#but I've been going through different combinations for this post and now all of them sound wrong😭

[racoon-master]

Ok, I've got a rant. (All things aside though, this was an amazing video, dip and pip always deliver <3)

I didn't find out about this video till I saw @dnpstardust post though! I can't believe this didn't get recommended to me the day it was posted on YouTube, I was checking basically every day for all of January. I had a lot going on at the start of the year and for some reason I thought D&P text each other was normally posted on the gaming channel, so that's what I was checking every day. I'm very much still subscribed to AmazingPhil though, I so I couldn't believe I found out about this video through tumblr 3 days after it was posted! YouTube was recommending me D&P compilation videos, but not this?! Come on!!

Has anyone else noticed a trend of YouTube not recommending Phil's videos? Cause this isn't the first time I've noticed. I didn't joint the phandom till 2023 so there is still some content I haven't seen yet. I've been watching a combination of old and new videos from the gaming channel and for both of them individually. I subscribed to both Dan and Phil's channels at the same time, and yet Dan's videos get recommended to me way more often. Which is bizarre to me, especially considering their different upload schedules (i.e. Phil having more consistent uploads). More then once I have found myself intentionally seeking out Phil's content, but Dan's videos are constantly in my recommended section. Why would it recommend a video from Dan from like 10 years ago when Phil uploaded one a couple months ago?

I know it's got to do with the algorithm and all that (which can be unpredictable at best), but from what I know Phil has done a bit more to keep on top of that with his consistency/lack of hiatus (no shade to Dan what so ever). I know there is a difference in subscribers between the two of them (which I think is silly, but that's a whole other topic lol), and I wonder if this has anything to do with it.

Even though I subscribed to both their channels at the same time, YouTube tends to only recommend Phil's videos if Dan is in them. What's up with that? :(

This happened (to a lesser extent because I knew to check both channels) when "So what now Dan and Phil??" was posted on AmazingPhil. Every time a new gaming video gets posted it's at the top of my recommended, but I have to seek out Phil's videos (context, I have notifications on for both AmazingPhil and D&P Games, but I don't have the YouTube app).

Has anyone else noticed this trend? I haven't been a part of the phandom for as long as some of y'all so I'm curious to see what you guys think.

Just here to remind every one of this btw!

[thefangirlinsideofme]

what order do you list the boys when you talk about them?

like, it's always Sam and Dean, its never Dean and Sam

and its always Troy and Chad, never Chad and Troy

there's a right order that feels like it rolls of the tongue easiest

so what do you do for the 1d boys? if someone were to ask you, 'who are the og members of one direction?', what's the order you naturally use?

no thinking, just spontaneously

[flwrkid14]

So is I alright if I ask this?

I've seen the post where everyone wants to be Tim's favorite, might I ask if you could combine it with the 'Tim will never be anyone's favorite' and the brain dead post spin off? I think it'd be super angst angsty if the bats realize tehy unitentionally screwed up with Tim.

Oh, this is such a good ask! and now I’m going to be feral about it, thank you. Combining all of those ideas? Buckle up because this is going to get angsty.

—

Tim Drake will never be anyone’s favorite.

He’s always known it, accepted it as fact, because it’s not just about how he’s never felt like anyone’s favorite—it’s about how he’s been conditioned to believe that no one could favor him. He spent so much of his life trying to make himself useful to the people around him, because if he couldn’t be loved, he could at least be needed. If they needed him, they’d have to keep him around, right?

So that’s what Tim became. The utility knife of the Batfamily. The glue, the fixer, the one who knew how to put everything back together even if no one ever thought to ask how he was holding up.

And if that meant sacrificing pieces of himself, so what? He was never anyone’s favorite. He had no illusion that anyone would fight for him, that he’d be prioritized. The mission came first. Gotham came first. Family was a distant second, if it ranked at all.

Then there’s Danny.

Danny doesn’t come in with the expectations or baggage the rest of the Bats have. Danny doesn’t know Tim as a placeholder Robin or a second chance or a stolen birthright. He knows Tim as Tim—sharp, exhausted, himself. And Danny thinks that’s amazing.

He says it, too, without hesitation. “You’re my favorite,” he says like it’s a fact. Like Tim has always been the first name on someone’s list.

And it’s such a foreign concept to Tim that his first reaction is suspicion. He doesn’t trust it—can’t trust it—because when has anyone ever favored him? Even when Danny shows time and again that he’s not going anywhere, that his affection for Tim is unconditional, Tim’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Danny to grow tired of him, to leave, to regret his words.

But Danny doesn’t. He stays.

And that’s where it all starts to unravel for the rest of the family.

They see it—the way Danny looks at Tim like he’s the most important person in the room. The way Tim slowly starts to relax around him, shedding the defensive, brittle edges he’s always carried with them. The way Danny makes it obvious—painfully obvious—that Tim is his favorite person.

It's then that it hits them.

None of them have ever made Tim feel that way.

They start noticing the cracks they’ve left in him, the ones they never saw because they were too busy leaning on Tim to hold them together. They think back to all the times Tim had been the one to put in the effort to maintain their relationships, the way he always came through for them when they needed him, but how little they ever did for him in return.

They see the way he hesitates when Danny shows him affection—how it catches Tim off guard every time, like he’s still waiting for it to be a trap. And the Bats realize they’ve conditioned Tim to expect exactly that.

It guts them.

Cass had always known, in the quiet way she read people, that Tim didn’t feel like he belonged. She saw it in the way he held himself—guarded, distant, bracing for rejection. She’d tried, in her small, subtle ways, to show him he mattered, but watching Danny with him now, she realized she hadn’t done enough, that there was so much more she could have done for him not to feel that way. She hadn’t known how deep the hurt ran, and the guilt settled heavy in her chest.

Danny... Danny treated him differently.

Dick, who always tried to be a good brother but never saw the way Tim’s shoulders tensed under the weight of being “good enough.” Jason, who hated him for wearing the Robin colors but never noticed how much Tim blamed himself for taking them in the first place. Bruce, who thought giving Tim responsibility was enough to show he cared, but never thought to give him unconditional support. Damian, who fought Tim at every turn but never realized how much Tim already hated himself for existing in a role Damian felt should have been his.

Even Steph, and Duke—all of them thought Tim was fine because Tim made himself fine. Because Tim was the one who fixed things, and none of them stopped to ask what he needed.

It becomes almost unbearable for them to watch Danny care for Tim, because Danny makes it look so easy. He loves Tim so openly, so obviously, that it highlights every way the family failed to do the same.

And Tim? Tim doesn’t even seem to know he deserves it.

It’s the wake-up call they all desperately needed but never wanted. They don’t know how to fix it. But watching Danny and Tim together, seeing the way Tim is finally beginning to believe he’s worthy of being loved, they know one thing for certain:

They can’t undo the past.

But maybe, if they try hard enough, they can make sure Tim never feels that way again.

[captainsophiestark]

A Very Dagger Christmas

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Top Gun

Summary: Jake's down bad for his SO in a way his friends have never seen before, and they want to make sure his SO knows it.

Word Count: 2,015

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You cheated! I saw you bump the ball, don't try to deny it!"

"I did not cheat! You just suck at pool!"

"Pilots! I will ban pool for the rest of the night if I have to. Don't test me."

"Sorry, Penny..."

I watched the unfolding drama around the pool table of the Hard Deck with a smile as I sipped the last of my hot chocolate. Penny had closed the whole place for a little early Christmas celebration between her, Amelia, Mav, and the Daggers, and as the partner of Jake Seresin, I'd been invited along this year. The atmosphere, food and drink, and free entertainment all combined to make this my favorite Christmas party attended so far.

"Hey."

I looked up to see my boyfriend, Jake, crossing the room towards me with a big smile and two mugs in his hands. I shifted over a little on the cushy loveseat Penny had moved in for the evening's party, giving Jake room to settle in next to me.

"I brought you another cup of hot chocolate," he said, leaning in to kiss my forehead as I took the mug from him. "Not spiked, although I still don't know how you're putting up with all these idiots sober."

I laughed. "I love your friends, Jake. And I want to remember all the embarassing shit they pull clear as day, so I can use it against them later."

"And that's why you're the best. Amazing." Jake leaned in to punctuate his statement with a kiss, this time on the lips. I smiled into the kiss, then snuggled into Jake's chest once we broke apart. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, holding me closely, and the moment was one of absolutely perfect peace and comfort despite the chaos continuing around us.

"Thanks for inviting me along to this, by the way," I said, my voice low as I curled into Jake, more relaxed than I'd been all week in the leadup to this party. Jake hummed, and I could feel the vibrations all through his chest.

"Thanks for agreeing to come. I've been to a few of these now, and this one's already a lot better with you here. A lot." I leaned even further into Jake, squeezing his thigh gently with my free hand. After a moment, Jake continued. "Although, honestly, you might want to wait to thank me until after we play Dirty Santa."

I let out a long, heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Babe. I hate it when you call it that. You live in California now, it's White Elephant! Dirty Santa sounds like something much different and much worse than a fun gift exchange."

"Worse?" asked Jake, a familiar grin and note of mischief in his tone as he leaned down to whisper in my ear, his arm wandering from my shoulders to my waist. When he spoke again, it was nothing more than a low growl in my ear. "Or better?"

I considered for a moment, then shook my head and leaned back as much as I could in the small loveseat.

"No. The delivery and everything normally would've worked, but not for the phrase 'Dirty Santa', and not at the non-blood-relative family Christmas party. Nice try, through."

Jake just smiled and shook his head. He leaned in again, pulling me towards him like he was about to double down, but before he got the chance, we were interrupted by a few of his friends shouting from the pool table.

"Hangman! Get over here, we need some fresh blood at this pool table!"

Jake just rolled his eyes and waved the guys off, but they refused to take no for an answer. After a moment, I leaned up and kissed Jake on the cheek and gave him a little smile, then moved his arm from around my shoulders myself.

"Go," I said. "You've got honor to defend in pool, and you should probably get a game or two in now before Penny inevitably has to ban it."

Jake grinned, but he didn't move from the seat next to me.

"...Are you sure? I don't want to abandon you."

I just waved him off. "I'm fine, I like all your friends, and I already know most of them pretty well. No risk of abandonment here, I promise."

"Great." Jake leaned in to give me a quick kiss, then pulled back with a grin that spelled trouble. "Then I have some people who need to get their asses kicked in pool."

With that, he hopped up and took off to join the group at the pool table. I watched him with a fond smile, a warm glow sitting in my chest. He was absolutley ridiculous, but he was also absolutely wonderful.

While I was busy watching Jake, Natasha wandered over and took a seat in the chair next to me. I gave her a little smile, then turned back to watching Jake. After a moment, I heard her huff a little laugh, and I turned my attention back to her with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just... I've never seen him like this."

I frowned, trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"Nat-?"

"Hangman. It's been... nice, but really weird to see him like this."

"Nat, like what?"

She shook her head, her attention drifting to where my boyfriend was in the middle of trash talking at the pool table. She huffed another laugh, then turned back to me.

"He's wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. That matches with yours. Do you know what happened the last time someone tried to get Hangman to do that?"

"...No..."

"He dumped the one Coyote tried to force him into in a pool of oil from the planes."

I snorted, my hand flying to my mouth to cover a disbelieving laugh. I kept waiting for Natasha to smile or something to let me know she was joking, but her expression stayed dead serious.

"...Really?"

