#dinner in America soundtrack

[thesingalongsong]

“Fuck the rest of them

Fuck 'em all

Fuck 'em all but us,”

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A traditional acrylic and gouache painting of Simon from the film Dinner in America. It's a close-up headshot, Simon turned towards the left. His eyes look to the right, with his right eye more shadowed than the other. He has a neutral, but slightly downturned expression. A lit cigarette hangs from his closed lips, a cloud of smoke trailing off it. The piece has a warm palette with cold highlights. The acrylic is placed down first in broad points of colour, while the gouache is layer on top for details and some more transparent layering. The background is a deep red, which leans somewhat orange. This contrasts against the dark blue used for shadows and outline details.]

Dinner in America (Adam Rehmeier, 2020)

[edenradio]

DINNER IN AMERICA PLAYLIST JUST DROPPED

[lizziebennet92]

I'm so happy that I watched, and fell in love with, Dinner in America months ago. So now I can simultaneously feel happy that it's finally getting the love and attention it deserves while still being slightly snobby because I loved it before it trended on tiktok

(But I am legitimately super happy that more people are watching one of my new favorite movies)

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They're Drunk| Maknae Line

Their drunk shenanigans Warnings: Mentioning of alcohol (obviously), Slight suggestion in Seungmin's

Hyungline

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Han|

You internally cringed as you saw another innocent pedestrian about to cross your path.

You reached out to grab Han before he started to head over but it was too late.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" He said waving to the old man.

Bless the grandpa's heart as he adjusted his hearing aid and prepared to tune into Han.

"Baby leave him-"

"THIS IS MY GIRLFRIEND Y/N!! ISN'T SHE SO PRETTY!!" He exclaimed excitedly gesturing towards you. "And she's really nice and funny! And when she laughs too hard sometimes she snorts and sounds like a pig!" He shares, bouncing on his toes with a surprising amount of poise considering how plastered he was at the moment.

He spotted another couple walking and made his way over.

"OHMAGOSH HI! YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER! HAVE YOU SEEN MY GIRLFRIEND? WE'RE CUTE TOGETHER TOO!" He motions you over and you feel extremley embarassed as Han goes into detail about the uneven pitch you use when singing to the soundtracks of Disney movies while cleaning around the house and "How friggin adorable" it is.

This continues all the way to the guys dorms.

Every single time Han sees a person he just has to inform them that you are his girlfriend and he is completely head over heels for you.

You step into a convenient store just a block away from the house to pick up some hangover medicine, orange juice and Han's favorite brand of popsicles for the morning after a long night out.

He ends up wandering away for a second and you decide to pay for everything first and then go to find Han.

You find him sitting outside with the owners of the stores son, talking his ear off as he finished up an assignment you assumed was due in a few hours considering the lightening sky.

"See! Look! There she is! The girl I was telling you about? She's my girlfriend!"

The kid took a sip from his milk.

"I have a girlfriend too! Does your girlfriend like watching cartoons too?"

Han shakes his head. "My girlfriend is too smart for cartoons, she likes watching crime documentaries."

"Oh." The kid said ripping open a package of sweet bread and then tearing a piece off for Han. "Does she like playing Roblox."

Han nods. "Yeah sometimes she scams kids on there with one of my best friends!" He says as he bites into the bread. "Buh ond haima mahy fer!" He says with a full mouth.

You chuckle and go to grab your boyfriend. "Now what did you say?" You manage to laugh out as you pull him up.

"I said one day I'm gonna marry you!" He exclaimed as he waved bye to the kid.

"Are you now?"

"Yep! So then I can tell everyone you're my wife." He said his eyebrows wiggling.

"I'm hoping you mean you'll tell everyone I'm your wife when your sober-"

You don't even finish your sentence when you spot Han frolicking over towards his next victim of oversharing.

You resolve to not even try to stop him.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

Felix|

You tucked Felix in and placed a cold bottle of water next to him on the coffee table. Jisung was in the inflatable bed on the other side of the room passed out and snoring next to Jeongin - both of the boys falling asleep the minute they had hit their pillows. The other guys were sprawled out in various places in your childhood home. Chan sleeping on the cool tile floor at the entrance of the kitchen.

This was all due to the excessive amount of alcohol the boys had consumed. You had decided to bring them to your home in America, and they had seen a cute little Mexican restaurant while driving towards your home and wanted to eat there for dinner.

You immediately said yes because it had always been your favorite place to go. Birthdays, graduations, baby showers - your 21st birthday. The owner's son worked for a place that distributed tequila, so the number of margaritas - and a variety of them as well - that the restaurant sold was always a motivation to go.

And once the boys tried one, they couldn’t stop.

The amount of margaritas that had been downed by them was slightly concerning - especially considering they weren’t used to drinking cocktails with such high ABV.

Felix looked up at you and smiled softly, his freckles highlighted by the lamp next to the arm of the couch.

“You sleepy?” You whispered as you moved a few strands of hair out of your boyfriend’s face.

He nodded. “I have to go to sleep. So I can make you brownies tomorrow.”

You chuckled and stared lovingly at him, gently poking a few of his freckles. 

“We can make them later in the day, you can sleep in.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t sleep in. I want to see everything.”

“We’ll be here for two weeks, Lix. And I already planned tomorrow as a rest day for everyone to get over jet lag. My mom is making brunch so you don’t have to get up until at least 12.”

Felix shakes his head. “No…I have to make brownies tomorrow.” He mumbles. He opens his brown eyes and smiles. 

You laugh. “Why tomorrow?”

“Because I’m gonna marry you.” He says quietly. “ I’m gonna put your ring in a brownie. And I don't want to wait. So I have to do it tomorrow."

You paused the gentle caresses of his face and he closed his eyes his lips quivering softly.

“I ruined your surprise.” He says his voice breaking quietly. “Are you mad?” His warm brown eyes searched your face for any sign of anger; but it was void of anything but utter lovesickness.

You let out a breathless laugh. “No of course not. I can’t wait either.”

“Does that mean you'll say yes?” He asks quietly, his eyes getting droopy with sleep.

“Y-” You’re answer is interrupted by a loud snore coming from Seungmin and Hyunjin letting out a whimper.

“Y/N my head hurts, can I have medicine?” He whines quietly.

“Yes.” You answer- both to Hyunjin and your sleeping angel of a boyfriend.

