect the firelight with the same shade of brown as his brothers,’ with only a few subtle changes separating his features from his blood siblings–the downturned slant at the outer corners of his eyes, the straighter angle of his brows, and the richer brown color of his hair.

“Nooooo,” Danny mourns in a light, gentle voice.

The three brothers turn to the fourth and final member.

“That didn’t sound very serious, Daniel,” Sam reprimands sternly, “This is a problem.”

“Yeah, this is a rather sobering complication,” Jake flops supine again, his sibling spat forgotten, “We’re here in the middle of the woods for a whole week, and we burn through the libations over the course of a single evening? Criminal.”

Danny is the only brother not bound by blood. He is a stark outlier, his build tall and lanky, with broad-set shoulders and a leanly muscled frame. He is built like the devoted drummer that he is, arms and back thickened with the laborious nature of his instrument. His features are hard and angular where the others’ are soft and feminine. His hair courses in a deep, almost black mane of ringlets down his back, the thick curls highlighted by sparse, bleached blonde tendrils interspersed throughout.

Danny shrugs one powerful shoulder, “Who says I wasn’t serious? I was very serious.”

“Ever the diplomat, Danny,” Josh nods and finishes off the last of his drink.

“Really.” He offers unconvincingly. But that’s only one of his paradoxical traits. Like Jake, he has a voice unaccustomed to projecting across audiences, so it comes out void of conviction. His voice is gentle and kind. His presence in their brotherhood is a solid, steady peacemaker in a world of frontmen and their overly competitive twins.

The frontman casts the quilt from his shoulders and stands with a very frontman-like flourish. And remarkably, he only stands with a slight lean as he regains his land legs, “I have an idea, lads. Let me go grab something.” His voice is drink-addled, but his eyes glow with a mischievous light as he toddles, crooked, to the kitchen.

The others share a glance.

Sam takes a swig from a can of plain Coca-Cola, winces, then mournfully shakes his head, “It’s just not the same.”

Josh returns, his head swiveling in disappointment, “Why on earth did we only bring one bottle?” He clicks his tongue.

Sam and Danny simultaneously point at Jake’s recumbent form, “Ask him.”

“Me? What’d I do? It was BYOB,” Jake sits up again in another wobbly attempt to summon a defensive front, “I’m the only one who brought anything.”

“Yeah, because you were in charge of drinks, remember?” Sam folds his arms behind his head.

“No, that’s not what we agreed—“

“Maybe there was just a small misunderstanding?” Danny offers gently.

Jake throws up his arms, “I swear to God, I’m the only one—”

“Gentlemen,” Josh interjects, snapping his fingers like a dog’s impatient master, “Behold: my elixir.”

He kneels to swap the empty Jack bottle with one he’d presumably scavenged from amid the groceries they’d brought to stock the cabinets. It’s a nondescript sculpted glass thing with an old wine cork in its neck, the liquid inside swirling with an odd rusty murkiness. It looks distinctly homemade. And decidedly dangerous.

“What the hell is that?” Jake, not yet intoxicated enough to trust Josh’s offering, narrows his eyes and props himself up on one elbow for a better look.

Josh produces a few shot glasses from the wooly depths of his sweater pocket and begins wrestling with the cork, “It’s not bad, don’t worry.”

“Probably not good either,” Sam giggles loosely. He gathers his long limbs to sit crisscross-applesauce and leans forward as his interest piques.

“You wound me,” Josh clicks his tongue, “Ye of little faith.”

The liquid pours thickly into each tiny glass. And Danny reaches to steady Josh’s hand as it clumsily tips the bottle, the gesture saving the majority of the elixir from the floor.

“Thank you very much, Danny,” He slurs, “Now, you know—” He hiccups, “We all have to take it at the same time, so nobody pussies out.”

Sam takes his first, long fingers curling trustingly around the glass and raising it in the air, as though eager to rise to a challenge.

Jake and Danny hesitantly follow suit, their curiosity taking precedence over their sense. Coke and whiskey flows through their veins and the four boxy cabin walls isolate them from every care. Now, with their spirits emboldened and their logic dulled, this feels as innocent as a brotherly game of Truth or Dare, the shot glasses in their hands representing nothing more than a taunting challenge.