"Yes, really! And you're the first partner he's ever brought to more than one of our events, the first one he hasn't given a bunch of shit to for not drinking with him, the first one in years any of us have bothered to learn the name of. He's in a good mood, he's clearly just as happy to sit with you over here as he is to be in the middle of the pool game over there. Even right after he and Rooster get into it, he smiles at you two seconds later and it's like nothing even happened. Do you know how long those stupid moods of his usually last?"

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. Everything Natasha was saying had my heart racing, but I didn't want to let my imagination run away from me. Surely I didn't have that big of an impact on Jake, no matter what Natasha seemed to think.

"Hey guys," said Mickey, coming over to join the two of us with a smile. "I needed to get the hell out of that pool game while I still could. It's about to be a knock down dragout between Mav, Rooster, and Hangman. We're taking bets on how long it'll be before Penny bans pool and who's going to be the final straw to cause it if you guys want in."

"...What are the current odds?" asked Natasha, leaning forward. Mickey quickly walked her through the bet layout as it stood, then continued with a grin before she could stake anything.

"There's one other rule you should be aware of: no one's allowed to send our newest extended family member into the fray to influence the odds."

He nodded towards me when he said it, and I raised an eyebrow, but Nat almost shot out of her chair in indignation.

"What? Come on, where's the fun in that?"

"The fun is that we can actually take bets without a win card in everybody's pocket that can keep the game going all night."

Nat threw her hands up and flopped back in her chair, which was my cue to lean forward.

"Mickey... what are you talking about?"

"Hangman's one of the three live wires over there that's going to get way too competitive and ruin the game. If you go over there, you're gonna calm him down and totally ruin the fairness of our bet."

I laughed and shook my head, copying Nat and flopping back in my chair.

"I think you guys are seriously overestimating my influence on Jake's fundamental personality. We've been together long enough now that I think I would've noticed if he was a completely different person around me."

"Okay, first of all, no you wouldn't have," started Mickey. "If he were a different person around you, you'd only ever see the person he is around you, because you're necessarily around him when you're seeing him. And second, we're not saying he's a totally different person."

Nat hummed like she might disagree, and Mickey gave her a little nod.

"Okay, at least I'm not. What we're really trying to say is... he's obviously pretty committed, and very happily tied down. It's made him more grounded in a way that I honestly never thought I'd see. But it's nice, and it's definitely because of you."

I just hummed, processing Mickey's words. Jake and I had been dating for a few months, and although we hadn't really sat down to talk about it, we were clearly getting pretty serious. At least, I was. And it was nice to know that Jake's friends seemed to notice the same thing coming from Jake.

I stayed in my seat chatting with Natasha and Mickey for a while longer, until pool was eventually called off with Amelia having won the bet, to no one's surprise. Everyone wandered over to join Nat, Mickey, and I to begin White Elephant, and Jake settled into the loveseat next to me again.

"How was pool?" I asked as he handed me another mug of hot chocolate, further defending his position as my dream man.

"Fine, until Rooster started cheating. And then he has the nerve to call me on it when I started doing it to, to level the playing field!"

I just laughed and curled further into Jake's chest as he shot Rooster an aggressive stink eye. Luckily for all of us, Rooster didn't catch it.

The rest of the night passed much more peacefully sans pool table, even though White Elephant was as explosive as Jake had been expecting. Still, once it was over and we'd all settled in to relax together by the fire, any of the negatively chaotic moments of the night were long forgotten.

I laid my head on Jake's chest, listening to the soothing rythm of his heartbeat as Jake ran his hand gently up and down my arm. I was honestly on the edge of drifting off to sleep when Jake's voice drew me back. He was speaking quietly, right next to my ear, so softly that I wasn't sure he even meant for me to hear him.

"I love you. So fucking much."

I shifted just enough to meet Jake's eyes. He seemed surprised to find me awake, but a determination I usually only saw when I got to visit him on base was shining in his eyes.

"I love you," he repeated, louder this time. "And it's okay if you aren't ready to say it back or don't want to or whatever. But... I need you to know. I love you more than I've ever loved somebody before."

I smiled, my heart melting as I leaned up to kiss Jake. I ran my hands through the hair on the back of his neck, then pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again and whispered against his lips.

"I love you too, Jake. More than anyone or anything. So, so much."

His face lit up like the sun. His arm wrapped tight around my waist, and he pulled me closer to him than was probably appropriate for our current setting. He kissed me, hard, and I kissed him right back. I'd been in love with Jake Seresin for a while now, but it was nice to finally say it out loud. And even nicer to hear it back.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Top Gun Taglist: @elenavampire21

[sanguineterrain]

okay i've had this thought brewing for a while and i think you're the only writer who would do it justice!

reader meets jason again post-lazarus pit and he's amazed by how different reader is look-wise. reader was a teenager the last time they saw jason and now as an adult they've gotten a more "adult" body. reader is curvier, fleshier, no longer as lean as they were as a teen and is a bit self conscious about their body. but it drives jason wild to see his old crush all grown up into this mature body, hell he's changed a lot too. but yeah i feel like jason would be so body positive and full of praise 🩷

decided to combine this with a request i got for this prompt: 8) we share the bed because this is what we’ve done since we were kids, regardless of the adult implications now. i so agree with you anon, i think jason would be simultaneously body positive and absolutely FERAL for his old/current crush ;)

jason todd x gn!plus-sized!reader. reader used to work with the bats and is best friends with jayjay. reader is insecure and speaks poorly about their body. jason does NOT like that and desires you carnally! wahoo! suggestive content but no outright smut.

****

You haven't been in Jason's room in five years.

Alfred's kept it pretty much the same. Same books on the shelves, same Gotham Knights sweatshirt Dick gave Jason for his birthday. The curtains are the same shade of maroon, and the left one has a tear from when you played with a batarang. Jason had covered for you and was grounded for a week.

You flip through a dog-eared copy of The Three Musketeers. A few of the pages have underlining in pencil. You trace them with your finger.

The door creaks open. You look up.

Jason freezes in the threshold. His wrist is bandaged and you can see stitches on his forehead. You frown.

"Hey." You set down the book and go to him, offering your shoulder for him to lean on. "You okay?"

Jason sighs, ignoring your shoulder. "Who called you?"

"What d'you mean? We're psychically linked, Jay-Jay. I sensed that there was trouble afoot in Gotham City."

"Uh-huh. That didn't work when you tried to convince the old man I needed a puppy because you psychically divined that it knew me in a previous life."

"You and that Terrier were soulmates and I'll hear nothing of the contrary."

You take Jason's arm, despite his protests that he can make it two feet to the bed. He lays down, trying to hide how his arm twinges in pain. You frown and slip in beside him.

Jason's a lot bigger than he was the last time you shared a bed. Well. You both are. You roll over so you're facing him, squished against his side. You pull your leg up, suddenly self-conscious about everything Jason might be able to see.

Jason is warm. He's warm and big and solid and good God, you've missed him.

Your best friend is also fucking gorgeous and you really want to kiss him, but, uh. Ignoring that. You're very practiced at ignoring the urge to kiss Jason.

"Thanks for comin'."

The light is still on, casting a soft orange glow across Jason's features. He glances at you, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. You can count all the freckles on his nose, this close.

"I'll always come when you call, Jay," you say. "Well, when Dickie calls. Said you got a concussion."

He turns his head, sighing at the ceiling. "'S not a big deal. Mild concussion. Leslie said I'll be fine in a week, but we all know that's code for two days."

"Yeah, I don't think so. You bats really are birds of a feather."

"How dare you. 'M nothing like those wackos."

"Sure, buddy. Keep lying to yourself. You brought me in all those years ago for a little normalcy."

"My mistake," Jason says.

He gets thwacked with a pillow for that. It fluffs his curls. He grins at you.

You tuck in closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. Jason turns his head so his cheek rests on the top of your head.

"You can have the bed," he says.

"Don't be a silly goose."

"'M gonna go home anyway."

You scoff. "Not like this, you're not."

"Been worse for wear."

You roll your eyes. "How are you gonna ride your bike with a hurt wrist and a concussion, genius?"

"Please, babe. The real question is how will I sneak past Alfred?"

"I'm a babe, now?"

Jason half-smiles. "Always were."

"Liar. Can you imagine me in a Batsuit again? Exactly, you can't. I simply don't have the bod for it."

"Hey." Jason reaches down and gently pinches your thigh. "Why ya doin' that?"

"Doing what?"

"Talkin' bad about yourself. Don't do that. 'Sides, it ain't true."

"Jaybird." You level him with a look. "Be serious. I know you're my best friend and you have to say that, but c'mon. I've seen the hotties you work with. Hell, I've seen Bruce and Dickie."

Jason's face twists in disgust. "Do not call my dad and brother hot."

"Okay, fine. I've seen you."

His brows rise. "What?"

"What, what?"

"Are you... callin' me..."

You snort. "Duh. Have you seen yourself? You've always been cute, Jason. If you didn't have the demeanor of a honey badger, you'd be fending off marriage proposals left and right from the Gotham public. You've always been the prettier one of us, Jay-Jay."

Jason's quiet. You keep going.

"Anyway, neon's never been my color, and it seems like that's a pretty immovable requirement these days. Like, I get Clark's trying to be seen from space but he doesn't get bloated. And the Spandex? Goodness gracious—"

"Y'really see yourself like that?"

Jason's staring at you with a wrinkled brow, mouth set.

"Like what?"

"Like you're not pretty? Like I'm too good for ya?"

You prop your head up on your arm. "You've always been too good for me, Jason Todd."

"That's just not true. And you're fuckin' beautiful, so stop sayin' that shit."

You blink. "Jay, c'mon—"

"No. It's true, so stop. You're the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure to know, and if anybody's gettin' proposed to, it's you."

"Jason." Your face is on fire. Why did you open your mouth? "Stop. It's fine. So I'm different; my body's changed and shit. I'm not an athletic vigilante anymore. My thighs have, like, their own zip code. It's my own fault. I didn't keep up the training and whaa—!"

In one fluid motion, Jason's rolled you onto him. Your legs straddle his waist. You catch yourself on his shoulders, then begin to scramble off, burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I'm heavy, you're injured—" you babble, picking up your leg.

"Will you quit?" Jason keeps your leg exactly where it is, tenderly stroking your ankle with his thumb. "Actin' like I'm made of whipped cream."

"You're concussed."

"Mildly."

"Stop, Jason. Please. You don't have to do this to-to prove a point. I get it, I won't talk bad about myself."

Bit hypocritical, considering some of the stuff you know for a fact Jason believes about himself.

But this is humiliating, your extremely attractive, crime-fighting best friend pretending that you haven't totally let yourself go all to bolster your ego.

"Nah, I don't think you get it," Jason says conversationally. His hand creeps under your shirt. You squirm. "I really, really don't think you get how fuckin' gone I am for ya."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Now, that's my fault, never sayin' anything. I was being cowardly. So lemme make it clear for ya, sweetheart."

His hand leaves your ankle and pulls your face to his. And then Jason kisses you.

"You're concussed," you whimper against his mouth. "Jason, you're—"

Jason laughs, low and sweet. He strokes the side of your face. "I could have amnesia and I wouldn't forget the fact that I've been in love with my best friend since I was fourteen."

"Are you sure you don't want me to move? I can—"

"No way. Y'know how long I've wanted you on me? Shit, I sound like a creep, thinking 'bout you like that, but—"

Jason rolls you both onto your sides. He hefts your leg over his, so you're slotted between each other. Then he kisses your neck, mouth hot and desperate. You gasp, belly swooping.