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

Seungmin|

"Seungmin get that glass away from your mouth." You groaned as you snatched a Spongebob shot glass from your boyfriend's hand. On your first date back home you had taken him to the mall and he had strolled into a store that had sold everything from t-shirts and hats to shot glasses and other...adult things.

"SeUnGmIn gEt tHat GlAsS aWay FrOm yOur MoUtH." He mocked as he sat on the couch and pouted.

"Babe you've had a lot to drink. And you have nothing in your stomach. You're a mess."

His reply was quick. "You're a mess because I'm not in your stomach."

You turn around and Seungmin had a confident smirk on his face, although what he just said didn't make too much sense realistically.

Seungmin was rarely ever flirty. When you had started your relationship you had told Seungmin you wished to stay abstinent until you married him. Which you were sure of doing. Seungmin had quickly agreed; but with that agreement he was always careful with the way he flirted and joked because he didn't wish to bring you any discomfort.

You chuckled and went a leand down in front of Seungmin.

"Hmm? Really?" You cooed.

Seungmin gave you a sultry look and pulled you on top of him. His lips made contact all along your face and he slowly brought them down to your jawline.

"Mmm." He continued kissing your neck and you smiled as you stroked his hair. "I love you so much. I want you so bad."

You laughed as Seungmin's kisses came to halt, and he quickly but carefully removed you from his lap and rushed to the bathroom.

You followed him soon after because you heard him wailing.

"Minnie baby whats wrong?" You whispered as you sat with him on the bathroom floor.

"I-I-I took ad-advantage of y-you. You wanted to-to wait and I-I..." He wasn't able to finish his sentence before he leaned over the toilet seat and started to heave.

Although it was barely useful since there wasn't much for him to actually throw up.

"Minnie baby you didn't take advantage of me. I fully took part in flirting with you too. And just because I don't want to have sex at the moment doesn't mean I don't want to flirt with you like that. I just don't want the full on intimacy yet."

You stroked Seungmin's hair, and waited for him to feel better.

"Just to make sure it's not because I'm ugly right?" He asked plainly looking at you dead in the eye.

You sputter out a laugh. "No of course not! I think you're so fine it actually concerning." Seungmin hmmed and rested his head against your chest. "Its just my personal preference to wait." You assured him.

He sighs and nods. "Okay just wanted to make sure." He stated as he lifted the Spongebob shot glass up to his mouth again quickly dowing the contents before you could tell him not to or snatch it way again.

"Kim Seungmin! I thought I told you no more tonight!" You said, referring to his drinking activties.

"You'll be telling me that a lot more once we're married." He pulls himself up on his two feet and wobbles slightly.

Then a shit eating grin plasters itself on his face.

"I'm just telling you right now I suck at listening."

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

Jeongin |

You walked into the guys' dorm and saw Jeongin crying on the ground. 

“What's wrong?” You asked Felix as you slipped off your shoes, and into a pair of slippers Chan had purchased for you once you and the maknae of the group had started dating.

“He’s drunk.”

You hung up your coat and frowned. “He doesn’t usually get this way though.”

“That’s because he saw a picture of your boyfriend.” Minho commented, trying to suppress a laugh as he took a sip from his glass, and continued watching Jeongin flail on the ground with all the other boys.

“M-Mi-Minho Hyung s-stooooo-stoooo-sttooppp.” Jeongin barely managed to say through his choked sobs. You looked over at Chan in concern but he was crying from laughter, barely able to keep his phone in the same upright position as the rest of the members.

Jeongin was never going to live this down.

“But he's my boyfriend.? You say in confusion.

Hyunjin is on the ground with Jeongin scrolling through his photos.

“Look Jeongin- this is Y/N and her boyfriend at the award ceremony. He thanked her while he was on stage and she was sooooo happy about it. And she even joined him and his band for dinner.”

“Sh-she-she didddddd?” Jeongin cries out with a heartbreaking pout on his eyes focused on the picture Hyunjin was showing.

Of you and Jeongin.

“Yep. And they even shared a piece of cake. Specifically strawberry cheesecake.”

Jeongin starts to sniffle again, and then hiccup and the water works began once more.

“Y/N lovesss stra-strawb-berry cheesecakkeeeee.” He whined loudly, his sobs almost loud enough to overpower the laughter in the room.

You can’t help but laugh as you go to make your way towards your boyfriend, who has snot running down his face.

You wipe it away with the sleeve of a hoodie he gifted you and shush him.

"Innie its okay don’t cry.” You giggled as you cleaned up his face. His narrow eyes were puffy and sad but still unrealistically beautiful.

“But Y/N ha-has a boy-boy-boy-friendddddd. And he-he looks so so hand-ndsome she’ll never-never leave himmmm.” He cries out again, letting out a strangled sob that sounded strangely ogreish. "He-he's like SO se-sexy!" He chokes.

You laugh at Jeongin's unknowing drunk narcissism.

“Baby, you’re right. You are very handsome and sexy and I’ll never leave you.” You chuckled along with the rest of the guys as Jeongin’s cries suddenly came to an abrupt halt and he stared at you with watery eyes. He then turned towards Hyunjin and grabbed his phone, putting it close to his face, like a child with a tablet and he hiccuped.

“Oh wait that's me." He murmurs as he stares at the screen intently and zooming in on both of your smiling faces. "Y/N look at you you look so pretty!” He hiccuped once more as he turned Hyunjin’s phone towards you. A smile on his face - a complete 180 from 30 seconds ago.

The members were saving their videos.

“He’s never living that down.” Channie says as he slips his phone into his pocket.

You laugh and Jeongin continues to stare at the phone his lips turning downwards, the bottom one starting to tremble and Jeongin’s hiccups and breathes coming more rapidly.

“Baby whats wrong?” You asked as he clutched his hyung’s phone in his hand.

“I-I-I’m Y/N’s bo-boyfriend…b-b-but-but I’m not her h-husbanddddd.” He threw his arms around you and this time his cries were twice as loud as his fellow band members hit their record buttons again.

[crsssie]

valentine's - spencer reid x sharpshooter!reader

"You guys got any—"

"We'll be off!" You squeak, waving bye to Morgan as you drag Spencer with. "Happy Valentine's Derek! Have fun later, and do NOT send me details!"

"Send me yours!"

