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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months

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Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

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

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

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

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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ghouljams · 2 months

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You know, i try to forget the fact that ghost is from *manchester*

But also i live in manchester, and there is 6 foot something ex military engineer with a shitty mullet and tatoos from his wrists up to his neck, bulky as hell, who repairs the machines at my work place once a month and has basically the same accent and it drives me insane. Not love or lust or anything along those lines, just fangirl brains in overload 😤😔💀

Also really love android!ghost i can imagine the workspace as being in one of those enormous caverns under the tram lines cutting through manchester, near cornbrook, where the old rail bridge rots, for atmosphere? And yea android ghost would totally have the sorrows of a manchester working man and he watches you as the rail rumbles overhead in typical dreary weather because it rains everyday. Maybe it rusts the gears where his heart should be. Your writing is sooo damnn good it makes me feel things ;^;b

Currently the reader and Ghost are on a military base, so the workshop is more of a hole in the wall filled to the brim with bits and baubles of tech. I always imagine it as somewhere between cassette futurism(the gold standard of greebling) and hard cyberpunk. Big blocky screen tvs precariously placed with lines of code and old sonic games looping over them. Cables hanging from the ceiling and stringing between various computer towers. dimly lit save the few dental lights that the reader can wheel about(sort of) to whatever they're working on. A wooden workbench, a soldering iron, an iron stool. A box of drawers holding screws and tools strewn about. Organized chaos.

but back in Manchester? It was rotten, dreary. Huddled close to Simon to siphon some of the heat off of him as you handed over half your sandwich. Complaining about the rain to the closest thing you have to a friend. Scraping rust off of every bot that clamors through the doors of the shop you're apprenticing at. Simon offers you some of his mum's cookies, you pass him the thermos of tea you made this morning, dab some anti-bacterial on the cut under his eye. You feel old. You're so young.

You both talk about leaving, finding somewhere better, anywhere really. Just to get away and see the world. Two kids trying to make things a little easier for each other.

Anyway! I think it's fun to have a man to ogle at work. Very important for morale. I need more tattooed muscular men to look at with sinful eyes. Love me some eye candy.

#ghoul speaks #x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #cyberpunk au #android!ghost

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fazedlight · 5 months

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Dread (rewriting of Lena’s phantom ordeal in Fear Knot)

Coolant leak error?, Lena thought, reading the screen. “Let me see if the hardware needs repairing,” she said, unfastening her seatbelt and passing Nia to hop onto the elevator.

Her first hint that something was wrong was on the floor of the machine room. As she stepped over a puddle, her mind caught on something. The floor was wet - not with neon green coolant, but water, in a part of the ship where no water piping ran.

She stepped towards one of the wheels on the wall, checking that the flow was open, that the gauge showed appropriate pressure. There’s no leak, Lena thought, confused. Then what’s causing the-

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

Lena spun around, eyes darting to the familiar voice, lost over decades. A pale dead figure, covered in water and kelp, stared back at her - with cold, soulless eyes that sunk back into her skull. “Mother?” Lena said, trembling.

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

“I-” Lena was struggling to breathe, as her mother stepped closer, a heavy sloshing of her dress running across the ground. “I- I don’t know why-”

“Why did you let me drown, Lena?”

“I’m sorry,” Lena said, a small part of her mind screaming this isn’t real, but dread flooded the thought out. “I didn’t want- I just couldn’t move-”

But to Lena’s horror, her mother shifted - a translucent creature emerging from a dead woman's body, made of water and shimmers of light. A creature, Lena thought, her eyes wide. An alien creature of some sort.

She ran.

She darted around the being as its rumbling snarl reverberated through the walls. Lena yanked the door open, bolting down the hall, trying to shake off the unexpected grief of seeing her mother again. A kelpie? A shapeshifter of some sort, her mind thought, racing towards the mainroom. “I need help,” Lena yelled into the comms, yanking a second door open, “I need-”

No, Lena’s mind screamed, coming across the surreal scene before her. Please, no…

Brainy. Alex. J’onn. Kelly. All lay dead before her.

Lena halted as horror flooded through her, turning to Nia’s body, which glimmered in silver. “Nia?” Lena whispered, watching as a million sparks seemed to dance along her skin, from her spot slumped over on the control panel. Lena’s eyes widened. Those aren’t-

A cloud of silver withdrew from Nia’s body, flowing to the center of the control room, buzzing and humming in a familiar pattern, as a voice emerged. “Why did you kill me, Lena?”

“Jack?” Lena gasped.

The bots began to take shape in front of her, a man’s familiar face forming, cast in metal rather than human flesh. “Why did you kill me?”

“Jack, I- I didn’t-” Lena said, overwhelming nausea climbing up her throat. “I didn’t want- there was no other choice-”

“Why did you kill me, Lena?”

The kelpie, Lena’s mind screamed. The shapeshifter. It’s not him. He’s not real-

“Come with me, Lena,” Jack said, as his body began to decompose again, the swarm beginning to float in her direction.

No! Lena’s mind screamed, as she turned again on her heel, fleeing towards the backrooms of the ship. Everyone’s dead, everyone’s dead-

Is this how it ends?, she thought as she ran, knowing she could never outrun the nanobots, or the kelpie, or whatever the fuck this creature was. We all die. Kara is lost forever. This can’t be happening-

She found herself ducking into the medbay, scouring the room for anything she could use as a weapon, anything she could use to kill the creature. Kelpies are a myth, she thought to herself, but that brought her little comfort. Shapeshifters were quite real, and this one was going through each member of the ship.

Lena closed her eyes, trying - and failing - to get composure. It’s my fault, she thought, her mind flashing memories of her mother in the lake, of Jack’s begging voice. Did they blame me? Were they angry? Were their last thoughts-

“Why did you let me get sent to the Phantom Zone, Lena?”

Chills ran down Lena’s spine, as the familiar blonde’s voice washed over her. Kara, she thought, feeling her heart hammering through her chest. I can’t save you, I can’t save you… “I’m so sorry,” Lena sobbed.

“You want me in the Phantom Zone.”

“I don’t!” Lena shouted, turning to the blonde before her. Pallid and soulless eyes stared back at her - somehow indifferent, yet menacing. Lena shook, holding back tears. But I’ll never be able to rescue you, not with everyone…

“You hate me,” said the super as she approached, black veins growing on her face. “You despise me.”

“I love you, Kara,” Lena whispered. The creature was going to kill her. She would never be able to say the words to the real Kara. But there was nothing left.

Kara stepped closer to her, again, and again. Lena held back her sobs as Kara’s eyes turned red. This is how it ends, she thought. I’m never going to see you again. Her worst nightmare had become her reality.

Nightmare…

Lena’s brow furrowed as Kara stepped closer. I didn’t kill my mother, she thought to herself, looking up at the kryptonian again. There wasn’t a way for me to save Jack, she thought to herself.

Kara finally reached Lena, standing toe to toe as her eyes continued to burn. You’re a phantom, Lena realized. Praying on my fears… What had J’onn said? One’s deepest dread.

Like fearing that your loved ones were lost.

And that it was your fault.

Kelly said to focus on what’s real, Lena thought to herself. Things I can see, touch, hear… Lena’s mind scraped at the motor oil scent around her, wandering to the Tower itself, to the cool air and martian steel that surrounded her as Kara sneered back.

But Lena shrugged it off as she continued to stare at the angry super, looking into the still-burning eyes. Lena knew what was most real.

“I love you,” Lena said, raising her hand to doppelganger, caressing along her jawline. “I love you, and I’m going to get you back.”

Kara’s eyes dimmed, and the world flashed white.

-----------

Lena gasped as her eyes opened, finding herself back in the control room. Shifting in her seat, her eyes darted around the room, feeling a flood of relief as she saw the others do the same. “This is real,” J’onn shouted to the room. “You are free of the phantom's powers!” Lena wanted to cry in relief.

“Well that sucked,” Nia said, a shaky smile thrown in Lena’s direction. “What did you see?”

Lena turned back to her controls. It’s time to bring Kara home. “A kelpie,” she said quietly, her mind drifting to the final preparation needed for the sun bomb. “I’m afraid of drowning.”

#supercorp #mel writes ficlets

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shineonyoucrazyyandere · 5 months

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Hello!!

I'm a bit new to the asking game, but I have a headcanon request! What if the Stardust Crusaders met the daughter of DIO, who had a bright and extremely sweet personality with a stand who has techomagic abilities (able to create advance technology, extended knowledge in technology). I apologize if this doesn't make sense! This would be platonic btw!

— 🧠 Anon!

I think I have a grasp of what to write for this ask finally. Darling is still a child of DIO it’s just that makes my title even wordier than it already is. Decided to do one character per bullet point btw

Platonic! Yandere! Stardust Crusaders w/ a technomagic stand darling.

You’re likely a huge help on the technological/engineering side of things for the crusaders. If you met them right at the start of trying to find DIO. Your first observation is probably akin of “Mr. Joestar you know you probably don’t need to break that expensive camera to use your stand right?”. Before long you have it repaired and ready to go, Joseph is wildly impressed and is quickly endeared to you. There is at least also one instance of him asking about fiddling around with a vending machine (for science of course), to maybe get something a little extra.

Avdol can see the trouble coming with you and Mr. Joestar a mile a way. Your eagerness towards technology is commendable and a little worrying if you get too caught up. Which is pretty often, and Joseph tends to be an enabler when it comes to anything he finds cool. He personally loves it himself but does his best to be your guide. He’s the one to most likely sit next to you in whatever transportation you’re in, it’s almost stifling but you barely notice most likely as you keep yourself entertained. There is quite a few times he does let you “loose” to do your thing, just because he enjoys your company so much.