“Ready?” Josh holds his aloft.

“Ready.” They all echo in turn, then shoot the drinks.

For a moment there is silence. Then, they each proclaim their protests as the taste sets in.

“What the fuck was that?” Jake winces and swigs the icy dregs of his whisky glass in an effort to choke down the cloying taste.

“Yeah, what the hell?” Danny echoes. He swabs his tongue with a finger, coming away with the grainy remnants of what appear to be tea leaves, “I thought that was going to be some kind of chocolate infusion. That’s a crime.”

“Yeah, it’s not my best invention,” Josh concedes. He gestures broadly like a wine sommelier, “Thoughts? Notes, anyone? Can you taste the hint of petrichor?”

“Brown.” Sam gags, “It tastes brown.”

“What do you mean, invention? What did you even put in that?” Jake coughs. The viscous fluid had seemed to coat his mouth’s every surface, his taste buds flooded with herby earthiness as various spices had clashed and battled, “I’m not even kidding, it tastes like mud.”

Yes, brown was the best descriptor that had come to mind.

“Well the other day, I was reading a book about pagan shamans–”

“Of course you were.” Jake cuts him off with a shake of his head.

But Josh continues, giving him a dismissive, floppy-wristed wave, “Well, you remember our Safari video? The one we tried to expunge from this mortal plane?”

“Yeah?” Jake draws out the word, his eyes narrowing with concern as his mind completes the thought.

Safari Song: A track they’d created, composed, and edited together, had performed countless times for glittering crowds. Later, they’d recorded a short film about sorcery and voodoo, using dark and mysterious imagery of tribal elders conjuring spells and summoning spirits across time.

But, as creative as their endeavor had been, the band’s management and advisors had ultimately decided the music video’s potential for controversy would be a stain on their public images. So the video had been retired from the world, their creation smothered.

“Well, I tried out a recipe.”

“You didn’t.”

Josh waves at the empty shot glasses, oblivious to the dread in Jake’s voice, “I did. So now we wait and see if our strings of consciousness converge into the universe and become one with the cosmos.” When nobody replies and Josh is only met with solemn stares, he just rattles on, “Oh, come on. The worst that could happen is nothing happens. Well– nothing happening isn’t going to happen. Because there may or may not be psilocybin imbued fungi in there and we may or may not be in for an interesting night, regardless.”

“Mushrooms?” Sam pushes his shoulder, almost knocking the smaller man over, “Josh, we’ve been drinking and you know I don’t like to mix stuff up.”

“Oh yeah. Whoops.” He doesn’t appear to have a shred of remorse, only giddy excitement as he sits, cross-legged with knees bouncing.

“You followed a pagan recipe and brought it to the woods,” Jake muses, attempting to wrap his sluggish mind around it, “Are you gonna make us paint ourselves in pig’s blood and dance naked around a bonfire, now?”

Josh’s eyes crinkle in a smile and his wide-set mouth opens as if to agree, but instead he is intercepted by his twin’s abrupt quip.

“—Don’t answer that,” Jake rubs his eyes as though he can sponge away the drunkenness.

“What kind of stuff is even in it?” Sam examines the remaining grainy film that clings to the walls of his glass. Then he gags, as though tasting it all over again.

“It’s not even that weird. I already had all the stuff in my kitchen.” Josh staunchly defends himself.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Josh,” Danny lies back down, wrapping a blanket around himself until he resembles a warm burrito, “You have weird shit in your kitchen.”

The hour strikes midnight.

The hollow clangs of the antique wall clock fills the room with an eerie heartbeat, twelve angry tones like hammer strikes in a silent room.

Four soft masses of flannel and crocheted afghans rest numbly on the floor, oblivious, the familial conversation having died into a swollen silence. They lie, unmoving like mountains amid the quilts, their bodies only a jumble of limbs and bedclothes.

Sam, face smooth with sleep, lies on Danny’s thigh, his chest moving with gentle breaths. He sleeps deeply, his eyes already flicking behind their lids as vibrant dreams swell in his head. His fingers twitch restlessly, perhaps unconsciously attempting to play along with the band in his mind.