"We will NOT be doing that!" Spencer gets a word in before stumbling into the elevator.

"So?"

"Listen, the new cafe that opened next to our apartment? Doing valentine's night. I went ahead and made reservations because they were apparently films from the 70s, and I remembered you mentioning Le Cercle Rouge and it just so happened to be on the setlist." You pause. "Setlist?"

"Setlist is for soundtrack. It'd be filmography." He hums. "Thank you. I'm glad."

"It's a little over two hours, so if you wanted to just relax for the rest of the evening, there's time to do that too." You pause, rummaging through your bag. "and, well, there's no cost of cancelling if we do it an hour in advance... which we have, by the way, so if you just wanted to watch the movie at home, I have it on DVD."

Spencer's features soften when you pull out the disc, and he hums. "That's lovely, but I did make plans too."

"Oh." You pause. "With someone else?"

"No, honey. We have two hours before mine. They're hosting a small event near home where you get to eat the dishes shown in the film as you watch." He hums. "Thought you might want to watch Lady and the Tramp."

Your eyes glimmer, bottom lip jutting out as he laughs.

"Who told you about it?"

"Read the newspaper."

"No way you'd think to do that, though..." You pause. "No, you probably just remembered that I had told you how my other friend had gone and done that a month back with her boyfriend."

"Yes." Spencer hums. "Thought you'd like to try it once."

"But the spaghetti scene? You don't like sharing food." You tilt your head. "I'm fine with self-serving."

"Just this once won't hurt me."

"Oh, but you shouldn't have to accomodate for that." You pause to think. "I don't mind doing another movie or changing the date. Unless you really do—"

"You know, in a month or so, it'll be white day. Traditionally, white day in japanese culture—"

"Is for the male to reciprocate for the female. Can you move your reservation?"

"I'll move it to the 14th next month." Spencer nods.

"I'll just ask Hotch for the day off. We can spend the whole day next time." You squeeze his arm.

"He's not going to let you do that."

"Oh, one can dream." You hum, tilting your head at him. "Dinner?"

"Hey." Spencer's voice softens, eyes meeting yours. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"You know, dinners for Valentine's day was popularized in America in the 60s, and then by the 70s it was candlelit dinners and wine, and then in the late 70s to 80s it was specialized for lovers only." He rambles, hands moving as you hold onto his arm.

"Mhm?"

"The first association of the Saint Valentine and romance was by—"

"English poet Geoffrey Chaucer in his Parlement of Foules in 1382." You beam. "You told me about how you solved a case with his writing once."

"Yes, a long time ago." He hums. "I'm surprised you remembered."

"It pays off to remember, does it not?"

"Of course."

"To be loved is to be known, after all."

"Hey, that was from a book released late last year." Spencer raises a brow. "To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved… Tim Keller."

"Yes." You close your eyes, squeezing his arm. "Metro?"

"Metro." He hums. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

[brunchable]

The Stakeout - Day 1 || Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Day Two Words: 4.1K Themes/Warnings: Unspoken feelings towards each other. Growing tension. Sexual Attraction. Eventual Smut. Being stuck with each other. Summary: You've been assigned to do a stakeout with Steve for 5 days. Your accommodation: a cramped room with one mattress and a table with two rickety chairs. A/N: This is the tone setter. Steve's POV will always be at the end, and it'll be in 1st person. I don't have a tag list so. . .let me know if you want to be kept updated.

Steve Rogers pushed open the door to the small, dimly lit apartment, scanning the room with a soldier's eye. The place was a far cry from what you’re both used to—a single, cramped room with barely enough space to move around. 

You stepped in from behind him, your eyes taking in your temporary home. The first thing that greets you is the unmistakable scent of “eau de mildew” mixed with a hint of something burnt—probably dinner from three tenants ago. The wallpaper is peeling off in a way that makes you wonder if it’s trying to escape, revealing patches of cracked plaster that look like a map of an unknown, crumbling country.

The carpet is a masterpiece of stains, each one telling a story you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know. It’s so worn down that you can almost see the floorboards underneath, which might actually be an improvement.

The lighting is dim, with a single, flickering bulb that casts just enough light to make the shadows in the corners look even more menacing. In the middle of the room sits a mattress that looks like it was dragged out of a dumpster and lost the fight. It’s lumpy in all the wrong places, sagging in a way that suggests it has long given up on supporting anything heavier than a guilty conscience.

The only other furniture consists of two rickety chairs that look like they’re competing to see which one can collapse first. They wobble precariously even when they’re empty, as if they’re just waiting for the right moment to give up entirely.

The kitchen is a museum of outdated appliances, each one looking like it’s plotting against you. The stove has a layer of grease so thick it could probably survive a nuclear blast, and the sink faucet drips with the rhythm of a horror movie soundtrack.

You glance at the bathroom door, which is hanging slightly off its hinges, and decide that whatever’s in there can stay there. The mirror is so cloudy that it’s practically a portal to another dimension, and you’re pretty sure the toilet is older than Captain America.

The windows are streaked with grime, and one is patched with what looks like ancient duct tape. As you take it all in, you can’t help but think that the apartment is less a living space and more a haunted house that’s too tired to actually scare anyone.

“Cozy,” you muttered, trying to inject some humor into the situation. But even you couldn’t hide the discomfort in your voice, “If these walls could talk, they'd probably ask for a lawyer.”

Steve looked at the walls and instinctively covered his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the chuckle that slipped through—the urge to laugh bubbling up inside him.

The apartment was a disaster, a place so far beyond repair that it almost seemed comical in its neglect. And yet, it wasn’t the state of the place that got to him; it was you. He could already sense the sharp comment forming on your lips. 

Steve had always known you for your back-handed comments—remarkably clever, often brutally honest, and always perfectly timed. You had a knack for finding just the right words to undercut a situation, leaving everyone around you—Tony Stark included—scrambling for a retort. And in moments like these, even in a rundown apartment that could make the bravest Avenger cringe, you managed to make Steve smile, reminding him just why you were the perfect partner.

“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got for the next five days.” Steve turned to you, his expression apologetic.

“I've had worse.” You shrugged, tossing your bag onto the table. “At least the cockroaches seem to have packed up and left.”

You had worked together countless times before, but this was different. The close quarters, the extended time alone—usually you have the luxury to be in different rooms.