How long have you wanted this? How long did you believe you'd never feel this way about another person after Jason?

"I can promise you," Jason says, breathing hard against your skin. "You're a knockout. You knock me out. And I'll knock out anyone who says otherwise."

You huff and get a little braver, kissing Jason and returning him onto his back. He grins, sharp and hungry. He wants you. There's no doubt.

"I still think you're concussed," you murmur, letting him feel up your shirt. "But lucky for you, I have the utmost sympathy for poor, bedridden bats."

Jason hums, grunting when your teeth scrape his ear. "Oh, I've always known I was the lucky one, having you."

[thoughtsonkm]

Goodbye, for now

BABY? HONEY? BOYFRIEND SHOT? Jikook you're too much!

This episode was truly the best way to end the show, maybe even the best episode of the series. (Neck in neck with episode 2 of course) The way they enjoyed it so much but were also so sad it was over. The hot tension all around, the soft boyfriends mood who can't stop flirting and name calling each other with the most low-key couple-like sweet names. They could not stop laughing, they could not stop touching and they couldn't stop being hilarious without even trying.

~

SK Spotify daily chart end of November 2023 :

Jimin Jungkook Jimin Jungkook Jimin Jimin

~

It would be such a full circle moment if Jimin posted the boyfriend photo (which won't happen). Would almost be like a soft launch of some sort.

Not the underwear too?? Gosh I love my little gay freaks!! (didn't understand why Jimin would quote their 'yet another inner joke meme' right at that moment but I've learned to not question their inner workings)

~

Sorry but i have to be pretty one last time and say that I kinda had enough of seeing so much from the crew around or even in Jikook's shots and angles. It breaks the fourth wall a little too much and ruins the whole bubble idea. Ok I'm done lol

~

Returning to the issue at hand, the "seeing the beds for the first time" scene keeps getting funnier and funnier. As if they don't already have designated sides of the bed 😏

~

Ah the never ending bickering gives me life. Peep the half korean half english talk when they playfully get on each others nerves 👀😂

I better not speak on the scuzzi jacuzzi shenanigans cause otherwise.. Let's just say the photo speaks for itself..

NO YOU KNOW WHAT IMMA SPEAK. We all know that jacuzzi time is always intimate, relaxing and personal for people that's why I wish Jikook had enjoyed it fully without cameras. Yes I'm pissed on their behalf, that they had to film the whole thing with 382929 different angles. lol

His face is literally saying "oh so you're really gonna make me do it huh? if I was in your place I would've folded immediately and would've never let you go through with it!!" 😂

~

No one ever:

Jikook every 2sec : HONEY OH HONEY

(I was actually listening to the song while writing this and idk why it's so funny to me even tho it's a sad love ballad)

~

They must've loved getting the chance to at least see one episode of the show, plus the idea of watching it together..

Jungkook being so entertained by it meanwhile Jimin being mortified about half of the things that happened. HILARIOUS

HAHAHHAHAHA all parties were concerned if they'd be able to pull it off, I can't

BEST BELIEVE they're always gonna find a way to touch. Consciously or unconsciously.

~

This show made me realize that my favourite thing ever is Jk making food for Jimin, then making him hysterically laugh and therefore getting to hear Jimin's adorable giggles.

~

"Hello it is I the one and only, the only one who can touch Jimin's head ble ble ble ble" - JK

Jk was like: How can you imagine Jimin without me in your dream? Are you crazy? What is this delusional dream world you live in Jin hyung??

~

Tbh it's so meaningful and a huge thing saying that these trips were literally the best trips of your life. I think the statement almost went over people's heads.

I can't get enough of Jimin looking pretty and cuddly and Jungkook's immediate thought being: I HAVE TO FILM YOU

Them saying they can do a reboot when they come back gave me some hope that maybe just maybe this is not the end of AYS 😭

The ending bonus clip left me fulfilled but also sad and with goosebumps all over.

Thank you Jimin & Jungkook for letting us peek into this trip and getting to witness some of your precious moments.

Signing off, J&J 🥹

Ps. So I'm guessing the 52 minute video that comes with the photobook is probably the 3 bts videos combined that they've been reviewing for 48392 months right?

[melled42]

Ai makes me sad for humans. thing about content creation is its really the one thing humans can do with no wrong answer. But we're so concerned with algorithms and money that now people think there's a mathematical answer to it. "If I just put in the right prompts and steal the right things, I win art, which js something you can and should want to do!" Instead of something you create being an unholy amalgamation of your life, influences, and what makes you you, it's just a combination of what's already been pushed on you by corporations and all the bias we have in post colonial times.

I also worry about a generations of creators who don't go through the process of creation. It's not like the whole "people are scared of the advancement of technology, we used to warn that paper would make kids not know how to clean slates!" Type fear. Art us a series of choices, both conscious and subconscious. I've even argued this in video games, how older games with more limited engines had to bake in their lighting and design instead of having it done for them, and those choices made for a different vibe, especially in horror. The more you have done for you, the less you put yourself in the piece

I had my husband spell check a comic for me a bit ago where I realized, mid reading, that I had put a LOT of my own issues in that story and character without even realizing it. So much so I had to cover my face and ears in embarrassment while he looked it over. To make something is to make choices and those choices tell you things about yourself you might not even realize, sometimes not even until someone else takes a look.

Idk if it's an autism thing, but I've always seen art as a form of communication. You're taking a little bit of you and showing it to someone, and they're taking a little bit of them and showing it to you. As someone who always felt like she was talking to people in a different language, it's freeing to be able to share things in a way I have more control over. If you're not putting that you in your work, I worry some people are never going to find that euphoria of communication in the way I did. That's so isolating.

I feel like art is a good chunk of what makes us human, and it's the one piece that lasts after we're gone and forgotten. If we stopped making new things, what's the point?

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

OKAY SO I HAVE THOUGHTS

There is definitely someone who's probably said this better than me but here's my two cents anyway

I've played this game like twice and never really though to pay attention to where people get shot/how they die... but then I saw a piece of art and something clicked in my brain. If this was a quick in the moment shot, the placement wouldn't really matter, but this is a) a work of art and fiction b) extremely deliberate on Milton's part

Milton lets Hosea walk off - there is a long moment where Milton could have shot Hosea anywhere (the leg, head, nape). What I mean is he had a clear shot. Yet, he waited until Hosea turned around. He aimed deliberately for his chest. He had enough time to think it through and he knew for 100% that Hosea had no weapon (since he was captured). Turning around wasn't a threat. Yet, Milton still chose to act. And the creators of the game had to fully animate and decide all of this - this moment would have had to go through so many hands, from writers to animators to supervisors (so let us assume any symbolism wasn't lost on them). So, I am treating this as deliberate.

Realistically, shooting someone in the chest is the best place to kill someone. Especially over the heart. While headshots are effective, its a smaller target and far easier to miss. But, hit the heart? All that blood is suddenly not going to the brain (or anywhere for that matter) and the victim is very likely to die. Painful too because you have nerves in your both but no pain receptors in your brain - meaning Hosea could damn well probably feel that bullet (if he was real). We even see how painful this is in game (his death is pretty brutal because he has a brief few moments where he is very much alive an d dying alone in the street). Milton, being a man of the "law", definitely already knew how painful this death was - he probably even killed people this way before - so combined with the deliberate intent, Hosea died suffering, choking out his last wilting breath in a gurgled cough. Brutality chosen over execution (heart-shot instead of head-shot).

Don't even get me started on the dying breath - given that Hosea had been coughing since the start of the game, his last breath wasn't even a moment of peace. It was probably utter suffering as he choked on the very air he had desperately been trying to breathe for months.

Symbolically is an entirely different story. Up until now Dutch has pulled some crazy schemes but there is a definite shift when they come back from Guarama - which happens AFTER Hosea dies. The heart is a symbol of compassion, of virtue, of love - of having respect for your fellow man and ultimately, morals. All of which Dutch seems to have lost post-Guarama; he is a changed man who burns the world around him with every step. We see this fire symbology a few times, but most especially when Dutch leaves Arthur in the burning warehouse. Almost as if the snow we start in at the beginning melts into water without Hosea to keep it cool (ie the ocean of chapter 5) until it evaporates in the wake of Dutch's spiral into firey insanity. This is implying Hosea to be the cold/ice to Dutch's heat/fire. The death of the companion leaves behind only the passion of compassion, as Dutch is left with only conviction and no withstanding moral compass. Micah and Dutch together are only fire with fire, while Arthur manifests into ice too late, with only enough time to save the rest of the gang from Dutch's fallout.

Hosea is also not the only one who dies during this mission, he is the only one to die of a shot to the heart. Lenny also dies, but he's shot in what I can best estimate to be the guts - his guts to join up with an outlaw gang and rob a back literally led to his death. Lenny's death doesn't seem to affect Dutch as much as Hosea though - like Dutch is like "Oh no! Anyway lets keep going". But with Hosea's death - Dutch gets SUPER PISSED - that whisper of "Hosea" to himself speaks volumes more than his reaction to Lenny. Dutch was close with Hosea; whether you want to call them friends or lovers, they were narrative parallels and each other's foils. THus, it makes sense that Hosea's death had a profound impact on Dutch, far more than Lenny, and since this is a work of fiction, Hosea's death being a shot to the heart should not be taken lightly.

Hosea being shot in the heart was the symbolic death of Dutch's heart. The world took the last piece of good Dutch thought he had left - the last reason to hold back and Dutch wanted to burn the world down around him. And its even more insane that this was a deliberate act on Milton's part - while he didn't know that Hosea specifically would hurt Dutch in this way, he is a smart man. Milton had been following and researching the Van Der Linde gang for a hot minute, he knew the members, he knew the history, he knew that Dutch and Hosea went way back than most other gang members. Milton knew what he was doing - this was a deliberate attempt to dismantle the gang by "cutting the head off the snake" (making Dutch desperate and isolated with the death of his oldest partner). Especially since Dutch calls Hosea his friend right before Milton does this. What better way to drive that message home than shooting his friend in the heart - making his last moments suffering alone in the street?

While Milton had no idea how well his plan would work, shooting Hosea in the chest was a deliberate choice intended to aid in the dismantlement of the Van Der Linde gang by getting to Dutch psychologically. As a work of fiction, killing Hosea in this fashion was a choice by the creators riddled with symbolism.

[heya-dollface]

What to look for when making Long Hair for Dolls - The Differences in 100% Acrylic Yarns

Hey lovely doll peeps, hope you're having a good day! So over in the Dollblr community here on Tumblr, some people had some questions regarding making doll hair out of acrylic yarn. So I took some time to grab some yarn from my stash and lay out what I know about working with it. It was helpful there, so now I'm copying the post over here so you all can enjoy it and use its knowledge for your own doll needs. That said, if you're interested in the Dollbllr community, go reach out to @plasma-packin-peep/@peepersponies to see about getting an invite. It's a really sweet group of people from what I've experienced so far. <3

Let me give you a quick summary of about five years worth of learning to work with this material.

Welcome to my desk! Before you are five different yarns from my stash. All of these are 100% acrylic. As you can see, acrylic yarn comes in a wide variety of sizes and softness, and while I can do the same things to all of them, they will behave slightly differently. My favorites of this bunch are the Yarn Bee True Colors and the Charisma. Yarn Bee is the native brand to Hobby Lobby, and Charisma I've found at Michaels. Loops & Threads and Hometown, which aren't pictured here, other brands I've enjoyed working with in their thicker fiber variants, also over at Michaels.