Danny distractedly braids tiny strands of Sam’s long, dark chocolate hair as it sprawls in random tendrils across his lap. His long fingers move at a snail’s pace, crossing each strand over the other as though it takes all of his mind power to coordinate this one drunk movement. His eyelids droop with weariness and his breath hisses gently between his teeth as each passing second drains his awareness.

Josh is reduced to a lump again, hidden under a puffy comforter like he has become a pillow himself. Only his puff of hair is visible through a break in the blanket. Soft snores come from the mass of fabric, his bright, rambly voice finally silenced.

“Hey, does the sky look like a river to you?” Jake murmurs half to himself. He still rests flat on his back, his deep brown eyes watching the ceiling with fascination. Then he blinks with surprise, having not intended for his lips to speak his thoughts at all.

His attention is enraptured by the surging, flowing strands of ceiling, the dark streaks in the wood paneling as loose and untamable as water. It’s an ocean of abstract, psilocybin-induced motion, twisting above him in a cosmic dance. The light fixture is a cluster of suns, painting ripples on the wood the same way the real sun illuminates liquid. The stationary fan blades are islands. The dangling cords are upside down trees, reaching for him from the land. Jake almost reaches out to touch them in return.

“My mouth feels so weird,” Danny mumbles, “I can feel my tongue filling up my face.” He laughs gently and continues to braid, his fingers stopping at every twist of Sam’s hair to trail down the strands like they’re made of silk. He seems captivated by the textures between his fingertips, his hands repeating the stroking motions like a broken record.

Jake knows it’s just the mushrooms, since he is acquainted with this feeling, but he becomes aware of something else, looming in the corners of his vision and weighing down his mind. It’s intangible, barely noticeable, but shading this otherwise pleasant experience with something heavy. Sinister. A hidden shadow in a psychedelic kaleidoscope.

He becomes aware of his own heartbeat, hearing it pulsate in his ears, noticing its tantalizing pull. He knows that if he hyperfixates on it, he’ll spiral into existential thoughts about mortality and set off a bad trip, but he can’t unhear it now that his mind latches onto the sound. Or, rather, the feeling.

Slowly, the shifting patterns of the ceiling above him meld into the rhythm of his pulse, becoming one surging, heaving mass that presses down on him like a heavy blanket. The pulse grows slower, slower, eventually evening out into a hypnotizing march, like the ticking of a broken clock. It grows slower still, and then his breaths slow to match the dull, leadened pace.

The sky sinks so low above him that it feels like he is becoming one with the shifting ocean, his soul distorting and dissipating until it feels synonymous with time and light and every other intangible thing. He is surrounded by it, plunged into a galaxy of starlight and peace.

Then that Dark Thing descends, creeping into his awareness like a bloodstain. It spreads, sweeping over him until he is swallowed up by it. The heartbeat in his ears slows. The accompanying breaths slow. His mind slows until there is nothing left but darkness.

@i-choose-the-road @josh-iamyour-mama @l219tj-or-elle @nicoten1014 @sacredsparrow @gvfstuddedmajesty @jazzyfigz @joshylanefleet @dazeebean @girlattheseaside

#greta van fleet #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #gvf fandom #jake kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #gvf

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vampire-cupid · 7 months ago

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Day 12: Mistletoe

Finally Chris again! Pure fluff because I felt like it :3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Sipping on your drink, your gaze wanders through the room.

All your friends were there, celebrating the yearly winter holiday in the mountain.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watch Sam cheer, definitely winning at Monopoly.

“Enjoying the party?” a voice beside you asks.

Looking at the person beside you, your smile got bigger as you found Chris.

“Well, I get free drinks, don’t get touched by creepy dudes and am cozy and warm so, yeah! Better than any college party.” you laugh.

Pretending to be disappointed, Chris jokes “And I was hoping to grab a feel, way to destroy a guys dream.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you thought ‘I wouldn’t mind if it was you.’

But at Chris’ wide eyes you realized you must have said that out loud.

Luckily, Beth saved you, needing help getting another batch of drinks from the cellar.

You could still feel Chris stare after you.

Once you were out of earshot, you hugged Beth’s arm, “Thank you, you just saved me from the most embarrassing moment in my life.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic.” Beth tried to cheer you up. “It’s only the most embarrassing moment till now.” and ruined it a second later.