Kakyoin is a bit more reserved in his reactions, the biggest thing that lures him to you is how well you utilize your stand in much of the technology you all run into. If you happen to bring up games out of boredom, his interest is piqued as you likely explain how you fixed a perfectly good console that was thrown in the trash. You tell him some people just don’t understand there’s things worth saving and there’s usually a fix that perfectly restores it. His feelings deepen when you tell him you believe him with the Death 13 fight. His hands are almost shaking, (In this scenario he is very likely to become a romantic yandere pretty quickly)

Polnareff bounces off your personality pretty easily, likes asking you a ton of questions and you manage to answer just about every one of them. He’d just wish you would relax a little bit and enjoy the smallest bit of relaxation (as you can when getting constantly chased by enemy stand users). So he usually nudges you with some kind of treat or even just doing something casually where it doesn’t seem that your brain is running on full power constantly. There’s a dozen times he’s even carrying you up the stairs, you deserve it. You saved his skin so he certainly has to return the favor. (This Frenchman would also be likely to end up a romantic yandere)

Jotaro is one who comes in when things go a little too far, especially if gramps or Polnareff are going what he considers over board, so if he wants to be around you he will find a way to do so. Not that he doesn’t occasionally indulge your tinkering with a little thunk to something with either his strength or Star Platinum’s. He definitely tells you to go to bed when you’re up too late for his liking while on the trip. Don’t ask why or how he got in your room, or even ponder if he was outside of your door guarding you. He can handle himself even if he is a bit hypocritical with some advice. Speaking of he is quick to tell you to lower your use of your stand, keeping it hidden so no potential danger catches everyone off guard. Especially when you’ve helped him out with Wheel of Fortune and Strength. He does let some of his eccentricities out with you and the others when it feels reasonable. But he’s still keeping one eye open at all times when he can.

If anyone’s wondering if there’s any worry about you being the daughter of DIO, I’d like to think Avdol was the one to keep an eye on you for trustworthiness before anything happened. (Even if none of them knew you were his daughter).

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere jjba #yandere jjba imagines #yandere jjba x reader #yandere headcanons #jjba imagines #yandere avdol #yandere Polnareff #yandere jotaro #yandere Kakyoin #Yandere Joseph joestar #platonic yandere #- 🧠 Anon

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courtingchaos · 8 months

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At the End of the World

Kas!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

A/N: Don’t read too much into this. It struck me late and fast and now we’re here.

Warnings: Blood drinking

18+ NSFW No Minors

Another late night closing with just you and two other employees and all of Hawkins at the doorstep to Melvalds. The deeper fissures in the town still sat open but the government had shown up with all sorts of machines and now things could be delivered again and here you were, at work. At the end of the world.

Your keys jingle against the door and you wave off your coworkers who walk down the sidewalk ahead of you. The lock sticks sometimes and you’re left to struggle until you can yank your key ring free. A curse and a kick at the stack of cardboard you need to toss, you shove your hand into your purse to make sure you didn’t forget your wallet again. The main street stays lit by giant floodlights, the distant sound of road work and construction coming in with the late evening breeze. It’s cold now when the sun sets, October turning the weather and the leaves all the same like the earth hadn’t been split open just 5 months ago. You catch a whiff of a bonfire sprinkled on the back of the wind and for a moment you can pretend that everything is okay, that it’s all normal again.

10 pm and it’s later than anything in town stays open, Melvalds and the grocery store being the exception nowadays. Food and pharmacy to keep everyone afloat and stationary, locked in place by faceless government officials who tell you it’s for your own safety. For everyone’s safety.

You shake your head to clear it though, unwilling to linger on your pessimism any longer tonight. A long day full of half smiles and constant running back and forth to pull apart another pallet of Things Everyone Needs. Your room at your parents house, the one you’d moved back into after everything went to shit, calls to you from the cracked sidewalk and you hustle faster to toss your garbage and get to your car. The water mains have finally been repaired so you know you can actually look forward to a consistent hot shower tonight, can practically feel the beating of the water against your back.

You beeline for the alleyway so you can toss the empty cardboard, no thought given to a darkened path. Hawkins had been under curfew since the feds rolled in and with main street lit up you hadn’t worried about taking out the trash on your own in a while. You have to set the box down to to flip open the lid and that’s when you hear it. A muffled breathing from behind dumpster number two, something wet and ragged, something that makes you still completely. It’s human that’s for sure, heavy and big by the sound of it and you start yelling at yourself silently, cursing your placidity.

You take a single step back when you see a head rock into view near the wheels of the other dumpster. Too dark to make out anything yet, just a mass of hair that hasn’t seen a brush in too long. A rasp of a breath in and weakly, “D-do you work here?”

Frozen in place with your body poised to run, but that voice holds no malice. They stutter on their deep breaths, breaths that sound pained. “Y-yeah.” You don’t relax but you aren’t set to sprint anymore. “Are you okay?”

Neither of you move closer but the figure pulls themselves into view more, a frankly too thin hand wraps around the corner of the dumpster to pull themselves forward and you finally can make out a face covered in grime. Eyes shine in the light that bleeds into the alleyway and he, you can finally tell, looks close to tears. Face pulled into a grimace when he scoots out to sit on questionable concrete.

“I just…I need help.” His other arm hugs his middle where his shirt is torn and your mind goes fast, trying to remember the first aid you’d learned in Girl Scouts a thousand years ago.

“Are you hurt? I can go get someone.” You glance over your shoulder knowing there’s at least a cop or an agent doing rounds at this time. “There’s a patrol-“

That’s your mistake, you’ll own it, turning around for too long. For trusting a stuttering mess. You turn back to face him and are stunned at how quickly he’s standing in front of you, those bright wet eyes boring holes into your head. You’d thought it was the shadows maybe but they really are black, from corner to corner, deep abyss that tracks your jump backwards.

You hadn’t heard him stand or shift or breathe and he’s so god damn close.

“I don’t need a patrol.” His voice sounds like white noise. A tuning to your hearing that makes your ears flex backwards at the sudden foreign noise. You swear you can feel it vibrating against your eardrums and coiling deep inside, words made corporeal to slither into your skull. There’s two voices bouncing between you, a double speak that seems to run cold around your neck. “I just need one of you.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. It isn’t fear holding your feet to the stained ground but an invisible grip, ironclad and cold, just like his words. You can move your eyes though and you rake over his appearance and try to keep it in your memory.

Long hair, dark eyes, no shoes, ratty jeans, torn raglan with a devil-

“Eddie?” Barely breathed out, silently uttered. He was dead. Well, at least presumed. You’d seen the flyers his uncle had put up and you’d seen how the town had treated them; crude drawings and torn off of the bulletin boards. “Eddie Munson?” You ask again to the pale face in front of you. Four years of high school seated next to him in drivers ed and home ec and art class. Not friends but acquaintances. You know that face. Even when it splits into a formidable grin you can see the ghost of his warm smile under cracked lips.

“Sort of.” His hands come up slowly to hold your neck, thumbs resting under your chin to tilt your head back. “It’s complicated.”

You expect his hands to tighten around your neck but they remain gentle in their movement, too cold against your skin. Unnaturally cold under your jaw where he starts to turn your head to the side.

“I thought I smelled something familiar around here.” His breath moves over your neck like the cold autumn breeze, carrying the promise of dead things at its end. Your heart beats tirelessly against your ribs and you still can’t move except for when he manipulates you around, his head dipping into the crook of your neck.

Fear should be at the forefront of your mind. You should be screaming and shaking, yelling for the police you know are just outside of the mouth of alley. You should be fighting back at him, fist wailing into his chest to push him back so you can fly out of his grip. However there’s a creeping calm of sorts that weaves through your thoughts. It feels fuzzy almost against your brain and you don’t even flinch when his dry tongue scratches over your skin.

“I do need help.” He keeps a hand pressed to your neck while the other pulls at your work polo, baring your flesh to his mouth. “Thank you.”

You can hear him in that moment, Eddie, not whatever this thing is that’s sinking its teeth into you. It hurts only for a moment, like a prick of a needle, and you can feel your mind going blank. Thoughts slip quick like water over rocks and you catch yourself on his shoulder to stay standing. That invisible force that bound you to the spot has faded as soon he begins to suck and again you should be running but you cling. There’s a peacefulness that comes with absence of thought and worry, enough so that you barely notice him drinking your blood. You barely notice the gore in his hair or the deep scars along his cheek. Your hearing begins to fade to only the single sound of his lips attached to you.

A fade to black for all your senses.

And then you feel it. Black tendrils that sneak into your awareness. They swirl and thrash in their form, long fingers of doom that grow around you. It’s a rushing feeling like a thousand wings brushing by you, pushing air across your face and ruffling your hair.

“Do you hear it?” Eddie whispers against your ear, lips warm and tongue wet where it drags along your lobe. “Monsters in the sky, right under us.” You’ve been lowered at some point, his back resting against the dumpster and you clung to the front of him. “So many they’d blot out the sun.” His hands still hold you but they’re warm now too against your cooling skin. “They’re looking for me.” A drop of something on your nose, something thick that drips onto his filthy shirt. “For us.”

Everything is muffled except for his clear voice. Those black tendrils move steadily along your awareness still, vines creeping in to drag you under into oblivion. Your throat sticks when you swallow and you try to form words before you pass out or die. Eddie’s head tilts in close to your mouth and you can smell the dirt and viscera on him.

“Something’s…around…”

“What is it?” He makes a show of looking around the shadows of the alleyway before letting his eyes drop to your barely open ones. The deep black is gone, replaced again by the familiar brown you know.

“Not here.” You need him to understand. The fingers crawl into your vision now, the few specks of light left that you can see, great red eyes in the middle distance of your mind. “Inside.” A weak motion to your head and you see it dawn on his face.

“You can see him too?” He asks you but doesn’t wait for a response before he digs his teeth into his own wrist. Blood rushes from the corners of his mouth and he shoves the mangled skin at you, your wince doing nothing to get it away from you. He cradles your head now, knees drawn up to help hold you while he feeds you something of himself. The blood pushes past your slack lips, bitter tannin where you expected salt and copper. No fight left in you while the wind rushes in your ears and the dark fist closes over your minds eye.