The common wisdom in the doll community is that you use 100% acrylic because it's a synthetic fiber that can handle heat. That means it can handle a flat iron or curling wand without melting, which is what makes it look similar to real human hair on this scale. I haven't tested a ton in the way of other fibers. But one of my dolls, Sass here, uses a combination of 100% acrylic yarn and a yarn that's part acrylic, part nylon, and I wanna say part spandex? It's been like 4 years since I made this guy, and that yarn's label is lost, but you can see that the nylon yarn sticks out a little. It doesn't flat iron nicely into a fluffy, realistic hair, it's more stringy. So useful to know if you want that look!

So here's what we're going to do. I've taken all of the yarns pictured and taken them apart to show you how much fiber I lose on an average yarn prep. I'm gonna show you what that looks like from left to right. My method is to cut my yarn, unravel each strand by hand, then take a wire pet brush to it to smooth it out. Instead of tying my yarn to a hanger or hoop, I hold it in my hand, brush through the yarn gently until I'm halfway through, then flip it and go after it from the other side. This is good for ensuring that my length is preserved. Whatever fiber gets stuck in the pet brush, I then take out, mush together, and brush through again so that I have more yarn hair to work with. After that, I will take a flat iron to it and then brush through one more time, but I'm not showing those last two steps here. That said, sometimes flat ironing does lead to losing more fiber, so that is something to consider.

Let's start with that big chonker. This is also a Yarn Bee yarn, and it's probably ideal for an easy time getting your hair unraveled. I have yet to use this one on a doll, truth be told I got it on clearance and haven't figured out who the color would suit. It's very easy to pull apart and work with, and as you can see, it retains a lot of its length.

Next is the True Colors. This stuff is so soft, which is why it's my preference, and while it can be easy to tear apart, you can still retain a lot of length if you're gentle. Like look at the far right, that's all the fiber I took out of the pet brush and mushed back together. It's still a pretty sizable amount of yarn fiber to work with!

The Charisma is a similar story. Something you've probably noticed is that not all yarns have the same amount of strands when pulled apart. I tend to see 2 to 4 on average when I'm prepping yarn. This is a two strander, and once again, it's soft and delightful. Highly recommend going to a physical store and touching your yarn before your buy it. The softer stuff is my preference given how much I'm holding and touching it.

This yarn from Mainstay I got on clearance at Walmart, and it's actually quite soft to the touch! As you can see, our strands are getting thinner here, which is harder to unravel with your fingers. I loose a lot of length when brushing through yarn like this, and it's hard to mush the fibers back together. Yarn like this is incredibly common, and I'll be honest, I don't love working with it. ^^''' But it may be perfect for your project needs! All depends on what you want in a yarn. If you're looking to give a doll a wavy/curled hair without having to curl it yourself, just unraveling and plugging a lot of these in might be for you!

I don't remember where this seafoam green yarn came from, but I think it might be yarn marketed for making baby clothes. It's very thin, and it knots a little at the ends when you unravel it, which is frustrating. I managed to preserve and reconstruct pretty well with this fiber, but the amount of hassle it takes to get through this for a full head of doll hair is very aaaahhh. Like I said, maybe this works for your project. I tend to save this kind of yarn for stuff like accents rather than the main hair color, just because it takes so long to work with.

And there you have it! Those are my notes about brushing out doll hair! As a quick aside, you don't have to brush out yarn in order for it to be beautiful. Sometimes I like to only unravel it and use it that way, like with my recent fairy doll here. She uses a blend of two True Colors yarns and I wanna say a Charisma for the white. There's even a pink and white yarn in here that I didn't brush out, I just boiled and then froze it around a foam curler and threw it in for more texture, though it's a bit tough to spot in this photo.

At the end of the day, you can use just about any acrylic yarn for your project, the question is really what are you willing to put up with. I know myself, I know that I can put on a movie or chat with friends as I'm unraveling a thicker fiber yarn and then brush it out another time and have it be tolerable. That works for me. As you can see, a staple of my dolls is having really long, soft yarn hair, so it makes sense that this is what I gravitate towards. XD

But maybe you want something different out of your yarn experience. That's fine too! The best thing you can do is experiment to see what you like. Do what makes you happy! There is no wrong way to customize your dolls (so long as you're not putting yourself or others in danger). Go have fun, be kind to yourself, and be safe in handling your materials. And of course, if you have any questions, feel free to ask! I've been customizing since November of 2018, and I love chatting about this art form. To my beginners especially, there is no such thing as a stupid question, don't be afraid to ask for help if you're unsure of where to go.

Here's wishing you all a wonderful day, and happy customizing! <3

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

[coffeecacao]

People don't like veilguard?? It's my favorite game now! I've been playing it nonstop! Between love interests, decisions, backstories, foreshadowing, and nearly everything "Varric" says being subtle hints he's controlled by Solas (from "I wish I could be Out There with you, Kid, BiAnCa is getting cranky cooped up In Here" to constantly telling Rook in different ways to sleep, aka, talk to Solas/let their guard down so Solas can get back in their head), it's super replayable, the graphics are fucking gorgeous look at that HAIR look at that LIGHTING, the combat mechanics combine my favorite parts of Dragon Age and Mass Effect, the story of regret and redemption and trauma is incredibly moving, our character can be trans and actually fucking TALK about it in nuanced and complex ways with other characters making an ENTIRE minority population, myself included (I'm nonbinary so a segment coming up may be biased), feel seen and represented by the person they're playing, and understood, there's a fucking nonbinary LOVE INTEREST, we TALK to them about how they're feeling and WITNESS them realize who they are and that it's fucking OKAY, they're fucking BADASS, SEE that nonbinary character try to come out to their conservative parent and witness how that parent is a bitch about it at first but comes to accept it, the love interests are ALL fleshed out and beautifully written and compelling, romance takes a natural amount of time to go from flirtation to serious, and my post about the first female companion you meet being straight? Yeah? This game broke that cycle, because everyone is fucking gay and it's great. ISABELA did PUSH UPS to apologize for misgendering her recently out nonbinary friend. The cast is incredibly diverse. You can go on honest to God DATES. You get to get to know companions on quests with and without combat, you can just fucking like TALK to them out in the world hanging out. MANFRED. ASSAN. You have interesting conversations with who we thought would be the main "villain" of the game in your head, only for him to have been using that to get to know you intimately enough to fuck with your head and betray you, what a power play. You CHOOSE whether to forgive him in the end and trust him to bind himself to the veil or to just trick or fight him. The story is so tightly written it's insane, with everything coming back to the themes of trauma and redemption. The game CARES about the player, getting to know the player through dialogue options making the experience ever customisable, and did I mention, letting them TALK ABOUT being TRANS and their unique experiences with that. The people who made this game CARED. They cared about trans people. They cared about minorities. They cared about the characters and the story and every aspect of the damn game. And now they're fired. And I'm heartbroken. I will always love this game.

[adventuringblind]

Nerospicy has never been so cute

Oscar Piastri x Nerodivergent!reader

Genre: fluff... angst if you squint.

Request: nope but they are open! Max, Charles, Oscar, Lando, George, Daniel and Pierre are on the list. Also open for poly fics if anyone is interested.

Summary: just cute fluff between Oscar and his autistic coded partner

Warnings: idk people who can't mind their own business IG

Notes: This is self-indulgent, and I do not care. I just wanna feel supported, okay? T_T

Also, I've sent up my account to let tips be enabled. I was debating whether or not to say this because i dont want to sound like im begging, but frankly, people opinions do not matter me me. If you like my writing and want to support me, please consider tipping my posts or my blog. I put a lot of effort into my writing, and it would mean the world to me. Obviously, I won't have my feeling hurt if you ignor this but I wanted to put it out there.

Masterlist

You weren't sure if you'd ever fit in with people. Something about you always felt different from others.

Maybe it was that you didn't understand their antics. Their jokes weren't funny to you, or you didn't understand them. They seemed you as sensitive, but you're really just incredibly empathic.

You were interested in things that they weren't. You hated certain foods, textures, and feeling in general.

Then somtimes it all became too much. Alone in a dark room with headphones in. Attempting to soothe yourself from the overwhelming feelings running through your mind and body.

Your friends wanted to go out of a Friday night. Previously, you were feeling alright and decided to go with. Instantly regretting your decision as soon as you walked into the door of the club.

It was here that you met Oscar.

He didn't really want to be here. He'd given into the pleas of his friends who didn't want to go without him. He liked people and going out to have fun, but he wasn't in the mood right now.

He noticed you sitting at the bar nursing a drink. You looked like you wouldn't bother him, and the bar was already crowded, so he sat down on the stool next to yours.

You briefly looked over at him. Finding your drink to be more entertaining than the male next to you.

You were getting more overwhelmed by the second. The discreetly hidden earbuds only help so much. The vibration of the bass and the lights combined made you want to puke. You wanted to get out of there, but your body was ever so slowly shutting down.

Oscar noticed how your body was shrinking into itself. He didn't want to stare, but it was obvious you were in distress.

"Are you alright?" Asked the Australian.

You didn't look up at him, and words became too difficult, so you settled for shaking your head no.

Oscar thought about it for a minute. "Do you want to get out of here? I'm not in the mood to party, and you don't seem like you are either." He grimaced at how awkward he felt like he sounded. "I promise I'm not a serial killer or something." He laughed but it was more at himself then anything.

Eager to leave, regardless of who the man was, you stood up and made your way towards the door. You didn't have a tab, just water in your glass to make you feel like you belonged.

Once outside the door, you breathe a sigh of relief. Less people, less vibration, and less light.

You wanted to cry, though. Your body still feeling everything.

"Do you need anything? A ride home even? I probably seem like suck a creep right now." Oscar rubs his temples.

For the first time, you fully examine the male. Shocked to see kind features and gentle eyes. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans.

"Thank you." You managed. Not wanting him to feel like a weirdo any longer.

He paused and looked up at you. Wanting to find your eyes but noticing your eyes did not want to find his. "I'm Oscar, by the way." He reached out his hand for you to shake.

Which you did hesitantly. "I'm Y/N."

~

You had explained to Oscar that you didn't live close to here. Over an hour away at best. You'd been exploring the town with friends earlier in the day when they decided to end the night at the club.

He offered you a stay at his apartment for the night and then he could take you home in the morning.

"Actually, can I take you on a date first?" He'd found you intriguing and beautiful, and he didn't want this to be for one night.

You were nervous, to say the least, but when he offered to take you anywhere you wanted to go, the deal seemed appealing. Furthermore, there was a music store you wanted to look at that your friends had passed by. So when he offered, you pointed him in the direction.

"Can I ask you something?" His eyes never left the rode, and you were grateful for it. It helped the conversation flow easier for you.

"Sure." You shrugged.

"Why are you wearing earbuds?"

Oh. You dreaded this. Talking about the way your body and mind work had yet to end well.

Your hesitancy did not do unnoticed, so Oscar quickly followed up with "you don't have to answer if it's uncomfortable."

"Well, it's just that- loud noise makes me overwhelmed, and things like headphones help drown it out." You fumbled.

"Oh I use those at work too sometimes cause it can get loud."

He seemed so natural saying it. His calm demeanor helping you to read him a bit better.

He then proceeded to tell you about his job and ask questions about you. He was very clear when he spoke. Eventually helping you to wind down.

This guy you just met was taking you on a date. Was it a good idea to out yourself? Probably not, but if you didn't care for people opinions much. "I'm autistic."