“Thanks Beth.” you let out a sigh.

Once you reached the cellar, Beth handed you a six pack of beer before grabbing one herself.

Walking past the still playing group, Mike loudly screaming because he managed to land in prison for the 5th time, you made your way to the kitchen but were stopped as you walked into Chris.

You nearly dropped the beer if it weren’t for Chris catching it by clasping his hands over yours. “You ok?” he asked, his voice much softer than before.

You were about to answer when Josh whistled sharply.

Confused your gaze snapped to him. With a wink he motioned upwards.

As you looked up you found a mistletoe right int the kitchen entrance where you and Chris stood.

Thanks to Josh, everyone was now looking at the two of you.

Jess even started to chant “Kiss!” and quickly everyone joined in.

Nervously looked towards Chris, you found him just as nervous as you, his cheeks red and his eyes on you.

“I guess we have no choice.” he laughs, nervously combing through his blonde hair.

“You truly are romantic.” you say, rolling your eyes.

Looking back at each other you lean in, only intending to give a quick peck.

As your lips met, you could hear the cheers from behind you before turning back to whatever they were doing before.

Chris and you were left just getting lost in each others eyes.

To your surprise, Chris leaned back in, kissing you with enough passion to make you dizzy.

You just sank into the kiss, leaning more against Chris.

At least until Jess laughed loudly “Get a room you two!”

#chris hartley x reader #chris hartley #until dawn x reader #until dawn #christmas until dawn #cupid writing

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kinardsevan · 8 months ago

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melbell's theory on "is it a swerve":

I have been saying for about two days that I would write out a whole through-line of my theory of what shenanigans might be happening in the writers room for 911.

I should specify first that this theory goes based on the idea that what’s being served to us currently is an entire swerve, and that they’re following the formula they’ve done before (ala Madney, Tarlos, etc.).

My theory ties into 807 as well. It has us not losing Tommy, but him actually being in the episode. Given that we know that it’s been said that recurring cast members will film in batches and not necessarily by week, that opens up the option for Lou to be in (at least) 807, if not more.

I know some of what has come out in social media in the past few days references that there was a certain lineup for the way B/T was viewed through 8a, and how it would culminate in the discussion of moving in together, referencing lore to Tommy’s past, possibly his father, etc.

My thing is that, at the end of the day as a creative, all I’m trying to do is follow the breadcrumbs we’ve been fed for the past 12 episodes of this show. Because of that, the points of note within those breadcrumbs are:

7x09: “Tommy’s good people. He’s good for you.”

7x10: “My dad and I don’t really talk…Having Gerrard was like having the father I already had.”

8x05: “people are what make life worth living”; “my boyfriend”; “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it? having a crew like this behind you, even when things go wrong” "especially when things go wrong"

8x06: “Do you love him” (entire speech)

Now obviously, coming out of season 7, this show knew they wanted Lou back, but they didn’t know what his schedule was going to look like or whether the character would pan out, how the general audience would continue to tune in, etc. However, they did lay down enough crumbs that they could pick up and continue to move forward with. They gave themselves the ability to tell a story with Tommy’s lore around his father, along with what they ultimately chose to do with Abby (which a lot of fans were talking about early on in the summer as it was).

Now, we’ve learned things since I first formulated this theory. We know that there’s a discussion about Buck having a “pendulum” reaction to the breakup and how to deal with it. We know that he’s going to throw himself into other things to cope. We know that there’s mention of “cracks starting to show” in reference to how he deals with the breakup. we also have mention in one of the articles about the possibility of them working a scene (as in accident, fire, etc) and things being awkward.

based on all of that prior information, (along with Josh’s speech in 806), when I saw the preview for 807, I was very quickly one of the people who was like “this is being done for angst. this is not the end of BuckTommy”.

My theory actually ties into (if we loved each other once) could we love each other twice, my latest fic. We don’t have any close-up shots of the person on the crane in the episode. We have the PA (or whoever he is) telling Bobby “there was an incident during filming, he fell and passed out”. Within the confines of me feeling like what’s happening is all a swerve on us, that line might not be entirely complete. I’ve theorized that the 217 is already on scene, and Tommy is the man hanging on the crane.