“I need help.” He intones again when you latch on to his wrist finally. “Will you help me?” No double speak this time, no white noise to warp your thoughts. Eddie asks you for help while you lay in a cold alley on cold concrete and drink from his self inflicted wound. You’ve never been friends, just acquaintances, but the blood is heavy on your tongue. He holds you close and keeps you both hidden in the dark. He sees the same monstrous form you do and there’s fear in those brown eyes, still shining, still wet with tears.

Your senses stop whining like a flicked switch, your hands coming up to grasp more fully at his offered arm. You nod and keep drinking and there’s that smile again, the real one, the warm one. “Thank you.”

It’s silent now except for the sounds of your eating and the rush of leathery wings beating underneath your feet.

#Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Angst #Eddie Munson x Reader #Kas Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson #My Work #My Fic

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multiplicationdivision · 7 months

Text

Abott Inc.

The manufacturing plant was abuzz with Tony Abott

Two of him handled a repair on the bottom floor, replacing a slipped wheel in record time. Another watched, ready to jump into motion at any evidence of a problem. Six others manned the quality checks, spouting off curses and shooting the shit as their muscle memory handled all the heavy lifting of searching for faults. Two were out to get lunch, carrying in tow the same burger order for a factory’s worth of the same exact man.

Only the forewoman was unique, a beautiful buff woman who acted to make sure that their unified state of mind never got them in trouble. She kept them out of trouble just as a single Tony kept the factory full of identical copies of her safe in turn.

It was good being Tony.

Years of education in all manners of factory positions, skill in any task that this facility could need. A physique built by an equal time training practically, nothing gained from the gym. Each muscle was built for practicality and each of him could handle a world of weight just on his own.

This body had once been a man named Braedon. He’d been college educated in computer sciences, a prodigy of his field. He could code anything given a couple hours alone, so long as he had coffee and some good junk food. He was set for a comfy corporate throne after a few years on the bottom, rising high and fast.

It had been boring.

Years of brutal education gave way to months spent in bureaucracy, unable to complete a task that would’ve taken minutes without weeks of back and forth with incompetent bosses. Emails that took longer to write than the quick line of code that would fix the issue.

Braedon loved the feeling of a job well done. Reclining back as the circuits ran perfectly and the tasks played out like a line of dominos falling one after one.

Corporate was like watching every step of his Rube Goldberg machine get interrupted by a whiney man in a suit named Todd or Larry. Made Braedon want to scream and tear down his perfectly built systems just so he could be the one to fuck it up.

The factory had been his life line.

It had been a simple invoice. A practical job that promised everything he could ask for. No boss criticizing his work at every step, chipping away at his confidence. No choking atmosphere to his work, watched by a hundred people in the building that thought their business degrees gave them insight on system design. Way more money than he ever thought possible for a blue-collar job. More than he was making at the moment in his bland yet expensive cubical.

There was a catch.

Braedon had no experience in anything outside of the digital world. He’d traded his body and health in exchange for his degrees. One couldn’t become as specialized as him without sacrificing the self-care that was so important in the labor required of a factory worker.

The factory knew that, but they had an easy fix.

Tony Abott had interviewed him. The singular original Tony Abott.

He was a prodigy in his own right. The industry wet dream. Ruggedly attractive and overly competent. Charismatic and eager to please.

He’d been honest with Braedon from the start. They had their hands in some strange technology and they needed even stranger candidates. Each selected for their unique physiologies and mental states that would make them perfect for their shared role.

Tony said that he’d been selected for his flexible sense of self and pathological loneliness. He’d been like Braedon, giving up his social life so he could be the best of the best. Was left hollow when he reached that height and started depersonalizing without staring himself in a mirror to remember that he existed.

Braedon had been selected after being profiled as similarly lost. Doctor’s notes demanding he eat anything that wasn’t processed. Caffeine and cigarettes letting him keep up with hundreds of email arguments over a simple fucking project. The gut twisting feeling of watching what that abuse did to his body, stealing away whatever youth was left and replacing it with something tired and boney. The hunger to be anything except for Braedon, who never wanted to be understood by another person as the gaping pit of rage and self-disgust that had taken root in his heart.

They were a match for each other and Braedon hadn’t cared for whatever physiological horror a happier person might see in this deal.

He’d quit his shitty corporate hell the next day and made his goodbyes to whatever people passed for tolerable in those minimalist nightmare hallways. Wished them good luck breathing recirculated air-conditioned smog as he got ready to breath real fucking air.

He’d arrived at his second “interview” a week later, having spent the last days wrapping up affairs and communicating with the labor board. The factory wasn’t doing anything shady and the government had needed to setup Braedon’s paperwork for his new life. Little benefits and tax write off as reward for joining the latest and greatest of industrial innovation. That alongside the mountain of appointments they’d needed to make for new identification as his old ID photos wouldn’t identify him for shit in the following day.

Tony had joined him for this “interview”. Dressed to his best in a soft dress shirt and new jeans. Boots barely broken into and a new watch. A professional shave and tussled hair atop a cap, branded with the company logo. A shining example compared to the loose clothes Braedon had been told to wear, making him look anything but a put together future coworker.

A second set of Tony’s exact outfit lay next to the door, atop a shoebox and a fancy new duplicate watch.

They’d made a toast to brotherhood, those two lonely men. Tony had supplied his favorite beer, cheap piss Budweiser. It went down watery and flat, nothing like the vodka tonics Braedon felt most suited to when he was in an alcoholic mood. The slight burn of it travelled down his throat, soothing yet peppery. It brought a head high like nothing else, feeling as if the golden liquid had flowed into his brain and body before it could even reach his stomach.

Alcohol didn’t feel like this, but this wasn’t exactly Alcohol.

Tony had tried to explain whatever biochemical cocktail was laced into the drink. It was all for the sake of complete transparency, they weren’t in the business of trickery. Something to do with forced recombination and stem cells. Braedon was a highly intelligent man, but there was a reason he’d never dipped into biology. Tony seemed the same, rattling off a scripted explanation that he had probably practiced time and time again to look like he understood what he was saying.

Braedon sipped his beer as Tony attempted small talk. They were very different people. Tony seemed awkward as if he felt judged by every little glance that Braedon gave him. Braedon was used to analyzing a person by now, searching for faults that he could use to his advantage. Braedon had been the kindest person at his old workplace but that had been a low bar and he had still become cruel. Braedon could see every way that Tony felt insecure around anyone but himself, as if he didn’t have every tool at his command to be a juggernaut.

The ichor in the drink flowed through Braedon’s neurons and there was a memory. A kid who wasn’t him being criticized at every turn for jobs he’d sworn he’d done correctly. Credit taken from a pre-teen for perfect machines that could cut production times by half. The same instances over and over, leaving a man desperately trying to prove himself to a system that would use him and give the patent to his boss. That despair and betrayal settled comfortably in the spaces of Braedon’s own memories.

Braedon grit his teeth in subtle rage. His jawline had broadened and his face itched and it felt good in some odd way. Matched that swelling feeling of righteous anger.

The ichor altered how Tony fit in his brain. The insecurity became more and more relatable with every swallow. A memory of the guy’s only partner calling him pathetic, using every shitty doubt Tony had confided to wicked abandon. The breakup replayed in the man’s mind like nothing else, a cacophony of how he was weak and annoying and awful in every way.

Braedon wanted to punch that piece of shit and laugh in their face. Braedon knew to heart what human garbage was and Tony was anything but. Braedon could feel the waves of Tony’s insecurity reach through his mind and falter in the wake of Braedon’s own memories. Braedon wished he could have someone like Tony, over eager to be romantic and prepare for anniversaries. Wished he could inject his own point of view on the guy’s memory of his part love and how jealous and narcissistic they actually were.

The Budweiser began to taste good. Braedon could remember the first time they’d drunk it. A trade school kid picking up the cheapest shit at the gas station on their twenty first, drinking as he carved away at a block of wood deep into the night. The carbonation had made the swill all the more comforting, a bitter spot against the peace of his work station. It tasted like shit, but the good type of shit. Fit him and his sweaty downtime, relaxing as he sculpted pine and oak into art.

At some point their conversation stopped being awkward. The words flowed better and better as Braedon felt understanding coating his mind. Nervous jokes became relatable and the nasty feeling that had sat at home in Braedon’s chest for so long felt like it was shrinking. He found himself chuckling at the stories Tony explained, remembering them in tandem with fresh eyes.

The times Tony had nearly burned down any number of mills and processing facilities. The rampant animals that added chaos to his life, including amongst their diversity a very confused bear and a unfortunately horny moose.

Braedon was crying with laughter as he and Tony pieced together how he’d pranked an old shitty supervisor. Braedon could practically hear that supervisor’s rage as his computer downloaded virus after virus, prompted by a helpful little auto-clicker that Tony had installed one late night after another unpaid bout of overtime.

Tony physically unwound as their conversation went on and the number of empty beer bottles increased. He no longer looked stiff in his new clothes, rather his relaxed muscles filled them out comfortably. His confidence changed him, his smile lighting up the room and his mood infectious.

Braedon hadn’t been gay before this, but a shift in his sexuality had been a part of the deal. Tony’s basic information had been open to him and a little pansexuality felt like a pretty good upgrade to Tony’s own deal.

Braedon could remember all the times Tony had felt wrong in the mirror melding into one. Picking apart himself for looking too old, too awkward and too fake. It was all insane of course, as Braedon could easily dissect. Braedon felt his own mind guide that fragment of Tony in his mind to see what he saw, forcing it to witness Braedon’s own perspective instead of that toxic mindset downloaded into the guy since his father had disowned him.