"I was wondering that but didn't want to ask. I had a friend in school that was, and in some ways, you seem similar to him." He hit his head on the steering wheel. "I'm not trying to stereotype. I'm sorry that probably sounded rude."

You laughed at him. His response was one of the best you'd been given. "It's alright, it's actually kind of cool that you picked up on it."

When you arrived it the music store it was ten minutes to close. The records lined the walls, and boxes of CDs were packed to the brim. Not many people use them nowadays, but it felt comfortable in the little store.

You and Oscar browsed the music and talked about the different kinds of music you like. It felt natural. Even when you knew you were info-dumping, he just listened intently and asked questions about your interest.

Soon enough, the shopkeeper asked you both to leave. You waved a thank you and slid back into Oscar's car.

"Thank you for indulging me. I really enjoyed this." You were shocked to hear that come from him. Mainly because you felt like you talked his ear off.

The drive to his apartment was quiet, but not the awkward kind.

He opened the door for you when you arrived. His apartment was comfortable. It's not super empty or overly decorated. It's just comfortable.

"Right, so you can borrow some of my clothes for tonight and take the room, and I'll take the couch." He didn't even give you a chance to protest as he sped off to gether the essentials.

You two didn't do much sleeping that night. Wasting away the time. The clock moving two fast for your liking. You two spent hours conversing and laughing with each other.

Somewhere along the line, Oscar passed out on the couch, and you had made your way to his room like he said to.

You two exchanged numbers when it was finally time for you to leave his car. He promised to stay in contact with you.

A promise he followed through on. It didn't take long til you were following him around to races.

You were mostly watched from the quiet places in the McLaren paddock. Sometimes, it even curled up in Oscar's driver room. He didn't mind, though, making it a small game you played between the two of you.

You and Lando got along nicely as well. Oscar only getting frustrated when it comes to both of you and your eating habits.

You were manageable, but Lando was just ridiculous in his eyes.

You didn't actively say your autistic but definitely explained why you are the way you are. Eventually, people came to their own conclusions. The gossip pages included.

You didn't really understand the criticism at first. People had always misjudged and misunderstood. But when they started nitpicking your every move, it became annoying.

The names didn't bother you. It was them saying Oscar deserved someone who wasn't as weird.

It followed you everywhere. These labels that the media had given you.

You were happy with Oscar. He treated you so well, and you were doing your best to support him. You two created your own small routines that you enjoyed.

You couldn't even walk through the paddock without journalists trying to question you. The physical souch of their bodies and shouting so they could be heard sending your body into overdrive. You liked the environment of racing, but this was over your limit.

You were so glad you texted Oscar you had arrived. Him responding that he was already on his way to you.

He noticed the journalists first, then you at the center of attention. Your hands in your hair and your breathing rapid. You looked like you might scream.

His legs moved faster than his mind as he put himself in between you and anyone else. Very gently, placing a hand on your shoulder to try and guide you away.

You did end up screaming. Your body needing to release all the pent-up emotions you'd been wanting to release earlier. Thankfully, it was somewhere private and muffled by Oscar's jacket.

You didn't want the so close like that. They were too much. They questions they asked were incredibly invasive. Some even going as far as to ask about intimate things.

You managed to explain to Oscar what happened. His listening intently, watching you play with his fingers in the pattern your head had come up with.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make things hard for you."

Oscar smiled and simply shook his head. "You aren't making things difficult, and on the contrary, you and your nerodivergent brain have never looked so cute."

"I just got done screaming and trying to self-soothe."

"It doesn't matter. You still look absolutely adorable." He kissed the top of your head, hoping to convey what he was feeling without words.

Am hour later, Oscar had posted to his socials about you. A letter to anyone who wants to form an opinion.

"Leave my girlfriend be. Neither of us likes having our personal lives invaded. You like to assume things but don't have all the facts. I love her very much, and that should be all that matters."

As you read it and looked at Oscar, who was giving you a goofy smile for being proud of what he'd just done. You realized just how much he loved you. Despite your labels, he saw past them and loved you for you.

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

You know I might as well post this now...

Severe Miscalculation

Tw: misunderstanding (kinda), pretty intense descriptors of kissing and coupling. NSFW we having a literal roll in the hay!

Tag: @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts @barn-anon @bispecsual @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams

Based on the slight discourse about 40k space marines in fandom vs Canon and if they experience...the desire for physical intimacy. And what happens when you mistakenly think the Majority of space marines don't have any interest in the stuff.

Edit! I've decided to connect this story to this other drabble I did. So if you'd like more context to the overarching story, here's the prequel.

I know it looks like I'm linking to the same story but I promise it Is a different drabble.

It was evening but not dark yet, the combined boon of daylight savings and a fresh spring rain making things humid, but not unbearably hot.

You wandered your neighbor's property in the normal fashion. Normal in such that your neighbor was absent, on a trip to visit her mother in another state.

And had left you, with the task of appearing twice a day to check on things and complete the few simple chores she had lying around. For a fair compensation mind you.

The tasks weren't even that hard, but it was more work on your already tight and physically taxing schedule.

As much as you appreciated your neighbor, you couldn't deny you'd been feeling the burnout recently, and not just from the weather bandying cheerfully back and forth between drenching rains and muggy, sweaty heat.

Honestly you needed a reset. Something to just Erase all that stress you'd been feeling. But given how tight your schedule had to be to just make ends meet, you doubted you'd get the chance to say...seek out a partner to help with such things.

Perhaps you should've look into getting something more mechanical in nature to help you.

Maybe throw a wink at the next random Noise Marine you saw. Unbonded ones supposedly had a proclivity for the naughty side of things.

Which made them an odd exception as Space Marines as a whole were thought to not have much sex drive. Or even be sex repulsed.

No shame to them. You often bounced between moments of desiring absolute carnality and vulnerability, then a few days later feeling like being touched would make you break out in hives.

"The wonders of the human mind~" You sighed with mock humor. Oh well, once you were done here you could go shower, curl up in your bed and hope your currently thrumming sexual frustration could shut the fuck up for a bit.

You strode through the open barn door.

CRASH!

"The FUCK!?"

"The FUCk!? The FuCK!? tTthHeEee FfUuucK!?!? -K-k-k!?!?"

An electronic parody of your own shriek came back to you, as the large looming shape with dark blue armor nearly doubled over, clearly finding your terror hilarious.

"FUCKING Dammit Khopesh!"

"FfFuUcCkKINg Da-Da-Da-DamMit KOoOopeSHhhhhh."

Normally you tolerated your neighbor's Nightlord, even found his shenanigans funny on occasion.

After all rolling with the punches or ignoring him generally made him lose interest. But you were hot, sweaty, tired and Not in the way you desperately wanted to be right now.

Honestly, you'd had preferred if he'd left with your neighbor on her trip, but...apparently he wasn't...quite bonded to her?

It was an odd situation, with your neighbors treating him more like an adopted son. And he...seemed to appreciate them too. Like genuinely, maybe he had a partial bond with both? Meaning when your neighbor left he preferred to stay with her husband and home as it needed defending?

It was sweet, but your care of your neighbors creatures had come LONG Before he arrived. And you sometimes felt like he pushed your buttons as a show of his resentment at your longer status is your neighbor's lives.

And the fact they still payed You to do the chores over trusting him with them.

You could understand some pettiness taking seed from that.

Maybe You could be petty back...

It Was said that Astartes, and Nightlords especially, could become overwhelmed when humans approached them too eagerly.

Hmm...

You straightened your back, took a deep breath as the big blue bastard was still modulating your voice at you, and Clearly enjoying it too much.

"Khopesh~" You cooed, the change in your voice catching his attention.

You, sauntered up to the big fella, putting a sway in your hips and calling on your still present sexual frustration to aid you in making this convincing.

"You know...that voice trick of yours is pretty nifty..." You stated, now close enough to touch him.

While mostly inscrutable behind his helmet, you could tell his demeanor had changed. He was standing mostly straight, looking down at you as you came closer, nearly touching but not quite.

"I'll even admit, you got me good with that scare..." You admitted, opening your mouth Just enough so he could see your tongue run over your teeth. "But...If you Really wanted to hear me Scream~ We could explore...other ideas..."

You smoothly undid the top button on your shirt, to emphasize your point.

'Your move Nightlord.' You thought, smiling smugly with your hands on your hips.

Khopesh responded by Not moving an inch. In fact, dare you say you thought him...

'Dumbfounded,' Not entirely the idea you wanted, him flusteredly retreating would've been Peak comedy to you. But this was fun too.

"Ah well...you don't seem interested?" You shrugged, still proud of yourself for rebuffing his childish prank. "It IS a rather abrupt thing to ask for, I don't blame you for chickening out." You assured with a mock sympathy.

You turned on your heel. One benefit to wearing jeans year round (the leg protection trumping the overheating) was the definition they gave your legs and...your other assets.

And by the throne you were putting that enticing sway back in your hips as you made your exit. You couldn't resist throwing one more light jab. "But, if you're ever interested in making me scream for real, just gimme a call-Oof!"

Well that was a shock. Your sauntering exit was interrupted by an arm clad in ceremite. And the Nightlord it was attached to must have moved at ungodly speed in order to block your path.

Well this was unexpected. "Uhh...what."

You were cut off by Khopesh's lowered arm coming up to firmly (but surprisingly gently) grasp your chin. As his other hand raised to the underside of his helmet.

Click, hiss

With a quick motion he removed his headgear, and dropped it without ceremony. Another surprise the back of your mind cataloged while the forefront was taken up with watching the way his midnight dark hair fell around his gaunt but handsome face.

And those eyes, those Eyes. Like pools of ink, disturbing but alluring all at once.

You'd seen his face before, but up close like this you're reminded of when you'd let his features be used in your private fantasys.

Especially his hair, touching it, stroking it, tugging it, brushing and washing it with the soft kind of intimacy your heart craved.

"Hmmm..." Khopesh took a deep satisfying inhale, as he smiled that wicked sharp toothed grin that drove you crazy.

"I can smell your thoughts..."

What.

Well again you were thrown off because your very literal coded mind could not understand what he meant by-

"They smell...mouthwatering~" He growled, wrapping his free arm around your torso and lifting you so you were nestled up against him, and one of his armored legs brushed right against your core.

The shiver that ran through you at the contact was not missed by either of you.

Ooooh...

Oh shit.

"I accept, your offer human..." Khopesh chuckled. "Unless you wish to...chicken out? As you said."

Oh. Oh that bitch.

You know what! Screw it! You were an adult, you were clean, you were on birth control, and you'd been flustered and frustrated for Far Too Long.

And this interdimensional level Bastard thinks he's going to get the best of you?

Fuck that noise.

You squared your shoulders, rose up (as best you could), grabbed the sides of Khopesh's face and planted a kiss right on his scarred, sharp tooth mouth.

His slight confusion over your shift was quickly forgotten as the Nightlord let out an absolutely Sinful sound as he shifted his own hands to pull you closer.

Your initiative payed off as you ran your tongue over the contours of his fangs, then sucked his upper lip between your own teeth. Giving it a light nip, before soothing with your tongue, and another kiss.

Khopesh was surprised by your boldness, excited by it too! But he wouldn't be outdone!

He used his shear size to over power, so he could explore your mouth the same way. Pulling back only slightly so he could nibble and suck at your lips before diving back in.

You caved for air first, of course you did, the bastard had three lungs and you only had two.

You panted for breath as a very smug Khopesh smiled before trailing his kisses up to your earlobe, and again marking and sucking spots that made you feel weak.