“I can sleep on the floor. You take the mattress.” Steve said, his eyes drifted to the double-bed size mattress on the floor. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “And have you waking up with a bad back on day one? No way. We can both fit.”

“I don’t mind the floor. Really.” Steve hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. 

“We’re both adults, Steve. It’s just sleeping. We’ll make it work.” You crossed your arms, giving him a determined look. 

He finally relented with a sigh. “Alright, if you say so.”

You spent the next few minutes in silence, each of you slipping into the familiar rhythm of setting up, though the state of the apartment made even the simplest tasks a challenge. The floorboards groaned underfoot with every step, and you had to be careful where you placed your equipment, wary of the spots that felt like they might give way entirely. The walls, pocked with holes and uneven surfaces, made it nearly impossible to secure the cameras properly; more than once, you found yourself muttering under your breath as the adhesive strips refused to stick, sliding down the peeling wallpaper as if in protest.

“Stick, you stupid tape!” you grumbled, pressing the strip back against the wall with more force than necessary, only to watch it slowly peel away once more. The tape seemed to be mocking you at this point, and your frustration was reaching a peak. But at the end, you made it work, as long as the equipment is working—you tell yourself.

The stakeout had reached that inevitable point where the monotony had set in. Hours of staring at surveillance footage had taken its toll, and both you and Steve were in desperate need of a break.

"Alright," you declared, tossing the deck of Uno cards between you. "We need something to keep me from going crazy."

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking at the cards with a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Uno? Seriously?"

"Come on," you teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor and motioning for him to join you. "It’s a classic. Plus, I promise not to go easy on you."

"I’d be disappointed if you did." Steve chuckled as he took a seat across from you, leaning in just slightly as he settled down. 

"Good. I wouldn’t want to let you down.” You grinned, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. 

The game started off lighthearted enough, with both of you trading cards and quips in equal measure. But as the game progressed, you couldn’t help but notice Steve’s hand growing increasingly full of cards, while yours remained relatively manageable.

"Got something against me, Y/N?" Steve asked, his tone playful as he drew yet another card from the deck. His hand was practically bursting with a rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t hide your grin.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you replied innocently, sliding another card onto the pile—a +4. "Just playing the game. Fair and square."

"Another +4? You sure this isn’t personal?" Steve stared at the card, then at you, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, your smile turning teasing. "What if it is, Rogers? Think you can handle me?"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I can handle a lot of things, but you might be more than I bargained for." 

You laughed softly, enjoying the banter. "I’ve been told I’m a handful."

"That’s one way to put it," he muttered, drawing four more cards with an exaggerated sigh. His amount of cards was now so large that he had to hold it in both hands, and you could see the struggle on his face as he tried to keep his composure.

The next round, you drew yet another +4 card, and Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief as you placed it down with a flourish.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he said, shaking his head, "Are you sure you’re not stacking the deck?"

"I would never," you replied, feigning shock. "It’s just pure luck."

"Pure luck, huh?" Steve shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If this keeps up, I’m going to need another hand just to hold all these."

You leaned back, giving him a playful look. "You know, Steve, if it’s getting too much for you, you could always forfeit. I wouldn’t judge you. Much."

He met your gaze, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I’m not giving up that easily. But if I win, I expect some proper appreciation."

"Appreciation?" you echoed, amused. "What do you have in mind?"

He shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. "Maybe something that shows you really understand what it’s like to lose to me."

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Careful what you wish for, old man. I might just surprise you."

By the time you dropped yet another +4 card, Steve threw his hands up in defeat. "That’s it! I’m calling it—this game is rigged!"

You were laughing so hard that you could barely speak. "It’s not rigged! You’re just—oh man, I can’t even—"

Steve couldn’t help but start laughing too, the ridiculousness of the situation finally breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. 

"I can’t believe I’m losing this badly at Uno," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "To you, of all people."

You leaned back, still chuckling. "Hey, I’m just that good."

He gave you a playful glare, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. "Remind me never to play cards with you again."

"Afraid of losing?" you teased, leaning a bit closer, your voice dipping into something softer, more suggestive.

"Afraid of getting a hand full of +4s," he corrected, still grinning. "You’re ruthless."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "All’s fair in Uno and war, Rogers."

He shook his head, still laughing, as he began gathering up the cards. That’s when he noticed something odd—a few extra +4 cards peeking out from under where you were sitting. His eyes narrowed, as he zeroed in on the cards.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, his voice laced with suspicion as he pointed to the cards. "What’s that?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly tried to shift, but Steve was faster, leaning forward and grabbing the edge of one of the cards sticking out from beneath you. You immediately tried to cover it up, sitting down harder to keep him from seeing the whole stack of +4s you had hidden.

"Nothing!" you blurted out, trying not to laugh as you squirmed to keep the cards hidden. But Steve’s grin only widened as he tugged on the card, the two of you now playfully wrestling over it.

"Nothing, huh?" he teased, managing to pull one of the cards free. "You’ve been cheating this whole time!"

You burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. "I couldn’t resist! You should’ve seen your face every time I drew a +4!"

Steve wasn’t giving up, though. He leaned in closer, trying to snatch the remaining cards from you. "I knew it! I knew there was no way you could’ve drawn that many +4s!"

Still laughing, you tried to twist away, but Steve was persistent, his hands now playfully wrestling with yours as he tried to pry the cards from your grasp. 

"Alright, alright!" you finally gasped, surrendering the cards as you fell back into a fit of giggles.

Steve held up the extra +4 cards triumphantly, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "I’m sorry, but it was just too easy. I didn’t think you’d actually fall for it!"

"I’ll get you back for this, you know."

You flashed him a teasing smile. "I’m counting on it, Rogers."

“Yeah, yeah—let's get back to work.”

× × × × 

As night fell, you settled into your positions by the small window that overlooked the building you both were surveilling. Steve had the binoculars up, his posture rigid and focused. You sat beside him, close enough to see the reflection of his serious expression in the glass.

The target this time was Elias Novak, a crime boss who had been operating under the radar for years. He wasn’t just any criminal—Novak was careful, methodical, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of the authorities. But the intel they’d received suggested that Novak was planning something big, something that could have far-reaching consequences if they didn’t act quickly.