Braedon could feel all his own shit get digested into the well of personality inside his head. Not destroyed exactly, but reorganized. His own insecurities broken down by the logic of Tony Abott as the logic of Braedon Santoro did the same in turn. Fast tracking therapy with only a couple bottles of booze.

He could feel his own memories of coding alone slot next to Tony’s life of construction. The things that made Tony burned brighter in his mind compared to his own pieces, but they were never devoured. Braedon felt himself begin to lurk behind the soul of the man in front of him, but it wasn’t anything like a mask.

The deal hadn’t been to bury Braedon beneath Tony. Braeden would still be there but the man that Tony was would predominate. Tony would trade him his individuality in exchange for this new self. Braeden would give up his old life in exchange for an equal claim to this new identity.

Braeden became Tony, from inside out as the beer coated his tongue like cold nectar. Felt himself become saturated with the man, siphoning every bit of his personality into his soul, feeling the ichor in his blood tremble as it changed the body to fit the mind.

His scrawny body filled with density, calories from the beer being more than efficiently transformed into muscle fibers and sturdy bones. The tar in his lungs dwindled and he breathed clearly. Tony had never smoked a single day in his life and the man that was once Braeden savored the feeling. Savored the experience of having lived a life with more than microwaved meals, even if that life had its own many faults.

The loose clothing filled, his sweatshirt and sweatpants becoming oversized. He’d taken his shoes off prior to his first drink to Tony’s recommendation. Tony had larger feet than him as well as larger everything. Even his pants fit differently, filled much differently than they were before.

It was strange to no longer identify with a name, but he couldn’t think of himself anymore as Braeden. It didn’t fit anymore, supplanted by the name of the man in front of him. It wasn’t just that man’s name anymore, they shared it now.

They needed to share more than that.

Interviews should never go where they took it, but interviews rarely meddled with identity on such a scale. Tony had more understanding for the man in front of him than anyone else and the call to act on it was irresistible.

It happened when the man that was once Braeden began to strip his clothes off, forgoing the last thing that differentiated him from the other. They’d planned to don him in matching clothes and continue their conversation with the last of the prescripted beers. Head to the facility’s temporary doctor to confirm a success.

Tony had joked that he’d only felt this comfortable with another man once. The new Tony had replied that he knew and the part of Braeden permanently at his core flirted. Some charged comment that made them both blush, something about how it would be easier for them to match if Tony just took off his clothes.

They’d been awkward in it, because how couldn’t someone be awkward masturbating like that. A whole other body added to the scheme, even if that body was one you’d always known. They’d forgotten to remove the clothes of the first Tony entirely, so caught up in the feeling of that lockstep of their shared bodies working as one. Whatever was done would be mimicked in turn, a duet in symmetrical motion.

They’d finished together and the awkwardness dissolved. Both no longer held back by the fear of judgment from the other, when they functioned like two parts of the same being.

They’d gotten dressed together, tying their boots up and pulling their shirts on. An entirely new outfit that both Tonys reveled in without the presence of strangers making them second guess it. The one that was still Braeden in memory could feel the twist of amusement at their preening, his heart racing as he looked at his new twin. Braeden had never strongly cared for his appearance, but the sensation of feeling good in his new boots and new jeans was exhilarating compared to the apathy of before.

They’d headed to the doctor together, excitement in every step. With a clean bill of health and permission to continue on with the next man the following day, they were a force of nature.

One became two. Two prepared for three to become one. Three identical men lining up identification and licenses for a factory’s worth of them. Buying clothes in mass to handle a platoon of them.

The first Tony became lost in the crowd and it felt good. Most people weren’t cut out to spread their sense of self across so many. Tony seemed built for it, the pressure of being the best dulled to nothing as he became part of the best. Seeing numerous of himselves discover their identity as a group in their work and downtime. Using the memories of the men they once were to build upon what it meant to be Tony Abott.

They’d bring all kinds of folks home and show them what it was like to be with them. Give the few a taste of a whole world of confidence built through reinforcement. Strings became strong when wrapped into a rope and they were a realized person together.

Tony Abott, operating Abott Inc. Alone yet definitely not.

Pictures taken from Construction Bros series by GymDreams on Deviantart.

#identical #copy #clones #male shapeshift #shapeshift #male tf #male transformation #personality change #my writing #selfcest #muscle tf #muscle transformation #mental change

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empirearchives · 5 months

Text

Napoleon and Water

Excerpt from the book Aaron Burr in Exile: A Pariah in Paris, 1810-1811, by Jane Merrill and John Endicott

Aaron Burr lived in Paris for 15 months, and this book goes into detail about those years living under Napoleon’s rule. This part focuses on Napoleon’s water related reforms.

———

Napoleon’s fountains gave drinking water to the population, that is, children drank water, not beer. The water was free, not purchased. And the apartment would have had a separate water closet equipped with squat toilets (adopted from the Turks) and a bucket to wash it after use. Some restaurants and cafes had W.C.s, even one for ladies and one for gents. These were hooked into the sewer system that branched under each important street.

Napoleon merits points for delivering fresh water to Paris. If serving Paris with water from the d'Ourcq River by canals was not be a consummate success, Paris gained 40 new fountains, and the emperor commanded that fountains run all day (instead of a few limited hours) and that the water be free of charge.

Perhaps the most laudable of Napoleon’s policies were utilitarian city works, especially bringing clean water and sanitation to Paris. The improvements to infrastructure included new quays to prevent floods, new gutters and pavement, new aqueducts and fountains, and relocating cemeteries and slaughterhouses to the outskirts of the city. This was also a way of keeping up employment. An Austrian aristocrat in town during Napoleon’s wedding to Marie-Louise wrote his mother, in Vienna: “Nothing can give an idea of the immense projects undertaken simultaneously in Paris. The incoherence of it is incredible; one cannot imagine that the life of a single man would be enough to finish them.”

It was a tall order. Previous rulers had been aware of the problems and one big engineering initiative, a failed marvel, had been the waterworks at Marly, located on the banks of the Seine about seven miles from Paris. Louis XIV had it constructed to pump water from the river to his chateaux of Versailles and Marly. This was the machine marvel of its age, with 250 pumps that forced river water up a 500-foot rise to an aqueduct, and it was a sight Burr mentions going to see. By 1817 the “Marly machine” had deteriorated because it was made of wood, and the waterworks were abandoned.

Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, the prominent 19th century literary critic, wrote that there had been “ten years of anarchy, sedition and laxity, during which no useful work had been undertaken, not a street had been cleaned, not a residence repaired nothing improved or cleansed.” Postrevolutionary Paris was at a nadir in terms of both the inadequate, disease-ridden water supply and the filthy streets, which were basically open sewers, deep with black mud and refuse.

“Napoleon,” writes Alistair Horne, “was obsessed by the water of Paris, and everything to do with it.”

Parisians had mostly been getting their water directly from the Seine or lining up at the scant pay fountains. In 1806, nineteen new wells for fountains were dug that flowed day and night and were free. Napoleon had a canal built 60 miles from the River Ourcq, ordering 500 men to dig it, while still a consul in 1801. It brought water to the Bassin de la Villette, opening in 1808. Some doubted the wisdom of having such an abundance of water—an oriental luxury that might incur moral decay. Now the supply of water for firefighting was also much improved. The canal had light boats, as Napoleon tried to make back some of the huge expenditure by licensing navigation, and a circular aqueduct from which underground conduits went to the central city. In 1810, there were still many water porters wheeling barrels through the city.

Now Napoleon attacked the problem of the Seine as a catchall for pollution. Parisians were so used to it that men swam naked in the river and a contemporary guidebook advised merely that the water of the Seine had no ill effects on foreigners so long as they drank it mixed with wine or a drop of vinegar. Thus houses on bridges were demolished and an immense push began to clean and modernize the city sewers.

As this book is about Aaron Burr, here is section about Burr taking inspiration by a new water related invention during his time in Paris:

Remarkably for someone who was very aware of his health, he never complained of the water. He did, however, take an interest in an invention to make it easier to dig a well. When the inventor of a process to make vinegar from the sap of any tree was not in his shop, Burr and a friend, “Crede”, went to see another invention: “We went then to see Mons. Cagniard, and his new invention of raising water and performing any mechanical operation. His apparatus is a screw of Archimedes turned the reverse, air, water, and quick silver. Cagniard was abroad; but we saw a model, and worked it, and got the report of a committee of the Institute on the subject. If the thing performs what is said I will apply it to give water to Charleston.”

[Bold italics for quotations by me]

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drdemonprince · 4 months

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the housing crisis in the small city i live in is getting worse. my friends are moving but i need to be here a bit longer still. so i’m looking for a new apartment for me and my cat and i’m frustrated on top of being frustrated bc my brain wont let me lie to landlords and property managers.

nowhere i can afford allows pets. they want SO much fcking money, plus all utilities, plus deposits higher than the rent—and i still can’t have a small animal. i do not respect the concept or practice of landlord-ing but i keep getting this block around lying and terror about being caught. (also, my cat is not a chill silent baby all the time- he’s a big talkative fellow with shit to say sometimes, so being like *blink blink* “umm no cat here” while he breeoowwws in the background sounds really brazen to me).

i think this could be a very small gesture towards being ungovernable but it feels really big and somewhat impossible at the moment. any words of advice for moments like these?

Dog you can totally lie about not having pets and get away with it. If your landlord doesn't live in your building/if it's a big management company you are ESPECIALLY likely to be able to get away with it, because any maintenance person that gets sent to your unit to perform repairs won't have any access to the office files that list whether you are paying pet rent, and the person who processes new leases isn't the same person who processes rent checks ANYWAY, so there's like three layers of people not giving a shit and not looking into records they don't even have access to in the first place to protect you.