You should still answer with words, you thought, one of the few thoughts that could make it through your aroused haze at the moment. "I hope, you're nh! You're satisfied! With my answer...ah!"

The Nightlord chuckled, before replying. "I understand you Perfectly, my sweet little lullaby..." He hummed, before returning to his task of marking up your neck.

"But I don't think I will be Satisfied, for a while yet..."

You swallowed your nerves...because hot damn you don't think you've wanted anything more in your life!

"Bring it!"

...

"K-khopesh!" You plead as the Nightlord ravaged you, as he had been for the past two hours.

In hindsight, losing to him in the kissing stamina was probably the first sign of things to come. But your dumb horny brain had gotten you into this, and now you were pinned here.

Literally and figuratively.

He cackled, holding you up as he drove himself deep inside your sopping walls again and again. "Oooh, but my sweet little lullaby! I thought you wanted me to 'Bring It' I'm only doing as! you! asked!"

"Mm! Ulp! S-shut up!" You groaned as every thrust rocked your whole body, and though you were sore already you were still desperate for more.

"Awww...and here I thought you Liked my voice. I could smell your arousal every time you heard me speak after all~" He cooed, not losing rhythm despite his focus on taunting you. He lowered his face to your ear. "And every time you saw my face~ Your blushing, the scent of your wetness, it drove me to near madness!"

Wait he'd wanted you that much?

Khopesh continued unimpeded. "Not being able to touch you! To ravish you! To claim you! I- Mmm!"

The warmth you felt knowing he desired you compelled you to pull him into another kiss, wrapping your hand around his head and caressing his hair.

It was still carnal, but more than that it was filled with a tender sweetness. One that seemed to sooth the Nightlord's frenzy for a moment.

His movements slowed, and eventually stopped.

"Khopesh," You cooed, continuing to kiss him between words, playing and stroking his hair gently. It was a bit wiry, your fantasy of treating him to a hair spa day coming to mind.

But that was for later. There was something else on your mind right now. "Turn me around," You requested softly. "I want to hold you."

This seemed to take the Nightlord by surprise, but he acquiesced. Lifting you easily, before a different idea came to mind.

"Actually, could you lay back, I want to try something."

He was clearly still confused, "Very well,"

But if he got another kiss like the one you just gave him he'd do just about anything.

As he settled his back on the straw floor of the hay stall, you in turn settled above his hips. He kept one hand on you as you did so, partially to help with balance, and partially as reassurance that he could snag you easily should you leave again.

But your focus was clearly completely on Him, and oh did that send a shiver of delight through him. Almost as pleasurable as when you took him in hand and aligned him properly once more.

The stretch, the warmth, the closeness and even the slight sting as your Nightlord and you were once again joined.

You trembled with your own delight as you slid inch by inch and felt the warmth burrow deeper into your soft wetness. And the comfort and Pride you swelled with upon meeting your hips with his own.

But onto the main event. You began rotating your hips, sliding back and forth, never allowing him to slip completely from you. And of course squeezing with your inner muscles in a rhythm with your movements.

Khopesh groaned as the pleasure of coupling returned. He'd been staving off his own end to pleasure you, but laid back like this, seeing you not just accept him but Eagerly take part in this act. He found himself growing close.

"Mm, hmm! I, quite enjoy, this...something." He struggled to find the words, and struggled as he wanted You to reach one more peak before he did.

You chuckled at that, a genuine thing that actually made Khopesh blush. "I'M! G-glad! I wouldn't m-mind doing this with you...again."

Again? A bit of Khopesh's wicked grin came back. He gripped to his lullaby's hips and began picking up that savage pace from before.

"K-khopesh! Ah!" You yelped feeling your next peak approaching fast as he hammered your throbbing core.

"I! Have No! INTENTION! Of letting you slip away! My sweet Lullaby~" He growled as he finally let his full desire reach its peak!

"You! Are! Mine!" He hissed bringing his arms around your form and pulling you into a nearly suffocating embrace as he felt the incredible buildup finally release.

"Khope-aAaaahhh-!" You trembled as that bursting firework of tension finally crescendo ed for you as well. Leaving you trembling and clenching as Khopesh let his milky warmth fill you.

"Mine!.. mine...mine...min..e," He panted, his pace slowly reducing as he rode out those Wonderful aftershocks inside you, letting you both share in the pleasure as it faded.

You remained like that for a bit. Sticky, hot, tired, sweaty, but Satisfied. Just bringing your breathing back to normal and feeling the burn in your muscles the arousal had kept at bay.

You glanced at the Nightlord, not nearly as winded as you, but he had worked up a sweat, and his beautiful dark hair was tangled with stray bits of hay.

It was a comedic sight.

Khopesh found himself stirred by another of your adorable giggles, though he was confused by its source.

His confused face just made him look Cuter. But you stifled your laughter so you could explain.

"You've ah...you've got some barn glitter up here." You reached up to his dark hair and gently removed some to show him.

Khopesh actually snorted and grumbled, pawing at the other pieces to remove them. Again you found yourself amused.

"Here, let me help you." You offered sweetly.

You used your smaller hands and delicate touch to remove what pieces you could, and as you did Khopesh stared at your cute face that was set in a positive, but focused expression.

Your seriousness at such a simple task was endearing.

He wanted to keep you So Badly.

"Done," You stated cheerfully. "Well as much as I can, I think your hair will need a wash to get the smallest stuff out." You recommended. "I'll probably need a wash myself."

You were probably correct, though part of him loathed the idea of letting you go.

"I guess...since we both need one...we could shower together at my place...you know, to save water?" You gave him a wink.

Now it was his turn for his more literal thoughts to misunderstand. Would showering together reduce the amount of water needed for them to wash that drastically-

"Op! Looks like I missed a bit of barn glitter."

"What? Where?"

"Mwah!" You kissed him on the very tip of his slightly crooked nose.

Oh

OOOOOOH!

Ooooh~

He smiled that wicked smile, and he saw your blush erupt once more as you realized he understood your intention.

He Loved your boldness.

He was Definitely keeping you.

Edit: Hey this has a sequel now! Found here!

[ziblu58]

My theories for what the themes of the fourth Sonic movie will be based on.

Ima preface by saying that most of my exposure for anything Sonic related mainly comes from the movies although I've been trying to read up on some of the canon lore these past few weeks but I just wanna put out there how I can see the fourth movie playing out.

Throughout all three movies, we've seen Sonic develop in many different ways, however the more a character develops, the more they run the risk of becoming a character that doesn't develop and grow. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing but considering that Sonic is indeed the main protagonist of these movies, it's important to have a place where he can continue to grow and develop as the story continues as a way to keep things fresh.

So where I think the themes of Sonic 4 will be based on are "flaws and perfection". In fact, there's already some decent setup for this to be the case based on the post credits scenes of Sonic 3.

The scene in particular that I'm referring to is when Sonic refers to Metal Sonic as a cosplay, even noting that he got a few details wrong, and we see Metal get visibly mad at this as shown when his pupils dilate. Sonic even follows up his statement by saying how "it's hard to copy perfection", referring to himself.

So where can Sonic 4 go with this idea? Well, based on this scene in particular, we can see that Sonic is pretty confident in himself. He's confident in his abilities, his skills, and his powers, and upon encountering Metal Sonic, all he does is just treat him as just a "villain of the week" threat. He doesn't treat him with the same seriousness like he would with Robotnik or Shadow, but rather another bad guy that he can easily beat.

Now from what I know, in canon, Metal Sonic was basically created to be the "better Sonic" by Eggman. A version of Sonic that was made to outclass him in every single aspect.

This is where I think the themes of flaws and perfection could fit in with the movie.

As I mentioned before, Sonic is confident in who he is and his abilities. And in a way, he now sees himself as perfect as he could possibly be after everything he's went through throughout each of the films. But what does it really mean be perfect? Does it mean to be without flaws? Without faults? Or does it mean that you don't have to be perfect in the literal sense, but to embrace who you really are, flaws and strengths combined.

Throughout the movie, we could see how Sonic grapples with the identity of being the "perfect" hero to everyone, especially since he's served as huge inspirations to other characters such as Tom, Tails, Knuckles, and Shadow to be better versions of themselves in the previous movies.

This is also where I think Amy would be able to play along with the themes of the movie. Let's say she has her tarot cards, this could cause her to have an idealistic view of the way the world works. She could think that her tarot cards could provide the answers to the future or something along those lines. And in turn this could lead her to have an idealistic view of Sonic, viewing him as a legendary hero with all these grand acts of heroism that have inspired her to be her own hero and her tarot cards told her that she would meet this hero one day (this is how I assume Amy managed to locate Sonic at the end of Sonic 3).

There was this one artwork by @/Kiioki11 on twitter that portrays how I would imagine the Sonamy dynamic playing out in the movie, with it being something more mutual instead of something one-sided or a "reverse Sonamy" situation, where Amy looks up to Sonic as a legendary hero that she was destined to meet and Sonic, being his cocky self, playing along with it and hyping himself up. Overall I just want them to be silly goobers with one another and to form a genuine bond with each other.

Now as comedic as it may be for Sonic to hype himself up, this actually starts developing an internal struggle for him. Even though it's great that he's looked up to by people and has helped them in one way or another, it can cause him to start feeling that he has to live up to those expectations. And with how high of a pedestal Amy has Sonic on already, something like that could overwhelm him so throughout the course of film, we can see how he can crack under the pressure being the "perfect" hero for his friends since he's supposed to be their leader, he's supposed to be the one who guides them into victory, the one who mostly has the fate of the world on his shoulders.

So when Sonic finally reaches his lowest point during the film, this is where Amy's idealized view of Sonic is finally broken. The image of the "legendary hero" she was destined to meet is shattered, and instead is replaced with the real Sonic. Here she actually gets to see Sonic as Sonic and this time, she's the one who motivates him to keep on going, making it a reversal of the "pep talks" Sonic would usually give to other characters such as Knuckles or Shadow. Despite having had that idealistic view of Sonic now destroyed, her empathetic nature allows her to see past that, especially with everything they have gone through together throughout the film. This is where Amy learns to see Sonic for who he really is and if we're gonna go the romantic route, that small crush she once had turns into genuine love and adoration for Sonic and vice versa.

Now where Metal Sonic comes into play is how he could have what I like to call a "crash out" arc. What this means is that once he finds out he's just a copy of Sonic and not the real deal, this is what drives him batshit crazy to prove he's the "one true Sonic", leading him to become Neo Metal Sonic, essentially representing a Sonic that is "perfect". A Sonic without flaws and is at the peak of both his powers and abilities. So while Sonic has learned to embrace who he really is, flaws and strengths combined, Metal Sonic tries to eliminate the flaws he has to achieve absolute perfection. Also Paramount, please give Metal Sonic a Tai Lung/Shredder-esque battle where he completely mops the floor with Team Sonic, I wanna see him be an absolute beast.