For weeks now, whispers had been circulating about a major arms deal in the works, with Novak at the center of it. The specifics were still murky—where the weapons were coming from, who they were being sold to—but one thing was clear: if the deal went through, it could unleash chaos. Weapons of that scale and sophistication in the wrong hands could destabilize regions, spark conflicts, or worse.

“Anything?” you asked quietly, not wanting to break his concentration.

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.

You leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view yourself. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you leaned in. The sudden contact made Steve freeze for a moment, but he didn’t move, his focus still on the building across the street.

You didn’t notice the slight tension in his body as you peered through the binoculars. The movement brought you even closer, your shoulder brushing against his arm. 

“Let me see,” you murmured, your breath brushing against Steve’s ear as you took the binoculars from him. 

You adjusted the focus, squinting into the lens. “Hm, odd,” you said, your tone slightly disappointed.

You handed the binoculars back to him, but instead of moving away, you stayed where you were, still leaning against him slightly. Steve took the binoculars, his fingers brushing your for a brief moment, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, pretending to be absorbed in the task at hand. Finally, you realized how close you were and pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

You nodded, but the moment of closeness had left you slightly off-balance. You resumed your watch, but both of you were acutely aware of the other’s presence.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night. You changed into your sleepwear first, turning your back to Steve for some semblance of privacy in the open room. When you turned around, you found him already settled on one side of the mattress, his broad frame taking up more space than he probably intended.

You slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. The proximity was inevitable, and you both tried to ignore it, lying stiffly side by side, your shoulders almost touching.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make yourself relax.

“Goodnight,” Steve replied, his voice equally tense. Minutes ticked by, and neither of you could sleep. 

Finally, you sighed, breaking the quiet. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “Yeah, it might be.”

You smiled, turning your head slightly to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the outline of his face, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, just like yours had been moments before.

“We’ll get through it,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Steve turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression softening. “Always do.”

There’s a pause, and you decide to lighten the mood a little more. You grin mischievously, knowing it’s a little ridiculous but hoping it’ll ease the tension. 

“Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

He laughs, and it’s a genuine sound that makes your own smile widen. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

“Might want to sleep with one eye open,” you tease.

“I think I can manage that,” he says, his voice lighter now, more relaxed. You can tell that your little joke did its job, easing some of the tension between you. It’s a small victory, but it feels good.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, a smile still tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you replied, and you can hear the warmth in his voice this time.

As sleep finally began to take hold, your last conscious thought was of Steve beside you—so close, yet still feeling so far away.

The mission had barely begun, but the real challenge, you realized, would be surviving the next five days without giving away the feelings you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

STEVE’S POV

The room is silent, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. I keep my eyes fixed on the building across the street, trying to ignore the cramped space around me. We’ve been here for hours now, watching, waiting, but so far, nothing’s happened. Just another quiet night in the city.

I lift the binoculars again, scanning the windows across the way. Everything looks normal—too normal. The target hasn’t made a move yet, but I know better than to let my guard down. That’s when things go wrong.

Beside me, Y/N is sitting quietly, her presence a constant distraction. I’ve been trying to focus on the mission, but it’s hard when she’s this close. It’s not that I don’t trust her—hell, I trust her with my life—but there’s something about being alone with her, in this small space, that’s got my nerves on edge.

“Anything?” she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to disturb my concentration. I can hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even concern, in her tone. She’s as invested in this as I am, which only makes this harder.

“Not yet,” I reply, keeping my voice low. The tension between us is thick—to me at least, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend it’s just the stress of the mission.

All of a sudden, she leans in closer, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she peers over at the building. The contact is so casual, so innocent, but it sends chills through me. My muscles tense, and I have to remind myself to keep still, to act like this is nothing.

She’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she takes the binoculars from me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat. I’m a soldier, trained to handle high-pressure situations, but this—being this close to her—is more than I bargained for.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my ear as she adjusts the focus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens. I’m supposed to be watching the target, not getting distracted by the woman beside me.

She spends a few moments peering through the binoculars, her face so close to mine that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. My mind races, trying to think of anything but how it would feel to close that small distance between us. How it would feel to—

Stop it, Rogers. Focus.

She finally pulls back, handing the binoculars back to me. “hmm, odd,” she says, disappointment lacing her voice.

I nod, taking the binoculars from her, our fingers brushing for just a moment. It’s like a spark of electricity, and I have to force myself to keep my expression neutral. I can’t let her see what she’s doing to me.

She doesn’t move away, though. Instead, she stays close, leaning against me slightly as we continue to watch the building. Every second feels like an eternity. The heat of her body, the soft sound of her breathing—it’s all too much, but I can’t bring myself to step away. I’m not sure if I want to.

Minutes pass, and the tension between us only grows thicker. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us—or the lack of it. My mind keeps drifting, imagining what it would be like if I just turned my head a little, if I just—

She pulls back suddenly, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she says, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

I shake my head quickly, trying to sound like everything’s fine. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

She nods, but the awkwardness lingers. I can feel it in the air. We resume our watch, but it’s like there’s a wall between us now, a wall built by unspoken words and feelings I’m not ready to admit.

Finally, after what feels like hours, we decide to call it a night. Y/N changes into her sleepwear first, giving me a bit of space. I keep my back turned, focusing on the mission, the window, anything but her. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps drifting, slipping into dangerous territory.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she pulls off her shirt, and my imagination runs wild before I can stop it. Images flash through my mind—her skin, smooth and soft under the dim light, the way her hair might fall over her shoulders as she changes, the subtle curve of her waist as she slips into something more comfortable.

Damn it, Steve. Stop.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts. She trusts me, and I owe it to her—and to myself—to stay professional. But it’s hard, harder than I ever thought it would be, and the guilt gnaws at me.

I’m supposed to be better than this. Stronger. I’ve faced down enemies that would make most men run in fear, but here I am, struggling to keep my mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t.

The sound of her footsteps breaks through the haze of my thoughts, and I snap back to reality. I settle onto one side of the mattress, trying to take up as little space as possible. But when she slides in beside me, the mattress dips, and suddenly, she’s right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the thin sheets.

I stare up at the ceiling, every muscle in my body tense. This is going to be impossible.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Goodnight,” I reply, my voice tighter than I intended.

I can hear her breathing beside me, steady and soft, and I know she’s not asleep either. The tension between us is unbearable, a constant reminder of everything I’m trying to ignore, everything I can’t afford to feel right now.