Why, you ask?

When is the last time we saw someone hanging from a crane? (Buck, lightning strike, if you’re playing the long game, kids). Why bring that back if it’s not intended to be paralleled in some way, the very way they have been doing with this couple from the jump?

We also have the voiceover of who we (aka as me and the two people I’ve actually written this all out for) assume is Oliver/Buck yelling “no no no no no!” in a panicked tone. For me, when I follow that line of logic (through 806 forward), things feel really clear.

Now I hadn’t considered the idea that they might actually kill Tommy off until today, but let’s go with the idea that they’re not. Everything that we’ve been given from 710 on starts fill in a really beautiful plot going into the midseason finale for these two.

Tommy is hurt. If the lightning strike is mirrored as I assume it is, the scene in reference will happen right about the end of 807. 808 will likely be some kind of other story (on purpose). I don’t think at this rate, we’ll actually ever get a Tommy Begins, but the title of Sob Stories really feels compelling to me on how they could do a version of this. Or a version of Tommy seeing what Buck’s life would be like without him, or any other version you want to think up.

You suddenly get all of these breadcrumbs lined up really nicely into these episode.

-Tommy’s dad can be presented to us. This also presents an opportunity to explain why Tommy feels unworthy/scared/etc of moving forward with Buck.

-“people make life worth living”; “especially when things go wrong”. This would be something going very wrong. this would present them with an opportunity to give the payoff that we’ve wanted to see Tommy receive since 710, being accepted into the family he has always felt outside of.

-“do you love him”. I think part of the break-up storywise being important for Buck is that it requires him to really dignify how he feels about Tommy. Another thing that this theory does is put them in a positon to really face the issue of remembering that life is not permanent. They can very much so end up without one another. And yes, shit already sucks being apart because Tommy broke up with him. But this brings to light the idea that, not only could they just be broken up, but that one of them could die and not have had whatever time they have left (especially given their career of choice) with one another. I think if you really lean into the parallel of the coma dream for Buck, it gives Tommy prime opportunity to learn why he’s afraid. Whether this is done in the form of a coma dream like buck, or like TK’s was with his mom (that feels more accurate for me with Tommy, meeting his mom, etc).

—I’ll also include the aside of Gerrard being around could also be an interesting addition to the story.

I can even see this feeding into whatever issue Buck runs into with Eddie in the coming weeks, whether it’s him still being upset with Tommy over the break up and Eddie saying Buck doesn’t have the full story, or Eddie thinking that Buck is giving in too easily after seeing him hurt. (Or that could be none of all of this).

As for the interviews that are concerning, I do have somewhat of an answer to that too.

I feel like on some level, Lou had to know that the fangirlish one was with someone who is fully behind Buddie and knew about the crap he’d been through. That interview didn’t have clear cut answers quite yet, and that one has me with this answer: nothing of what he said would necessarily be a lie.

He’s working on SWAT right now. Actors always have opportunities in front of them. He may have things that could affect how 8b goes, regardless. I have questioned whether he went into that interview with the discussion with the powers that be basically being like “don’t lie. but you can have fun with it, too.”

In terms of the others, I haven’t read every single article out there, but I know we hold a general lack of understanding about the fact that the “exit interviews” just feel weirdly un-exit like. I’ve read millions of them at this point due to Greys Anatomy. And as it’s been said, you never see people asked about coming back; in fact you usually get a lot of "what's next" instead. We don’t get a whole lot of clarity of what’s happening with Buck next, beyond “new hobbies” “family time” “dealing”.

That all said… I don’t know. I know the theory has legs, even though it takes shots from the articles we’ve been given. I started out with a lot of hope weighing into this theory. Now I’m not as certain. But I am someone who holding out hope that some version of a swerve is happening and it was just written really fucking poorly (and at the worst possible time known to queer men and women).

You’re welcome to share with me your thoughts. I’m open to polite discourse.

#mel's musings #bucktommy #my convoluted theory #i know it's got clown makeup all over it #but also #i feel like it tracks?#if this isn't actually what they're doing #they need a new writing team #and i'm available #tevan #kinley #firebeast #firepilot

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