Anyways, that's all I got for how Sonic 4 could potentially play out and how I would like to see some things go. Let me know what you guys think 🫡

[anotheroceanid]

hi! okay this is insanely long but i had a lot of thoughts so bear with me pls.

i was scrolling through the jercy tag bc i'm starved and saw ur posts abt rhea/kronos & percy/jason and have to say i love them sm!! it's such an interesting concept and i've got a lot of cool thoughts abt them now thanks to you, buttt,, may i also offer metis/zeus & percy/jason parallels? it's a little stretch but hey idc it's fun

metis is the daughter of oceanus, percy is the son of poseidon (at both times, they're a child of the ruler of the seas) zeus is the son of kronos, jason is the son of zeus (at both times, they're a child of the ruler of the universe) metis & zeus met and fought a war to end kronos together...percy & jason unknowingly fought together during the titan war to end kronos and they do meet and work together during the giant war! and they make a great team, like in the twin giants fight

metis was a goddess of wisdom i'm pretty sure? and was zeus' advisor. i am a firm hater of the "percy is stupid" train because honestly it's percy who makes most of the battle strategies in pjo.

in fact here's some unwarranted examples: realizing what the lotus casino was, tricking crusty, figuring out the whole lightning thief debacle, giving clarisse the fleece, clearing chiron's name, figuring out he needs to take the sky, finding the nemean lion's weak spot, figuring out rachel is their guide for the labyrinth, all of his actions in the battle of manhattan tbh like he was crazy for doing all that at age 16!!, scaring chrysaor’s crew, making the combination of demigods to get nike, etc etc- i could go on and on!

so, i feel he can be related to metis in that he would be a pretty great advisor and obviously he'd be a fantastic leader. athena herself says the requests (read: demands) percy makes at the end of the second titan war are wise!

also think it could be interesting if poseidon delibrately chose to have percy look like metis. they'd probably look similar anyway but if poseidon wanted zeus to have some hesitation in killing percy, creating him to look like someone zeus greatly wronged in the style of kronos (aka eating someone) could do it?

anyway, moving onto jason! who, like zeus, is the youngest son and has a lunatic father that treats him like shit,, and at first zeus served kronos! just as jason did, but hey, if jason hadn't died when he did,, how long would he have continued to serve zeus?

rhea took zeus from kronos to be raised in crete by nymphs, like hera took jason from zeus to be raised in camp jupiter by wolves. and like rhea, hera is always on jason's side and honestly based on her toa reaction to his death, likely loved him like a son. and we know hera fucking hates zeus like rhea hated kronos.

jason is also strong as fuck, and ik rick knocked him out in every book because he didn't actually want his forced-percy-rival to actually showcase his powers but from what we know and seen he's like insane as well. PLUS he's been training since he was like 3 ik he's strong asf and zeus is sweating.

parallels😁!! uh let's hope jason doesn't eat percy though /j

i know zeus would've recognized these parallels and got insanely paranoid bc yk him. ik zeus was exhaling in relief when jason died, and there's a reason he was always trying to kill percy. he saw his sins in him! everytime he looks at percy he sees the woman he tricked and treated like shit and more-or-less killed. but he also knows metis was smart and very capable, n that's scary to him. everytime he looks at jason he sees his younger self, and that's a horrible thing to see if you're zeus lmao

of course jason is much better than zeus and percy is fairly different from metis, but it's the small parallels and zeus' paranoia that makes everything bigger.

the act we know metis most for is supplying the poison for kronos to regurgitate his kids,, and percy has a pretty close connection to poison now after his fight with akhlys :)

but yeah!! fun parallels :') sorry if this was a lot to read/hard to read

bonus: metis & zeus r cousins just like percy & jason /j

Now!!! Hear me out!!! I loooove the Metis X Percy parallels, I never talked about it here because some things I keep for the fics 🗣️🗣️🗣️ but I totally GET YOU!!!

The thing about Rhea is that they prob look a loooot alike, so people (mostly the big six and, maybe, Kronos) attribute her whole persona to Percy’s even tho many things make zero sense. Because they want him to impersonate their mother somehow to feel their void. Others might think of him more of a Perseis kinda of person, just for the destruction thing. But Metis? She was gone before most Olympians were alive, so it’s not like they have a truthful idea of what she was like, and those who remember might not have been as close to her as Zeus.

Metis was the Titaness of good counsel, planning, cunning and wisdom. Which makes us think that Athena would be a lot like her, but I personally think Athena is more a Zeus mini me. Metis being an ocean’s kid and a titaness made me believe she was a lot wilder and not exactly the usual embodiment of these concepts. Which would make her much more of a wild card, so Zeus got rid of her when the prophecy about their son showed up. So like, I can see Percy embodying Metis’ aspect of these domains (while Annabeth would be more Athena-like), and Zeus being like…

In terms of looks, she and Percy might’ve not looked the most similar, but hey, Metis would question Zeus’ authority in front of the whole council and would call out his shit whenever she felt like it.

Jason, however, is a much tamed version of his father. In a good sense. He’s not cruel, and when he’s forced to make a choice that he feels bad about it haunts him. He’s not overly confident and proud. Beyond all, he was taught loyalty to Rome and the gods from a young age, contrary to Zeus who was taught rebellion and how he was supposed to be this great saviour. For a while, this probably made Zeus more comfortable about him than he probably was about Thalia, for example, or even Percy.

But romans and Greeks learn about each other and now Jason and Percy meet and turns out Jason is SMITTEN with his cousin? Yeah, that’s a problem. Zeus would seethe, and Hera would be 100% smug about it.

Suddenly, there is something that Jason cares more than Rome or the gods. That is dangerous.

Also, something about Percy being somehow paralleled with TWO titan queens is just…

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

13 - Jake's Sacrifice

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: lots of feelings, Rooster and Hangman sort their shit out, canon typical fighter pilot violence

A/N: I apologize for the heartbreak that is about to happen. I had a little cry writing this one. Also, this story is now caught up to everywhere else it's posted so updates will be about a week apart now, depending on how much I write, but I've got a lot coming up.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891

Playlist

Jake didn't want to get out of bed in the morning. He was wrapped tightly, and protectively around Sam and warm almost to the point of sweating under the sheets. He'd been laying there for what felt like hours, his fingers ghosting over her shoulder and the back of her neck, combing through her hair. Fuck, he was going to miss those beautiful brown waves and the way her bangs fell across her forehead, and how soft her skin was against his fingers when he brushed them out of her eyes. Sure, he’d only be gone a short while, but in that amount of time, he knew he’d only be thinking of her. 

When she rose from her deep and comfortable sleep, he smiled. When she gazed up at him through barely awake eyes, he reached over and ran his fingers gently through her hair, down her cheek and along her jawline, as if he was memorizing every little part of her. He knew this mission could be fatal and he would only have pictures of her in his mind to guide him through it. 

They headed to Sam’s house and then dressed in silence, Jake in his dress whites and Sam in a pretty blue dress that stopped just above her knees, and had quarter sleeves. Jake followed her to the bathroom as she went to fix her hair, leaving it down and wavy, bangs falling over her eyes. Jake wrapped a hand around her from the back and placed his cap on.

“Don’t you look handsome.” Sam murmured, a twinge of sadness in her tone as she locked eyes with him in the mirror. He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her neck before his eyes met hers once more. “ And you’re more beautiful than an afterburner at night .” Then, his voice filled with sorrow for what was to come. His lips turned down as he whispered, “I’m sorry.” to her before pulling away.

He kept telling himself it would be a short mission and everyone would come home safely but in the pit of his stomach, there was an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was just nerves, but he’d never had that happen before. He’d never loved anyone the way he loved Sam before either. It had to be a combination of everything. The worst part was how guilty he felt for leaving her now, when she’d just lost her father. That probably upset Jake the most. He’d come into her life and given her some light in the dark of it all and now he was stepping away.

He took her hand, leading her down and into the truck so that he could meet the rest of his detachment at the port to board the carrier. He was the last one to arrive, not late by any means, but all eyes examined him as he walked up with Sam. Javy’s new girlfriend, Maisy, was there as well, and Penny, as well as Cyclone and Warlock’s wives. 

Nat and Bob stepped over to Sam and hugged her. “Be careful.” She said to them both and they nodded. Nat hugged her once more and she glanced at Jake. “We’ll keep an eye on him and make sure he gets home safe.”

“I know you will...and I know he’ll do the same for you guys.” Sam said and they strode away with one final wave. Rooster then headed over to her and he smiled at her before carefully embracing her. Sam stared at him hard after they parted, as he kept his hands on her arms. 

“Bring him back to me, Roos. I need him.” She said, stern and needy all in the same token. Bradley nodded and he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“I promise. I know him and I have had our differences but I see how happy he makes you, Sammy. I understand him a little better now...so I promise that he’ll come home safe...that I’ll bring him back to you.” Bradley vowed and that made Sam tear up and pull him into a hug again. He smiled and glanced down as he began to walk away but Sam called for him once more.

“Roos...you come home safe too. I mean it.” Sam said and he chuckled and waved goodbye. It was then that Jake walked back to her, hands in his pockets. Sage green met chocolate brown in the morning sun and Jake couldn’t help but draw her in for a kiss, one that was full of passion and need. One that she would think about until he came home. One that burnt a memory into her brain that she knew she’d never forget. 

“Tell me that you'll be safe and sound. Please, Jake. Lie to me if you have to, right here, right now, so I have some peace of mind.” Sam said her voice barely above a whisper between them and he held her head in his hands, kissing her once more.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, honey bun. I will. Here...want you to have Tyler's number just in case.” He said softly and sent her his brother's contact information. “If you’re feeling shitty or you need anything just call him and tell him what's going on and he'll get here if he can. He's super reliable. I know I won't have much service on the boat, but I'll try to text you when I can.” He explained, then he pressed his lips hard to her forehead. She closed her eyes tight, trying to keep herself from crying in front of everyone. His fingers met the back of her neck and he squeezed there, while her hands bunched on his sleeves, her nails digging into his forearms. He could feel the tension coursing through her. “ I love you, Samantha Kazansky .” He said, his lips at her temple.

“ I love you, Jake Seresin .” She murmured, gazing up at him. Jake then felt a hand on his shoulder and he glanced back. 

“Time to go, Jake.” Javy said, making Jake shake his head and back away from Sam. Javy hugged her and whispered something to her that Jake couldn't hear. Javy followed him, placing his hand on Jake's shoulder. Jake glanced back at Sam, tears stinging his eyes and he was sure she was the same. 

Penny had taken Sam into her arms and reassured her. “He knows what he's doing. And Mav is with them. They'll be okay.” She said and Sam smiled weakly against Penny's shoulder. Maisy introduced herself to Sam, and then Penny invited them to come back to the Hard Deck if they wanted. They both agreed it would be good and then they could get to know each other. 

🛩🛩🛩

Once on the carrier, all the pilots changed into their flight suits. Jake sat in his bunk, flipping through his saved pictures on his phone of Sam. He already missed her. He had limited cell service. He sent her a text, knowing it probably wouldn't send for some time, but he did it anyway.

Jake: miss you already, i love you Sam 

He sighed heavily, placing his phone on the mattress beside him. He heard boots down the hall coming toward his bunk. Someone poked their head in, Jake, sensing the presence but keeping his head in his hands. The boots crossed the small space and he heard the metal cot creak with weight settled next to him. He felt a hand at his back, the hand rubbing back and forth a few times before settling. 

“I made Sam a promise. I'm your wingman, Jake, so all the shit from the past, it's void. We start from scratch right now, okay?” Bradley murmured. Jake sniffled and cleared his throat.

“Mature of you, Rooster.” Jake mused and Bradley glared at him. Jake smirked and then dropped his gaze to the floor. “I would really like to start over...”

“Hey...I'm Bradley Bradshaw, Callsign Rooster.” Bradley held out his hand to shake. Jake took it firmly and chuckled.

“Jake Seresin. Callsign Hangman.” He said and Bradley squeezed Jake's shoulder. Jake knew he was trying to be comforting and it was actually helping. 