She sighs, and I hear the frustration in her voice. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but chuckle, a low, warm sound that surprises even me. “Yeah, it might be.”

She turns her head to look at me, and I do the same. In the dim light, I can see her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiles. It’s a small moment of comfort, a brief reprieve from the tension that’s been building between us.

“We’ll get through it,” she says, and I can hear the determination in her voice.

I nod, “Always do.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she adds with a mischievous grin, “Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a bit. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

She chuckles softly, and it’s that laugh—the one that always catches me off guard. It’s light, pure, and it cuts through all the heaviness like a breath of fresh air. I could listen to that sound for hours, and never get tired of it.

“Might want to sleep with one eye open.” she adds, still teasing.

“I think I can manage that,” I reply, still smiling.

Her laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, the weight of everything feels a little lighter. It’s a small joke, a silly one, but it’s enough to make the space between us feel less heavy, more manageable.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” I say again, this time with a little more warmth.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We both settle back, and though the tension isn’t completely gone, it feels like we’ve taken a small step toward something better. Maybe these five days won’t be as long as it seems.

[freetheshit-outofyou]

@dankempauthor, I boosted your image to share in it's own post because that is spot on. I'm also adding this writing I read a couple times a year that only those who have had blood on their teeth, and felt ALL of life for those chaotic moments of combat can know.

June 26, 2007, 3:51 PM

By Brian Mockenhaupt

I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War.

A year after coming home from a tour in Iraq, a soldier returns home to find out he left something behind.

A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.

I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.

I'm glad to be home, to have put away my uniforms, to wake up next to my wife each morning. I worry about my friends who are in Iraq now, and I wish they weren't. Often I hated being there, when the frustrations and lack of control over my life were complete and mind-bending. I questioned my role in the occupation and whether good could come of it. I wondered if it was worth dying or killing for. The suffering and ugliness I saw disgusted me. But war twists and shifts the landmarks by which we navigate our lives, casting light on darkened areas that for many people remain forever unexplored. And once those darkened spaces are lit, they become part of us. At a party several years ago, long before the Army, I listened to a friend who had served several years in the Marines tell a woman that if she carried a pistol for a day, just tucked in her waistband and out of sight, she would feel different. She would see the world differently, for better or worse. Guns empower. She disagreed and he shrugged. No use arguing the point; he was just offering a little piece of truth. He was right, of course. And that's just the beginning.

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned. And as an American soldier, you have a very impressive toolbox. You can fire your rifle or lob a grenade, and if that's not enough, call in the tanks, or helicopters, or jets. The insurgents have their skill sets, too, turning mornings at the market into chaos, crowds into scattered flesh, Humvees into charred scrap. You're all part of the terrible magic show, both powerful and helpless.

That men are drawn to war is no surprise. How old are boys before they turn a finger and thumb into a pistol? Long before they love girls, they love war, at least everything they imagine war to be: guns and explosions and manliness and courage. When my neighbors and I played war as kids, there was no fear or sorrow or cowardice. Death was temporary, usually as fast as you could count to sixty and jump back into the game. We didn't know yet about the darkness. And young men are just slightly older versions of those boys, still loving the unknown, perhaps pumped up on dreams of duty and heroism and the intoxicating power of weapons. In time, war dispels many such notions, and more than a few men find that being freed from society's professed revulsion to killing is really no freedom at all, but a lonely burden. Yet even at its lowest points, war is like nothing else. Our culture craves experience, and that is war's strong suit. War peels back the skin, and you live with a layer of nerves exposed, overdosing on your surroundings, when everything seems all wrong and just right, in a way that makes perfect sense. And then you almost die but don't, and are born again, stoned on life and mocking death. The explosions and gunfire fry your nerves, but you want to hear them all the same. Something's going down.

For those who know, this is the open secret: War is exciting. Sometimes I was in awe of this, and sometimes I felt low and mean for loving it, but I loved it still. Even in its quiet moments, war is brighter, louder, brasher, more fun, more tragic, more wasteful. More. More of everything. And even then I knew I would someday miss it, this life so strange. Today the war has distilled to moments and feelings, and somewhere in these memories is the reason for the wistfulness.

On one mission we slip away from our trucks and into the night. I lead the patrol through the darkness, along canals and fields and into the town, down narrow, hard-packed dirt streets. Everyone has gone to bed, or is at least inside. We peer through gates and over walls into courtyards and into homes. In a few rooms TVs flicker. A woman washes dishes in a tub. Dogs bark several streets away. No one knows we are in the street, creeping. We stop at intersections, peek around corners, training guns on parked cars, balconies, and storefronts. All empty. We move on. From a small shop up ahead, we hear men's voices and laughter. Maybe they used to sit outside at night, but now they are indoors, where it's safe. Safer. The sheet-metal door opens and a man steps out, cigarette and lighter in hand. He still wears a smile, takes in the cool night air, and then nearly falls backward through the doorway in a panic. I'm a few feet from him now and his eyes are wide. I mutter a greeting and we walk on, back into the darkness.

Another night we're lost in a dust storm. I'm in the passenger seat, trying to guide my driver and the three trucks behind us through this brown maelstrom. The headlights show nothing but swirling dirt. We've driven these roads for months, we know them well, but we see nothing. So we drive slow, trying to stay out of canals and people's kitchens. We curse and we laugh. This is bizarre but a great deal of fun.

Another night my platoon sergeant's truck is swallowed in flames, a terrible, beautiful, boiling bloom of red and orange and yellow, lighting the darkness for a moment. Somehow we don't die, one more time.

Another night, there's McCarthy bitching, the cherry of his cigarette bobbing in the dark, bitching that he won't be on the assault team, that he's stuck as a turret gunner for the night. We'd been out since early that morning, came back for dinner, and are preparing to raid a weapons dealer. Our first real raid. I heave my body armor onto my shoulders, settling its too-familiar weight. Then the helmet and first-aid kit and maps and radio and ammunition and rifle and all the rest. Now I look like everyone else, an arm of this strange and destructive organism, covered in armor and guns. We crowd around a satellite map spread across a Humvee hood and trace our route. Wells, my squad leader, rehearses our movements. Get in quick. Watch the danger zones. If he has a gun, kill him. I look around the group, at these faces I know so well, and feel the collective strength, this ridiculous power. The camaraderie of men in arms plays a part, for sure. The shared misery and euphoria and threat of death. But there is something more: the surrender of self, voluntary or not, to the machine. Do I believe in the war? Not important. Put that away and live in the moment, where little is knowable and even less is controllable, when my world narrows to one street, one house, one room, one door.