When I got my chinchilla, I carried him and his giant cage, food, and a huge pillow case sized bag of hay into the lobby of my building and walked it all right past the manager's office in broad daylight and nobody said a thing. At my next apartment, i also lied. At my third apartment after that, I also lied. At my current apartment I just didn't volunteer the information and they never asked. My chinchila litterally tears up the WALLS with his teeth and runs on a giant wheel made out of an industrial-sized cake pan that is advertised as "just as quiet as a small washing machine." He bangs around in that thang every NIGHT for hours and no neighbor has ever even complained about it. if it were a big dog barking all the time and being badly behaved, that would be one thing. but a cat meowing is like. nothing.

You can do this homie. For your sake in housing, in employment, and in interactions with our evil government you gotta work on your ability to lie. and this is a fabulous place to start. bost building managers that are showing apartments don't give a shit about you and are exhausted and annoyed all the time -- asking if you have pets is a quite throwaway question, not some CIA grilling where they're putting their high empathy lie detector skills on you.

they ask you if you have a pet, imagine that they are asking you whether your pet is going to be a problem. say no. collect the keys on moving day and bring the cat in, in a carrier, with all the other junk you're hauling and act completely bored and tired. you can get away with a LOT acting bored and blase and tired. unless your landlord lives with you, it won't even be an issue.

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worldwheelrepair · 2 months

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#Diamond Cut CNC Lathe Machine #Cheap Garage Equipment USA #wheel repair machines #CNC Diamond Lathe Cut Systems

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yukibluebunny · 4 months

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𝕄𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕕𝕪 ~ - Ithaqua x Reader

This is my first written request! I apologize in advance for all grammatical and other errors. English is not my national language.

Ship: Ithaqua x Reader

Request from: zuruthekitsune

Notice -> Anxiety/fluff

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Lakeside village.

One of a number of fairly large maps used to play in duo mode. The map ranked first in terms of its size, followed closely by the smaller Moon River Park, the second largest map among the three. Just behind it is the smallest Eversleeping Town, perhaps the most mysterious and shrouded in a fog of uncertainty, with its once-accessible school and corridors of unkempt streets. What happened there that the Baron has blocked off those places? No one knows yet, and is unlikely to find out anytime soon.

Today's match, the biggest stress and fear among all the other new survivors just took place on one of these three maps. The village by the lake, it was today's map drawn as if on a wheel of fortune by the drawing system, including the survivors. And also the hunter.

Emily, the only doctor in residence.

Helen, a seemingly blind maiden with a stick for assurance, yet smart enough that even despite her blindness, repairing the cipher machine was no problem for her.

Norton, on the surface a rather quiet guy seeming to be an observer, yet coming from the veteran class in residence. One of a few of the best chairmen of the hunter, as well as rescuers of his friends from the chairs.

Well, and last what a new acquisition of the residence. (Y.N). A freshman whose life in of the hunter can only be saved by a plea to god not to become the first of the hunter target. A young girl, equipped only with her not too large but old bass flute, which itself, despite its age and her father's former use of it, continued to sound as beautiful as before. However, what's the use to her of a flute if she wouldn't be able to play it while running?

Melody would only lose her charm and enchantment more with each step through breathlessness. After all, the girl was of frail stature, she wouldn't have a chance to last too long with constant running.

Even more so under stress and anxiety, let alone the pain inflicted on her by an unmerciful hunter.

The girl's luck, however, was to wake up by the shed, which she even ran into immediately. Just to hope that the hunter wouldn't think someone might be in the shed right now, much less notice her. The flute player's skills, were not at all easy. By playing her flute, she was able to accelerate her process of deciphering the machine, including giving that acceleration to other members of her team through the sound of the melody coming out of the instrument. With the only risk, of being detected by a hunter.

(Pov: (Y.N) )

My fingers moved across the keys of the old typewriter in a calm but focused manner. Who would have thought that cipher machines, would be so much like those old typewriters used by journalists, newspapers and also banks and writers. However, the difference was that this typewriter was attached to a strange box as well as an offshoot metal pole with a light bulb at the top, the light of which became brighter and brighter the closer you got to finishing deciphering it.

However, my attention, directed at the machine, did not last too long, as soon as a bell sounded across the map, suggesting that the hunter had caught the first person. Only after a brief shock from the rapidly spreading sound did I manage to look at the watch on my wrist. On it were four gray dots, but however, this time one from the prospector was a slowly charging red dot. In one small moment, I felt quite a shock and fear pass through my whole body. Norton was hard to catch. The man was quite canny and clever, his run in with the hunter always lasting until the very end of the match, or at least until the last two machines were left, but not just four of five. His fall came as a shock to me and the lack of knowledge regarding who the hunter was made the adrenaline in my veins began to flow twice as fast as before. Don't get me wrong in spite of everything I was feeling considerable stress. However, the knowledge that we had Norton on the team only calmed me down slightly. After all, I was still only a freshman in the middle, the whole brutal game.

After only less than a moment, the watch on my wrist, gave off another quiet vibration. In doing so, it showed my location along with that of the Prospector, who was now sitting in the chair. I was the closest… and that made really scared at the moment. However, leaving Norton could only have a bad effect on the outcome of the match. So, after not a long moment, I left the machine just after giving her the percentage of finish on the watch.

Norton was sitting in a chair just near the gate by the shed, but what really bothered me was the lack of a hunter beside him. No beating heart. Nothing. Silence, in the midst of the Prospector shallow breaths.

-Norton! - I called out to him quietly, approaching him quickly, but nevertheless remaining vigilant. After all, a hunter could always come back if he wanted to.

-(Y.N)…? No. (Y.N), leave me. Get away from here - Whispered Norton. This time no longer looking at one blind spot. And at me. However, despite his objections, I released him from the chair anyway. Only to catch the poor Prospector, who was not quite limping. He was out of breath again because of his asthma.

-(Y.N)..ugh. It doesn't make sense, leave me…. run away from here, he will only come here -

-Norton I will not leave you. We can't give up - I didn't listen to him, not even knowing why Norton so suddenly went from being a confident man to completely giving up.

-Freshman, we're playing against the Night's Watch… - As soon as those last two words came out of his mouth, I froze in place as my heart, instead, by itself and not by the presence of the hunter, beat harder.

Night Watch. He was as much a new hunter as I was a survivor, but he managed to build his reputation really fast. A merciless, wily fox. Quick and brutal in his attacks. While at the same time evoking no small amount of goosebumps whenever he used his skills. Norton's words only just awakened my awareness that, after all, no one had yet managed to escape from the Night's Watch. He was like a hunting predator, he will not let his prey escape from him like that without any reason.

I wanted to turn to Norton again, to take him to a safer place anyway, as well as to treat him from the wounds inflicted on him by the Night Watch. Only to be pushed away quite suddenly by him.

-Run! - Norton called out to me. Trying to still get away from me so as not to expose me, as I didn't even realize that our hearts, quite rapidly began to beat.

In an instant, I saw what I really never wanted to see. I never wanted to see one of my team members fall to the ground, stunned by the hunter right above him. Oh it was him, in the flesh. The Night Watch. Hiding behind his devilish mask. Effortlessly wielding a check as well as walking in a slightly slanted position on stilts, oh no one would likely want to accidentally or purposely get stepped on by this hunter.

I don't even know why, but even Norton's shouts directed at me did not reach my head. Just witnessing how the hunter, annoyed by the loud shouts, without mercy pierces the man's leg with his stilts, to then finally look in my direction after silencing him.

A cold sweat doused me from head to toe as soon as those neon glowing blue eyes of his at the mask, bore into my figure as if I were his next victim, which I nevertheless was. However, to my surprise, he did not move towards me.

And only watched me. And Norton just below him bled more and more. Merciless.

Awareness came to me more and more. The knowledge that I was playing against one of the most brutal hunters infused my head with poison, a toxin of fear mixed fear and anxiety. With each successive sending off by the hunter, another member of my team.

The last one was Helen, who clearly through her watch told me not to go near her. So my only salvation was to find a trapdoor, somewhere located right on the map in the field. An underground passage that would keep me safe and my head cool, amidst my increasingly aching lungs. He was chasing me. I knew it. Even though I couldn't see him anywhere near me.

My hope was dying more and more, only to be suddenly hit on the head by the sight of the open flap of the underground passage.

Looking around once more, I finally ran out, with little hope that I could jump into the finally coveted quiet place without the thought that I might be caught right away. Oh, how foolish I was.

-Little lamb I don't want to play anymore?~ - This sudden voice made my head spin. And my heart pounded as a frosty breeze enveloped my frail figure in an embrace. Only for me to be violently pulled away from the only way of escape at the moment.

To just after that I felt male arms catch me from behind, without the slightest problem embracing me and holding me in an iron grip.

-No one has run away from me yet. And you won't be the first, little lamb. - His voice leaked through me like venom, but it did not cause pain, only a shudder.

But this voice was different, completely different from the way he laughed out loud or giggled meanly.

-Let me go! Let me go! - I jerked in his grasp, as if my life depended on it.

Since it depends on this right now, end he may not have knocked me down or hit me, only caught and held me. Just after a while too, easily catching and holding my hands at the wrists. Thanks to which he now gave me a better view as well as a reason not to struggle better in his grasp. The sight of his gloved hands and also the attached iron shiny slightly claws. It made it clear that if I really didn't want to accidentally cut the veins on my wrists, I'd better not jerk.

Even more so the moment one of his hands embraced my waist. Lifting me up easily. In such a way that I wouldn't touch the ground with my feet. And all she saw were his stilts, which themselves were now covered in blood and mud by the conditions that prevailed on this map.

However, now, the position I was in was of little concern to me now. After what words of the hunter spoken directly into my ear.

-Good, clever girl ~ Maybe this time it will be for me that you will play your lovely melody? Hm? - I didn't even realize when the Night Watch pulled off her mask, or just picked it up for herself, when a quiet and low murmur was directed directly to my ear.

And I could have really saved myself from sending to Helena a percentage of faster decoding.