“We’ll be alright. We just need to work as a team. Also...I am happy for you and Sam. I'm sorry about what I said before. I've known Sam since we were teenagers because of her dad...I uh...did she ever tell you anything about her and I?” Bradley's words were a million miles a minute, filled with emotion that Jake expected. Bradley had always been emotional, and that was part of the reason they didn't get along. Jake had always been cold and calculating. Not with Sam though.

“Other than you guys knowing each other for a long time. There something I should know?” Jake asked, knowing what he was going to say, but wanting Bradley to say it anyway. Bradley took his hand away and folded his hands in his lap.

“I slept with her...once, two years ago...obviously there's no feelings on her part...but I wanted to be completely transparent with you. I know she'll never pick me over you. I wouldn't even dare try. I do still like her a little more than a friend though...” Bradley leaned back and away from Jake, anticipating possibly getting punched in the face. When Jake just laid back and sighed, Bradley was surprised. Jake's brows furrowed.

“All I'll say is if you're gonna still have feelings for her, you better be ready to protect her if I need back up. You'd better be respectful. And if I die, you'd better take care of her for me or else I'll haunt your ass until you die. And then I'll make your afterlife hell.” Jake said flatly and Bradley laughed a little.

“Okay that was not the response I was expecting.” Bradley shrugged and Jake sat up and looked Bradley square in the face. 

“What good does it do me, or you, or Sam for me to be pissed about it? Doesn't help us any at the moment. And it doesn't affect Sam right now. This was damn near the worst timing for this mission.” Jake explained and Bradley nodded in agreement. Bradley hadn't ever felt the way Jake was feeling about Sam, about any girl, but if it was affecting him this much, if Jake loved her this much, Bradley could see how him being with Sam a long time ago wouldn't bother him now.

“It'll be quick like Mav said. I have to talk to Mav when we get back too.” Bradley said and Jake raised a brow. Bradley sighed. “He pulled my papers and set me back four years. We have some things to work out but after seeing Sam lose her dad and Mav trying to be a second one to me...I wanna fix the relationship with him.”

“I think that’s important for you, Bradshaw. I’m sorry about your mom and dad by the way...I didn’t know.” Jake said and Bradley smiled warmly at him. He gave him another pat on the back and then stood and leaned against the bunk for a moment.

“Sam’s hard to love, Jake. She’s independent, stubborn, and willful. She’s like a wild horse that won’t be tamed. You’re never gonna tame her, but if you treat her right, she’ll stay. If you don’t she’ll move right the fuck on...I know you know that.” Bradley said, Jake nodding in agreement.

“She was so damn easy to fall in love with...I mean the moment I saw her...I knew...and I know she’ll be hard to keep. I know she’s gonna make me work for it. I’m gonna enjoy every single second of that, Bradshaw. I’ve been waiting for a girl like her, someone to match my attitude and call me on my bullshit. She’ll single handedly keep me humble.” Jake said as he glanced down with a grin. 

“Didn’t know it was possible to humble Hangman.” Bradley joked, both of them letting light laughter settle between them.

“For her, it is. It’s the easiest thing in the world for her. And that’s just one thing I love about her.” Jake stated.

“There’s a lot to love about her, Jake. I’m happy for you. I truly am.” Bradley said quietly, tapping on the top bunk before he left Jake to his own thoughts.

🛩🛩🛩

The carrier sped to their destination with good seas and clear skies the majority of the way. Jake had gotten a single text back from Sam.

Sam: i love and miss you Jake, please be careful 

The text had brought tears to his eyes. He had thought back on the past few weeks and realized how silly everything might look from the outside. He’d not only just met Sam but he proposed to her too. Jake felt crazy for that. He decided then there was another text he had to send.

Jake: hey Tyler, just wanna let you know i’m deployed on a mission and I proposed to Sam, gave her your number in case anything happens or she needs anything, hope that’s okay, love you, miss you, cant wait to see you, planning to bring Sam down to see you when I get home

Once he sent that, they had several more hours before they were going to begin pre-flight checks and he was trying to get all the rest he needed. His phone chimed then.

Tyler: hey, good luck don’t break anything or die, can’t wait for you to get home, be safe, love you, miss you

🛩🛩🛩

Jake stood in front of Bradley for a moment before heading to his jet. His jaw worked and he glanced down before saluting Bradley.

“Let’s give ‘em hell.” Jake said, pulling Bradley in for a hard and fast hug. 

Once Jake was settled in his jet, Maverick had come up the ladder to check on them all one last time. He saluted Jake. “Come home safe, Lieutenant.” He said and Jake saluted him back, pulling his helmet on and adjusting his mask. Engines were on and he was ready to get moving. He bristled for a moment, hyping himself up like he always did and then he glanced over at the flight crew. He was being waved onto the catapult. 

“Dagger One, up and ready on catapult one.” Jake confirmed as they locked the nose gear into place.

“Dagger Two, up and ready..” Bradley said, glancing over at Jake’s jet in anticipation.

“Dagger Three, up and ready..” Nat affirmed, glancing back at Bob, who nodded his head.

“Dagger Four, up and ready.” Payback said and Fanboy gave a thumbs up.

“Support assets airborne. Strike package ready. Standing by for launch decision.” The launch coordinator said over the comms, then looked to Cyclone for the ready. The vice admiral swallowed hard and stared at the radar, checking and double checking one last time. He folded his arms across his chest.

“Send them.” He said, and the catapult slung Jake’s jet down the length of the carrier, and asonic boom sounded as he pushed the throttle up. He steered the plane off the deck and into the sky above the Pacific Ocean.

“Dagger One, away. Dagger Two, away. Dagger Three, away, Dagger Four, away.” The launch coordinator said as they heard each boom from each jet as they lifted off the carrier. They were off, heading to the most difficult mission they’ve ever encountered. All Jake could think about was getting it done and coming home safely.

“Comanche, Dagger One, standby check in.” Jake said over the comms. Bradley took a shaky breath that he hoped no one could hear.

“Comanche, One one set. Picture clean. Recommend Dagger continue.” The radar operator said. Jake adjusted himself and steered his jet down.

“Copy, Daggers descending below radar.” One by one they pulled down through the clouds and fog, getting to their mission altitude, only about one hundred feet above the sea. Jake took a deep breath and spoke again. “Feet dry in sixty seconds. Comanche, Dagger One, picture?”

“Comanche, picture clean. Decision is yours.” The radar tech said, and Jake’s breath out had a weight to it that the other pilots felt in their own jets. 

“Copy. Dagger attack.” Jake commanded and they assumed their attack formation. The Tomahawk missiles had been launched and were heading toward their target, the air base that they needed to take out.

“Tomahawks airborne. No turning back now.” Warlock said, turning to Cyclone. Maverick was up on deck, as the Dagger Spare in the event that they needed him. Mav was practically biting his nails. This would all be over and done within a very short time, but until then, the not knowing exactly what was happening made it difficult to sit by and wait.

“Daggers set. Proceeding to target. Two minutes and thirty seconds in three, two, one. Mark.” Jake said, pressing his timer.

“Two mark.” Nat said, having slid in behind Jake’s jet.

“Three mark.” Bradley said.

“Four mark.” Payback said. They’d reached dry land and maneuvered easily through the first bit of terrain between the mountains.

“First SAM sight overhead.” Nat said. Bradley’s breath quickened, glancing up.

“Dagger, Comanche. We’re picking up two bandits. Single group. Two contacts.” The radar operator said, and Jake surveyed above him quickly, his fingers tightening slightly on the stick, thinking of speeding up. He knew he coukd

“Comanche, what's their heading?” Nat asked. They all had a slight wave of panic and nausea roil over them. 

“Bull’s eye, zero nine zero, fifty, tacked southwest.”

“They’re headed away from us. They don’t know we’re here.” Bradley affirmed and they all let out a breath of relief.

“No, but the second those Tomahawks hit the airbase, those bandits are gonna move to defend the target...we’ve gotta get there before they do. Increase speed.” Jake said, pushing his jet faster.

“We’ve got you, Hangman. We’re right behind you.” Nat said. Rooster, Payback, and Fanboy were right behind them, aa they navigated the terrain with amazing precision. They were ahead of their time to the target.

“Tomahawk Impact in three, two, one.” The comms officer said, as the missiles hit the airbase, decimating it.

“Bandits are switching course to defend the target.” The radar operator said. “Bandits are two minutes from target, Daggers are one minute.”

“We gotta move our asses guys, Rooster where are you?” Jake asked, checking over his shoulder and surveying above once again. 

“We’re right behind you, keep going Hangman.” Bradley said and Jake focused on his breathing for a moment again.

“Bob check your laser.” Jake said, waiting for his lock.

‘Air-to-ground check complete. Laser code verified. One, six, eight, eight. Laser is a go!” Bob said and Jake rolled his shoulders.

“Phoenix, stand-by gor pop-up strike in three, two, one. Popping now.” Jake commanded, pulling back on the stick, and with Phoenix and Bob hot on his tail they popped up the side of the mountain, inverted across the top and headed down into the valley. Bob locked his laser on target and Jake sent the bombs, directly hitting the bunker, opening it up for Rooster’s hit. As Jake pulled the stick back and they headed up the other side of the mountain, he felt the weight of everything pressing on his chest, not just the G-force, but the weight of all of his decisions that led him to the moment.

Payback and Fanboy's laser malfunctioned and Rooster decided to drop his bomb anyway, making a direct hit. There was cheering form everyone on the boat, especially Maverick in the spare jet. As they climbed in enemy airspace, the SAMs began firing on their jets. All they could hear on the boat was voices, trying not to panic, but at the edge of it, as they did their damndest to not get killed.

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!”

“Break right, Payback!”

“Breaking right!”

“Oh, my god, here they come!”

“SAM on your six, Rooster!

“Deploying countermeasures.”

“Negative contact.”

“Dagger one defending.”

“Talk to me, Bob. Break right, Phoenix! Break right! Hangman!”

“Nine o’clock! Nine o’clock!”

“Rooster, two more on your six.”

“Dagger two, defending.”

“Payback, SAM on your nose.” 

“Dagger four defending!”

“Rooster, tally, seven o’clock! Talk to me, Bob!”

“On our six! Dagger two defending!”

“Phoenix, break right!”

“Dagger two defending.”

“Shit, I’m out of flares!”

“Rooster, evade, evade!”

“I can’t shake ’em! They’re on me! They’re on me!” Rooster said, and a feeling of dread washing over him as the SAMs followed his jet, getting closer and closer as they all tried to leave the area. Jake steered as close as he could over the top of Rooster’s jet, then stalled and hit the brakes, sacrificing himself to save Rooster. 

Jake's jet is hit by the missiles, the back end exploding into a fiery cannon ball. Jake winces and closes his eyes as he pulls to eject. He felt nothing but pain, in every fiber of his being, before he blacked out.

“Dagger One is hit! I repeat, Dagger one is hit!” Phoenix said as the rest of Dagger Squad begin to head out of the bowl away from the remaining SAMs.

“Dagger One Status!” Rooster yells. Everyone on the boat goes silent. It seems as though everything stops. Cyclone slams his hand on the table in front of him. Maverick slams a fist on the side of his jet. 

“All Daggers flow to ECP. Bandits thirty west, locked on you, flow to evade.” The comms officer stated and then they hear Cyclone over the comms.

“There's nothing you can do in a goddamn F-18. Get home now. We'll launch search and rescue as soon as those bandits are out of the sky. I will not lose anyone else today!”