We pack into the trucks after midnight, and the convoy snakes out of camp and speeds toward the target house. I sit in a backseat and the fear settles in, a sharp burning in my stomach, same as the knot from hard liquor gulped too fast. I think about the knot. I'll be the first through the door. What if he starts shooting, hits me right in the face before I'm even through the doorway? What if there's two, or three? What if he pitches a grenade at us? And I think about it more and run through the scenarios, planning my movements, imagining myself clearing through the rooms, firing two rounds into the chest, and the knot fades.

The trucks drop us off several blocks from the target house and we slip into the night. As always, the dogs bark. We gather against the high wall outside the house and call in the trucks to block the streets. The action will pass in a flash. But here, before the chaos starts, when we're stacked against the wall, my friends' bodies pressed against me, hearing their quick breaths and my own, there's a moment to appreciate the gravity, the absurdity, the novelty, the joy of the moment. Is this real? Hearts beat strong. Hands grip tight on weapons. Reassurance. The rest of the world falls away. Who knows what's on the other side?

One, two, three, go. We push past the gate and across the courtyard and toward the house, barrels locked on the windows and roof. Wells runs up with the battering ram, a short, heavy pipe with handles, and launches it toward the massive wood door. The lock explodes, the splintered door flies open, and we rush through, just the way we've practiced hundreds of times. No one shoots me in the face. No grenades roll to my feet. I kick open doors. We scan darkened bedrooms with the flashlights on our rifles and move on to the next and the next.

He's gone, of course. We ransack his house, dumping drawers, flipping mattresses, punching holes in the ceiling. We find rifles and grenades and hundreds of pounds of gunpowder. And then, near dawn, we lie down on the thick carpets in his living room and sleep, exhausted and untroubled.

Many, many raids followed. We often raided houses late at night, so people awakened to soldiers bursting through their bedroom doors. Women and children wailed, terrified. Taking this in, I imagined what it would feel like if soldiers kicked down my door at midnight, if I could do nothing to protect my family. I would hate those soldiers. Yet I still reveled in the raids, their intensity and uncertainty. The emotions collided, without resolution.

My wife moved to Iraq partway through my second deployment to live in the north and train Iraqi journalists. She spent her evenings at restaurants and tea shops with her Iraqi friends. We spoke by cell phone, when the spotty network allowed, and she told me about this life I couldn't imagine, celebrating holidays with her colleagues and being invited into their homes. I didn't have any Iraqi friends, save for our few translators, and I'd rarely been invited into anyone's home. I told her of my life, the tedious days and frightful seconds, and she worried that in all of this I would lose my thoughtfulness and might stop questioning and just accept. But she didn't judge the work that I did, and I didn't tell her that I sometimes enjoyed it, that for stretches of time I didn't think about the greater implications, that it sometimes seemed like a game. I didn't tell her that death felt ever present and far away, and that either way, it didn't really seem to matter.

We both came back from Iraq, luckier than many. Two of my wife's students have been killed, among the scores of journalists to die in Iraq, and guys I served with are still dying, too. One came home from the war and shot himself on Thanksgiving. Another was blown up on Christmas in Baghdad.

Thinking of them, I felt disgusted with myself for missing the war and wondered if I was alone in this.

I don't think I am.

After watching the Internet videos, I called some of my friends who are out of the Army now, and they miss the war, too. Wells very nearly died in Iraq. A sniper shot him in the head, surgeons cut out half of his skull—a story told in this magazine last April—and he spent months in therapy, working back to his old self. Now he misses the high. "I don't want to sound like a psychopath, but you're like a god over there," he says. "It might not be the best kind of adrenaline for you, but it's a rush." Before Iraq, he didn't care for horror movies, and now he's drawn to them. He watches them for the little thrill, the rush of being startled, if just for a moment.

McCarthy misses the war just the same. He saved Wells's life, pressing a bandage over the hole in his head. Now he's delivering construction materials to big hotel projects along the beach in South Carolina, waiting for a police department to process his application. "The monotony is killing me," he told me, en route to deliver some rebar. "I want to go on a raid. I want something to blow up. I want something to change today." He wants the unknown. "Anything can happen, and it does happen. And all of the sudden your world is shattered, and everything has changed. It's living dangerously. You're living on the edge. And you're the baddest motherfucker around."

Mortal danger heightens the senses. That is simple animal instinct. We're more aware of how our world smells and sounds and tastes. This distorts and enriches experiences. Now I can have everything, but it's not as good as when I could have none of it. McCarthy and I stood on a rooftop one afternoon in Iraq running through a long list of the food we wanted. We made it to homemade pizza and icy beer when someone loosed a long burst of gunfire that cracked over our heads. We ran to the other side of the rooftop, but the gunman had disappeared down a long alleyway. Today my memory of that pizza and beer is stronger than if McCarthy and I had sat down together with the real thing before us.

And today we even speak with affection of wrestling a dead man into a body bag, because that was then. The bullet had laid his thigh wide open, shattered the femur, and shredded the artery, so he'd bled out fast, pumping much of his blood onto the sidewalk. We unfolded and unzipped the nylon sack and laid it alongside him. And then we stared for a moment, none of us ready to close that distance. I grabbed his forearm and dropped it, maybe instinct, maybe revulsion. He hovered so near this world, having just passed over, that he seemed to be sucking life from me, pulling himself back or taking me with him. He peeked at us through a half-opened eye. I stared down on him, his massive dead body, and again wrapped a hand around his wrist, thick and warm. The man was huge, taller than six feet and close to 250 pounds. We strained with the awkward weight, rolled him into the bag, and zipped him out of sight. My platoon sergeant gave two neighborhood kids five dollars to wash away the congealing puddle of blood. But the red handprint stayed on the wall, where the man had tried to brace himself before he fell. I think about him sometimes, splayed out on the sidewalk, and I think of how lucky I was never to have put a friend in one of those bags. Or be put in one myself.