-Did you lose your tongue sheepishly? ~ - He asked again, come this time his voice caused a shudder in my body, completely different and on top of that strange for me.

-Lovely frightened sheep ~ - In an instant he tightened his grip on me.

Only to then turn towards the shed. Pulling away, and me, away from the only way of my escape.

-I want to hear your melody, little one. And no matter how many times you beg me, I will listen to it ~ - And I could have given today's match to someone else after all.

My god...

#identity v #idv #idv night watch #idv ithaqua #ithaqua #ithaqua x reader #identity v x reader #night watch #x reader

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raccoonfallsharder · 28 days

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First of all, i love your art. Your style is amazing.

We all know Rocket is amazing in repairing space ships (and even building them) but what about a normal Earth car?

i am BLUSHING. i feel like i don't really have a set style (at least when it comes to drawing rocket - i am still figuring it out) so this really means a LOT. you’re so sweet i could actually die, little fox. just a coin-sized blueberry pancake with whipped cream. thank you for the kind words ♡ truly ♡♡~

secondly, what about normal earth cars? ur boy rocket looks at any given machine and understands it almost instantaneously. the kree charted him within .024 points of optimum intuitive grasp. a puny little earth-car is gonna be child's play for him.

not that i would ever suggest letting him work on yours.

it'll be more or less safe (for you) because rocket does care about you and isn't trying to get you killed. and sure, if you let him do that oil change you've been needing, he'll probably make some sneaky upgrades that allow for a smoother ride and better mileage. but the next time you find yourself with a lead foot, you'll realize you can also go way faster than anything on terra should be able to go. and the next time you accidentally bump one of those buttons on the console you rarely use, you'll probably end up with laser rifles unfolding from your wheel-wells, or your taillights flipping down to ready your "brand new" plasma cannons. (brand new in the sense that rocket will probably patch them together out of some old tech he has lying around his own ship, combined with whatever he can steal out of your kitchen cabinets. don't be too surprised if that mixer you bought from the thrift store no longer works because he's jacked all the internal wiring). lucky you - he'll probably figure out a way to make your powertrain UNTN-compatible and from there, he'll figure he's only gotta get you to let him do one more tire rotation, and when he's "working" on that, he can probably figure out a way to get your car capable of actual flight. it might take a bit longer to make sure it has adequate life-support systems and an airtight seal for short-term space travel but hey, he'll figure he's doing you both a favor, piece by piece.

it'll take you a while to figure out where he's hidden all the artillery in your car - and the thrusters, and the additional fuel tanks - and how to keep yourself from accidentally opening up the wings he's installed when you're in the middle of rush-hour traffic or construction. more than once you'll scrape the bottom of your car before you realize that the clearance has changed because he'll have added some re-entry grade ceramic plating to the bottom of it.

"you got any repairs you need done?" he'll probably ask casually, the next time he's planetside. "thought you mentioned your climate control being out."

"air conditioner," you'll say dryly. "and no thanks."

his jaw will probably drop. he'll look wounded. "why not? i did a fine job on the brakes last time."

your eyes will narrow. "i keep getting pulled over by the fucken cops."

his nose will wrinkle. "ew. why?"

your glare will turn withering. "because they don't believe the thing i'm driving is roadworthy anymore," you'll have to tell him. he'll sputter, probably - outraged and insulted - but you won't really be too mad. you know he's just trying to maximize the amount of time the two of you can hang out.

besides, the upgrades he'll make to your sound system will be worth it. your music will never have sounded better.

headcanons & imagines masterlist

#rfh asks #urbanfox197 #rfh headcanons #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon headcanons #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon fanfiction

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amyroseblog · 4 months

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Day 5 (Valentines day!! >_<)

Today was VALENTINES DAYT!!! >>_<< Sonic accepted the letter because Knuckles dared him to. He always does this, it’s kinda funny tho XD

I NEED TO TELL YOU ALL WHAT HAPPENED!!

First, we went on this suspiciously marketable rollercoaster. (🤨) Then, we went to a haunted house, where Sonic HAD TO punch a poor guy in a costume because he thought “Eggman was attacking!!”. And he says that IM the embarrassing one.(ꐦ¬_¬)

After that, Sonic got hungry so we got a chilli dog and I just talked about my pretty dress. I think he likes it. Maybe because it’s blue though. ( lol )

On the way to our next ride, I tried the amusement hammer and broke the machine trying. How are you going to sue me for hitting it with a hammer THATS LITERALLY ITS WHOLE FUNCTION YOU GREEDY PIGS WORKING AT TWINKLE PARK. Then we went on the ferris wheel, the best thing is it got cold so I sit closer to Sonic!! (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ) Fortunately, it was a crescent moon, so we didn’t have to see the mechanical side of the moon Eggface so GRACIOUSLY repaired it with. (¬､¬)

Then we went to see the fireworks, and they looked so beautiful!!! They were all beautiful and pink and blue!! Words cannot describe the lengths I will go to keep that moment in my memory.

Thank you for following my dumb little posts about my silly adventures and stuff. I’m grateful for all of it. Every time I see that blue little circle in my notifications I feel so happy and blessed, so i would like to say thanks for the constant and continuous support. ^_^

Oh Yh, the new present I got him was a new pair of gloves as his old ones got easily stained by chilli dogs. I can’t have a dirty filthy boyfriend. What kind of girl would want that!! 0_o

Amy Rose signing out!! ^_^

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gingergofastboatsmojito · 5 months

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THE BEAR S3 Predictions

Just a mental note I'm putting out here to be able to revisit it when the time comes to check its level of accuracy. I have the feeling that S3 is going to be the season of the reconciliations.

The relationship between Richie and Carmy is completely broken after the walk-in incident and Richie walks from The Bear. He happens to get some kinda job offer and accepts it just to prove Carmy wrong. They will later spend a good portion of S3 trying to repair their bond. By the end of S3 (hopefully sooner) there should be a reconciliation of some sort between them and Richie should go back to The Bear.

Nat gives birth to her new "cub" and this brings the family together. There is a reconciliation with Donna, which in some capacity benefits not only the siblings but the entire team, the restaurant as a whole. Not exactly sure how this will play out, but Donna will quit being this negative and toxic influence on everyone. Maybe she gets clean because she takes this baby as a new chance to start over and be a better grandmother than the mother she was. IDK...

Marcus' mother dies and this juxtaposition of new beginnings, births, endings, death, etc is going to be a theme throughout the whole season, that is why I actually think this funeral will be the opener.

There will be some kinda flashback episode, like 7 Fishes or a montage of some memory that has a huge impact on one or more characters. I have my $ put on the Sundays, Mr. Adamu and lil Syd would spend at Mr. Beef's. I strongly disagree with the weak argument that just because the Berzattos are catholic, their restaurant didn't open on Sundays. The gastronomic industry cares very little about those traditions especially if the place is struggling. I bet they were open every Sunday part-time, just for lunch, to get all the demand of those who went to church just because business-wise it makes total sense.

Carmen will apologize to Claire. Not sure what she's gonna make of that apology, whether she's gonna accept it or not, I hope she doesn't. I'm pretty sure there will be no reconciliation here. I don't necessarily oppose Carmy having a romantic partner and as much as I ship SydCarmy like nobody's business, I'm 100% sure they are not gonna happen any time soon. Maybe and this is a HUGE maybe, they could be the perfect cliffhanger for S4. But that would be a stretch. Not that Store & Calo couldn't pull it off, but still. So, basically, I am all for a new love interest being presented to Carmen just to see how he responds to it. After Claire he should go back to his old lone-wolf ways, I need to test that behavioral theory though, so I need a new female character to do it.

Last, but certainly not least, Miss Adamu needs her man and I'm not talking about Bear. I want to know more about Sydney's past and see her letting her hair down, putting her records on, and all that jazz. So, maybe an old flame can re-appear in her life and they can try to "reconcile". This reconciliation shouldn't work either because she's now devoted to making The Bear work and is basically a workaholic and both, Carmy & her get into this synch of type As on Speed and Red Bull, non-stop working machines, well-oiled now that they had already learned from their mistakes and The Bear succeeds but Sydney's relationship with her guy from the past fails, again. The guy feels like a 3rd wheel and lets her know that she's not in a relationship with him but with her job. Sydney understands the subtext, and this break-up is actually a wake-up call for her. She starts seeing what we all shippers are already seeing. It's not just about work for her. Yes, The Bears are too absorbing and demanding, both, the restaurant and the chef, but she doesn't mind. She loves it. Love is the operative word here. This realization should hit her hard by the end of the season.

The background of all the things I just mentioned above will be the BOH, fast-paced, chaotic, and working like a Swiss clock, just like Carmy likes it.

Am I missing something? Probably. Can't wait to find out.

Bonus tracks: I am pretty sure the wedding will either be Teff's or Fak's.

And lastly: When Sydcarmy happens, it will "officially" start with something small and inane like Syd accidentally finding out Carm has been drawing portraits of her all along... CHECK THIS OUT, I think Storer & Calo have something like this in mind or along these lines, and it should come along in S3, minus the sex part.

#the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x sydney #syd x carmen #carmen berzatto #syd adamu #sydney adamu #GINGERPOVS

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heyidkyay · 1 year

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I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Fourteen

A/n: Hello! This part honestly took me a while to work out so here's me hoping it came out alright:) Big thank you to @Youlookjustfinetome btw for finding me some more G pics, honestly lots of love to you, practically saved my life🥲 And I hope you all enjoy part fourteen!!

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: There's some medical stuff here, lot of mixed feelings, bit of an angry rant but not much to warn you about tbh

Masterlist

—

I'd found myself nodding away, head in another place when the doctor had come in to speak to me.

Wishing I’d been on another plane.

Or in a different fucking reality altogether, I really didn’t know.

But I’d hardly paid her any attention, even when she’d rattled off the extensive list of the injuries they’d discovered since the paramedics had wheeled me in.

Severe blunt force trauma to the head. “There’s no need to fret, I know it can sound daunting but the induced coma you were put into on arrival was used to protect your brain from any further swelling after the initial hit. We’ve also done multiple scans since so we’re almost certain that there will be no longterm damage.”

“Hang on- almost? What’s that meant to mean?” Matty had piped up in retort, having held my hand through it the entire time. He hadn’t let go, not even for a second, once the shorthaired woman had arrived not long after Lee, my nurse, had slipped out.

“Only time will tell with these sorts of injuries.” She’d tried to appease us with a clinical sort of smile, but then had gone on to describe the hit to me…

I had to shake away the thoughts of it even now, long after she’d left.

It sounded so violent. So harsh to what I could barely even recall.

“You were hit head-on. Meaning that your torso took the brunt force of the collision, which also resulted in you being thrown backwards nearly three feet. That in itself left a lot of room for damage when your body collided with the ground. The back of your head will have a rather large scar but we did our best to minimise it, and the hair should fall nicely over the top without any notice.”

I’d nodded at her once and had fought the urge to reach up and touch beneath the thick gauze they’d padded there.

Another scar.

I’d had to look away when Matty had tried to catch my eye.

One perforated eardrum, left-side. “There was a severe rupture in one of your inner ear canals which was a cause for concern too. At this moment, we’re still left unsure on how long it could take for the damage to repair itself, or if it ever will as a result of the injury to your head. Currently, we’ve got you taking a high dosage of-”

She’d prattled on after that. Talks of antibiotics and surgery (if things really came down to it), and then the warning of me maybe having to deal a with a total loss of hearing incase of any infection in the future.

I’d checked out rather quickly at that. But in truth, it had explained a lot. The ringing that wouldn’t stop. The earaches and the itching. As well as the feeling like I’m underwater, hearing everything through a tinny in-ear piece, or trying to talk over the sound of a very rowdy washing machine.

Matty had asked the doctor a plethora of questions on my behalf at that. Or I only assumed, because the woman had replied telling him that she would be happy to pass on a couple of pamphlets for him to look over. I remembered that he’d been anxious in his agreeable nod, thanking her a few times under his breath. And that had been the last of it before she’d moved on again.

A distal radius fracture. Multiple breaks in the ribcage. “The distal radius is the larger one of the two bones in the forearm. You suffered two fractures there, one on the distal end and another a little further up. It’s a very common break though and you were able to avoid any surgery on the arm. Though, it will take between six to twelve weeks to heal. And after that, some patients still find that they need physiotherapy to get back full usage of the wrist.”

I’d looked down at my hand in that moment. Stared at the cast which started at the centre of my palm and worked its way up to the crook of my elbow. The small cut I'd received in the shop earlier that same week had nothing on this.

It was my right arm too. Which only fucked me further, and I’d had to laugh at that. As though I hadn’t suffered enough. Now I had to forgo the next few months trying to manoeuvre through life and work with my left. fucking. hand.

I’d tried not to let that thought get to me in the moment. Focused on the fact that I could still move my fingers somewhat, even if they were swollen and a tad bit numb. It hadn’t helped then though and hardly reassured me now.

The detailed description of my ribs current state had followed swiftly after. Which explained the trouble I had breathing, as well as the severe burning pain I felt whenever I even thought about moving.

“It was just the three fractures.” Just, I’d wanted to scoff at her. “All on one side, most likely due to the first impact made by the car. Most cases of broken ribs can be treated with rest, icing a couple times a day and pain relief.”

The doctor had then gone on to explain about the breathing and coughing exercises she was going to have me do whilst I was under-observation. Something about preventing pneumonia or the sorts. Which had just been another thing I had ended up not having the heart to hear.

Although the fracture in one of my ribs had quickly waylaid her onto her next point. She’d actually had to pause when she’d come to it and really took the time to look me in the eye, her stoic and impersonal manner dropping.

I mean, the woman had been nice enough, she’d smiled when necessary and took the time to explain things to me in thorough detail, but she was also evidently detached, that much was clear. She didn’t want to get overly involved in my case. Couldn’t. But then, something had ultimately shifted. Even Matty had appeared to notice it, he’d clued in to the way she’d propped herself forward in her seat, the slight glance she’d gifted her colleague before she’d cleared her throat, eyes trained back on me.

She’d begun her account in a sincere but well-practiced tone, informing me of the injury that had been a result of my broken ribs. And as she had, I’d actually felt my entire world tilt on its head. And I only wished then to be floating again.

Splenic rupture. That one had been the toughest pill to swallow.

“One of the ribs on your left side pierced the spleen on impact but it only tore the organ further during transport I'm afraid. It had been hard to determine at first, the three breaks had been one of our first concerns and because of your difficulty breathing our first thought had been a collapsed lung. By the time we realised how much damage had been caused, after we’d witnessed a CT scan result, there was a large amount of blood that had poured into the abdominal cavity.”

I’d just stared blankly back at her.

“You were put under an anaesthetic rather quickly and rushed into theatre…”

“Surgery went well, although there was an altercation or two…”

“Tried to minimise scarring…”

“Risk of infection…”

“Future treatments..”

“Medications…”

I had tuned it all out.

Physically I’d still been there. In that room with her. And Matty of course. But mentally, my mind had been far away. Beyond even my own compression. It’d felt like I’d sort of drowned and the struggle to find air had suddenly stopped. Leaving me with just an empty head. No thoughts. No feelings. Nothing on the matter.

Just the fact that I had another scar.

And that, that made me feel like a walking voodoo doll.

—

My stay in the hospital was beginning to grate on my nerves. Slowly but surely I was starting to lose my mind. And I was so sure of it.

It had taken two days for me to come to the first time around. Two days since the hit, I mean. But now, I’d been here almost a week. Sleeping mostly, but bored beyond belief or in mind-numbing pain for the rest of it.

Ross had come to visit. He came daily, sometimes even twice. He brought food (sticking to what he knew best) and it often ranged from the chocolate pasties he knew I tended to drift towards in the Danish bakery up near his, to all of the sugar he could smuggle inside the lining of his coat.

He liked to keep me company too; told me all about the football, who was top of the league and what players were currently injured; kept me updated on how things were going with his mates down at the pub (the very blokey bloke types he’d always seemed to get along with); and whispered to me about all the hot gossip that was making its way around the hospital that he often caught wind of on his way up to the ward, and during his frequent visits to the vending machine.

Ross didn’t ask too many questions either and after his first frantic visit, I found myself wanting to ask him less and less too. He was also one of the fair few that still treated me like an actual person. The usual bullying and typical snarky responses were a very welcomed change of pace, as were those eye-rolls of his that he usually gifted me each time I had a coughing fit.

“Here we go,” He’d say with a put-upon sigh, slumping in the chair he tended to drag up beside my bed whenever Matty gave him the chance. “Always the centre of attention! I mean, can’t we just talk about me for once?”

Which only proved to worsen things because then I’d been coughing, laughing and spluttering all sorts of obscenities at him, all at the same time.

Yeah, it was safe to say that my doctors weren’t too fond of Ross.

Adam though, they liked. He popped in too, and brought Carly along with him whenever she could make it. Those two were oftentimes too empathetic in their visits though, which was sometimes hard to bare. But they’d also brought me my favourite kind of teabags and the lactose-free milk I opted for. As well as my own little kettle that they’d gone and plugged into the wall beside my bed for me- but only after I’d nonstop complained about the hospital’s lack of fulfilling drinks.

Their tea tasted like piss water was the shorter defence there.

But Hann had also been the one to bring me over some of the things I’d been missing from home, like my pillow, laptop and my charger- seeing as my phone had been dead since it’d been handed back to me in a plastic baggy, alongside an array of other things I didn’t much want to look at. Mostly just the clothes I’d been wearing the night of the accident.

It was a heaven send though, to be able to distract myself with a shitty Netflix series or the odd scroll through social media. Although I did have to limit my usage. Stop myself from googling questions I knew I wouldn’t like the answers to. Still, it had been a nice gesture in all, made even better by the comfort of finally wearing my own clothes and actual underwear! Instead of the itchy gown they’d had me in.

Though mentioning that, the one who knew me best, who I thought would be by my bedside, holding my hand, and making sure I stayed well-rested. Who soothed me during the moments of panic and disorientation. Who whispered quietly in my ear and held me close when the reminders became too much to bare, and when pain was all I could think about.

He was nowhere to be found.

Because Matty had gone and stepped into that role for him. For me, I guess. Sweet, chaotic Matty who could barely even look after himself at the best of times, and who’d spent most of his adult life revelling in the fact that he had no strings to tie him down. He was there for me. A constant.

Only ever leaving in a rush to shower and change so that he could make it back in time for when I had to take my medication.

Charming Lee into letting him stay long past visiting hours and having the sweetheart swindle him a makeshift bed that he could use, instead of the clump of chairs he’d converted into a shitty lounger.

Talking the rest of the patients into doing a bit of karaoke and dancing by my bed to keep me entertained. He’d even had Ross bring him his guitar so that we could sing together before lights out. Him crooning like he did best, me all muffled and croaky. Though he still claimed that my voice was as angelic as the last time he’d heard it.

Matty. My best mate Matty.

I didn’t think I’d ever been more thankful to have another human being in my life. Nor would I ever be.

So after prodding him with multiple questions on where George could’ve possibly been. What was keeping him away. And only receiving vague responses in turn, or worse, being easily distracted. I finally decided to give up.

Well. Not give up, per say. Just allowed Matty some peace and quiet. I knew it wasn’t his fault that George had been a no-show. That he’d gone and left me when I needed him most. So the questions had become less and less frequent, until I’d decided to not ask them at all.

“You sure you’re alright?” Matty repeated for what felt like the fifteenth time since I’d accidentally woken him that morning.

He was setting out my lunch for me, something I found infuriating but was also what kept his hands occupied and brain busy, he was eyeing me a bit strangely. Like he felt as though something was inherently off and he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I rolled my eyes, a fond smile limning my lips even as he pierced the straw through my smoothie’s carton for me.

“I told you I could do that.” I scolded lightly.

Matty merely hummed in reply, “Yeah, well you say that but you can hardly hike down your own knickers even after I’ve dragged you all the way to the loo, so…”

He snorted at my sudden glare, waving me off with a smirk as he handed me the drink and stole the sandwich the nurses had dropped off for me.

“What kind is it today?” I asked him, sipping at the smoothie that came with it whilst he plopped himself down on the other end of my bed, kicking his feet up near my uninjured wrist.

“Ham and cheese, I reckon. Maybe a bit of mayo but can’t be too sure. Stingy fucks these lot.” He retorted through a mouthful. I grinned and withheld a painful laugh.

This had become a bit of a pastime for us. Him stealing the sandwiches that I refused to eat, because they always seemed to line the bread with a crap ton of butter, which even thinking about had my stomach rolling. And him then critiquing every flavour to me.

Yesterday’s had been stuffing and egg, something that had had Matty grimacing even as he fought to finish the first few mouthfuls. He’d quickly given up on that one though and washed the foul taste out with one of the many cans of San Pellegrino he'd asked Hann to bring in for him. Prat.

“Anyway, you never answered me.” Matty mentioned again, bringing me back to the present. I hummed at him with only a tilt of my head. He rolled his eyes and prodded my hip with his socked foot. “Come on, something’s up. Can sense it, can’t I?”

I snorted softly at him, quirking a brow. “What, you become a self-proclaimed empath in the time you went home to shower?”

He flashed me a toothy grin which wrinkled his brown eyes. “Summat like that, I reckon.”

I huffed, shaking my head albeit in a measure of amusement. “Nothing’s wrong, Wonder Woman. Dr Mann even said I was improving, did she not?”

I wasn’t met with a reply though, so I glanced away from my smoothie and back towards Matty. I found him to simply be staring back at me. A prominent line etched between his brows.

“What?” I asked him with pursed lips.

It was his turn to shake his head then, looking away to gaze out the shuttered window. We were quite high up, 6th floor if what I can recall Ross saying is true. The sun was high in the sky, and there was not a drop of rain in sight.

I looked away then and kicked at Matty’s elbow. “Come on, what is it? You’re bein’ a right weirdo.”

He shrugged, chewing away, eyes still cast outside. “Just, you haven’t mentioned it is all.”

I frowned at him, unsure of what he possibly could've meant. “Mentioned what?”

Matty’s gaze pivoted towards me for a brief moment, looking for something I was sure, probably a a tell only he could make out. Then he shrugged at me again.

“Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“Matty…” I tried, but my tired groan was cut short by the prominent arrival of Ross.

An angry looking Ross, actually.

I boggled a little at the sight, as did Matty who'd jumped around to see what had caught me by so much surprise.

“Matty. A word.” Ross demanded of the curly haired twat curled up by my feet, having stuck half his foot in the door and not had the common decency to even spare me a hello. What would his mother say?

“Erm, morning to you too, MacDonald!” I scoffed as I made a face, but it'd been futile seeing as Ross was already back out the door and pacing up and down the hallway. Matty patted my shin in quiet comfort and gave me an apologetic smile before he gestured his head over towards the hall.

“Best go see what he wants.”

And all I could do was watch as Matty left, still chained to this hospital bed. Once the door had dragged close behind him, I found myself with literally fuck all else to do. So, like the adult I was, I threw myself back into my nest of pillows and groaned pathetically. Wishing I could do more than just lie here day in and day out.

—MATTY’S POV—

“I’m gonna fucking kill him, Matty.” Were the first words Ross spoke to him as Matty slipped out of the room, catching him mostly off guard.

Ross was hardly ever the aggressor. In actual fact, he was one of the most tolerant guys Matty had ever known. It truly took a lot to get him to crack, or even tell you to piss off, let alone this riled up. He didn’t actually think he’d ever been witness to Ross’s ire, but reckoned he could easily check that off the list now though.

Matty blinked for a moment then cast a chance glance back through the glass and towards his best mate. The girl who was currently holed up in a hospital room with a frown as huffy as it was prominent. It was hard seeing her like that, so broken. When in actuality, she was the toughest fucking person he’d had the privilege of knowing.

Cut deep.

“Right,” He dipped his chin and took a much needed breath before he ushered Ross a little farther down the ward, away from the room's entrance. Not wanting her to hear or see the state Ross had seemingly worked himself into, although Matty could already guess what the cause would be. “What’re you playing at? You can’t storm in here like that, mate.”

Ross groaned into the palms of the hands he dragged harshly over his face, tugging on his temples for a second before he dropped them altogether. His shoulders were still tense though, practically touching the lobes of his ears.

“Yeah, yeah ‘course, sorry.”

Matty jerked his nod back down the hall. “No need for that, ‘cause you, man, are gonna be the one dodging all her questions when she ultimately starts asking what that was all about.”

Ross almost came very close to pouting then. Matty was sure of it, if only it hadn’t been for that fiery wall of anger he was still shrouded in. “Really? Alright. Fine, yeah fair. Deserve that much, I ‘spose. Just- I’m beyond fucking livid, mate.”

Matty’s brow pinched. “Why, what's happened?”

“What didn’t, you mean.” Ross scoffed, back to pacing in his big boots. Matty just hoped that none of the morning staff came to see what was causing the sudden commotion. They already seemed to hate the pair of them enough.

“Alright, mate. Just, I don’t know. Start with what’s got you so…” Matty shrugged a hand aimlessly towards his bearded bassist.

Ross tugged another hand through his long hair, loosening the bun he had it in by a tad.

“I don’t know where to start, to be honest. Maybe with the fact that I’ve tried everything. Fucking everything! Phoning, texting. Even passed by his a couple times. He won’t open the poxy door. Won’t answer Jamie or Hann either. I went over again this morning- saw some shit on Twitter last night so I reckoned I might find him there. Stole that spare key from you too, like you said, and tried using it on the locks but the prick’s only got the chain on. Latch too. So I didn't make it far.”

Matty was already chewing at his lower lip. Something he’d found himself doing more and more often as of late. Ever since that sodding fucking phone call, the one he’d almost missed. He could still hear George’s muffled cries now. The sirens. The pleads. Then the apology.

His hands shook even as he recalled it all. Fucking coward.

His attention was swiftly brought back to the present when Ross started up again, only getting more and more irritated the longer his story went on.

“So, like the twat I am. I sat outside his all morning. Just managed to catch him dragging himself home, though. Don’t know how the fucker had gone and locked himself out from the inside but, well, it’s G ain’t it?” He said through gritted teeth, “Looked a right state, too. Still halfway to pissed and smelt a bit. I mean, is he deluded? She’s in here. Whilst he’s off, doing fuck knows what, out there! It’s an utter piss take, mate. Everyday she asks after him, asks if he’s doing alright, if things are okay. And he, he could not give less of a shit.”

“Hasn’t today.” Matty found himself mumbling, dark eyes casted out towards the lifts as a familiar itch passed through his veins. Which was convenient because just as Ross went to question him on it, Hann stepped out through the sliding metal doors.

The man paused, catching sight of them just as the lift closed behind him. “What’s going on?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

“George.” Ross muttered with venom.

Whilst Matty sighed “Nothing.” at the exact same time. He simply shook his head dismissing it all when Hann approached them. “Where’ve you been anyway?”

Hann’s sharp gaze darted between the pair of them before he answered, “Was on the phone to Jamie most of this morning, then popped by to talk to Y/n’s boss. Lovely woman, actually.”

A real grin stretched its way across Matty’s face at the mention of Delia. “Isn’t she just?” He fawned.

Hann gave him one of those famous smiles of his and then proceeded to hold up a bag. “She mentioned she’d be stopping by again soon, but wanted me to bring this over.”

Matty’s attention dropped down to the bright bag, a prominent ‘Get well soon!’ engraved in gold on its side. “Nice of her. Did you get the stuff I asked for too?”

Adam rolled his eyes and moved his right shoulder, showing off the other bag, this one a duffle. “Yes, all here. Don’t stress.”

He went to reach for it when Hann’s eyebrows did a weird sort of dance on his forehead. Matty pulled a face at it and glanced over at Ross, who was still acting a bit aggy with his arms all crossed and nostrils still flared. Though Matty couldn’t fault him. He was still rightfully pissed off too.

“Tell me what’s gone on and then you can have the bag.” Adam bargained, receiving a pair of narrowed eyes in return.

“Drive a hard bargain, you do.” Matty huffed, falling back against the wall as he gestured outwardly towards Ross. “Was gonna tell you anyway.”

Hann merely hummed at him, dropping the bags between his legs as his head rounded on Ross. “What’s G done now?”

Ross’s jaw ticked and he went on another ramble, rehashing things to Hann in a bit more detail before Matty had to stop him.

“Where’s he at now then?”

“Passed out back at mine.” Ross told them, though he didn’t appear too happy about that fact. “Fucker had me drag him back to my car, wouldn’t move from the curb otherwise.”

Matty tucked his tongue between his front teeth, mind whirling. He hadn’t been to George’s yet, hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital let alone the place where everything had happened. He could only imagine what torment George has been faced with having to look at it day in and day out.

From what Ross had told them, the road had been fully blocked off until late afternoon the very next day with police patrolling and removing the vehicle from the scene. Matty grimaced at the thought of it all and listened to the quiet tones of Hann’s voice trying to calm Ross down. He deemed the moment as the easy access he needed to grab hold of the duffle and head back down the ward, deciding not to think too much about it right then.

Adam’s tut echoed and followed after him. Matty threw him a smug smile from over his shoulder.

Now it was time to get to work.

Part fifteen>

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