But the memories, good and bad, are only part of the reason war holds its grip long after soldiers have come home. The war was urgent and intense and the biggest story going, always on the news stations and magazine covers. At home, though, relearning everyday life, the sense of mission can be hard to find. And this is not just about dim prospects and low-paying jobs in small towns. Leaving the war behind can be a letdown, regardless of opportunity or education or the luxuries waiting at home. People I'd never met sent me boxes of cookies and candy throughout my tours. When I left for two weeks of leave, I was cheered at airports and hugged by strangers. At dinner with my family one night, a man from the next table bought me a $400 bottle of wine. I was never quite comfortable with any of this, but they were heady moments nonetheless.For my friends who are going back to Iraq or are there already, there is little enthusiasm. Any fondness for war is tainted by the practicalities of operating and surviving in combat. Wells and McCarthy and I can speak of the war with nostalgia because we belong to a different world now. And yet there is little to say, because we are scattered, far from those who understand.

When I came home, people often asked me about Iraq, and mostly I told them it wasn't so bad. The first few times, my wife asked me why I had been so blithe. Why didn't I tell them what Iraq was really like? I didn't know how to explain myself to them. The war really wasn't so bad. Yes, there were bombs and shootings and nervous times, but that was just the job. In fact, going to war is rather easy. You react to situations around you and try not to die. There are no electric bills or car payments or chores around the house. Just go to work, come home alive, and do it again tomorrow. McCarthy calls it pure and serene. Indeed. Life at home can be much more trying. But I didn't imagine the people asking would understand that. I didn't care much if they did, and often it seemed they just wanted a war story, a bit of grit and gore. If they really want to know, they can always find out for themselves. But they don't, they just want a taste of the thrill. We all do. We covet life outside our bubble. That's why we love tragedy, why we love hearing about war and death on the television, drawn to it in spite of ourselves. We gawk at accident scenes and watch people humiliate themselves on reality shows and can't wait to replay the events for friends, as though in retelling the story we make it our own, if just for a moment.

We live easy third-person lives but want a bit of the darkness. War fascinates because we live so far from its realities. Maybe we'd feel differently about watching bombs blow up on TV if we saw them up close, if we knew how explosions rip the air, throttle your brain, and make your ears ring, if we knew the strain of wondering whether the car next to you at a traffic light would explode or a bomb would land on your house as you sleep. I don't expect Iraqi soldiers would ever miss war. I have that luxury. I came home to peace, to a country that hasn't seen war within its borders for nearly 150 years. Yes, some boys come home dead. But we live here without the other terrors and tragedies of war—cities flattened and riven with chaos and fear, neighbors killing one another, a people made forever weary by the violence.

And so I miss it.

Every day in Iraq, if you have a job that takes you outside the wire, you stop just before the gate and make your final preparation for war. You pull out a magazine stacked with thirty rounds of ammunition, weighing just over a pound. You slide it into the magazine well of your rifle and smack it with the heel of your hand, driving it up. You pull the rifle's charging handle, draw the bolt back, and release. The bolt slides forward with a metallic snap, catching the top round and shoving it into the barrel. Chak-chuk. If I hear that a half century from now, I will know it in an instant. Unmistakable, and pregnant with possibility. On top of a diving board, as the grade-school-science explanation goes, you are potential energy. On the way down, you are kinetic energy. So I leave the gate and step off the diving board, my energy transformed.

[meramyst18]

Ok, so I gotta talk about this movie bc what in the actual fuck. It's one of the best, most beautiful and funny movies I've ever seen in a while. Patty is such a cute and honest character, it's perfect; when people write characters like that, they normally end up doing the idealized manic pixie dream girl that's sexy but "a little crazy", but Patty is different, they show you how everybody treats her like she's dumb and uncapable of doing things, how even her own family underestimate her just because the way she sees the world is different.

It really hit me bc as a girl that grew up being "the slow girl" "the dumb girl", and how even my own teachers and other students used to treat me in a very mean way just bc I couldn't be like the rest, and how fucked up is growing up thinking that you're not smart, that you're untalented and unnatractive. It's really painful, and even though Simon can be problematic sometimes, is the only person that understands Patty, and treats her like a human being; the way he stands up for her, how angry he gets when Patty gets bullied or mistreated is very reassuring, and it makes you think that after all, you're not unlovable for being different.

There's a part of the movie that really made me cry and is when Simon and Patty leave Simon's family and while he's driving Patty asks him: ''you think I'm a retarded?'', and he immediately pulls up and tells her that he doesn't wanna hear her say that ever again, and that she's a total rockstar, while she's crying because she had never heard those words, bc everything she has heard is "you're slow, you're dumb, you're useless". After that Patty just gets more and more confident until she can finally stand up for herself bc now she knows her own value.

At the end of the movie they show Patty being a confident, beautiful shining girl bc she just accepted herself and loves herself enough to not let other people treat her bad.

For me the message is so beautiful, for me the whole movie means: you don't have to change to be loved, and you don't have to force other people to change, but you have to love them for their differences and you'll see how much they shine for that.

Anyway, now I can say that Dinner In America is one of my favorite movies with a sick soundtrack. I love everything about it.

[joinmeintheweeds]

Heads up for anyone who wanted to hear more of Psyops after watching Dinner in America: Disco Assault uploaded footage of them running through the songs from the movie with Kyle's vocals over it. It's no movie soundtrack, but it's some cool BTS content.

[travelingtwentysomething]

Rules: Without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite films, then tag ten people to do the same.

Thanks for tagging me @mundaneone , I don't normally like doing 'get to know me' posts, but I am a massive movie buff- evidenced by my own personally curated (and half inherited from my dad) Blockbuster-esque movie wall. When I die, I'm gonna haunt the Criterion Closet. So without further ado, and maybe a lil over sharing because ofc-

∆ The first movie I ever watched on DVD. My dad took me on our weekly trip to Blockbuster (he worked for Phillips, so got a 50% discount on a brand new, $500 DVD player), and he let me help him pick our first 10 DVDs. He let me pick the first movie we would watch from the stack. It was the year 2000, the summer before I turned 8. It was also the very last movie I watched with my dad in the summer before I turned 27 and he would have turned 59, in 2019. This movie always made me cry, but now I bawl.

∆ The first DVD I got for Christmas when I was 8. This was the start of my illustrious movie collection, alongside my Dad's.

∆ The first movie I watched with my mom when I visited her after she moved almost 1000 miles away after my parents divorce when I was about 14. We cuddled on her boyfriend's pullout sofa (a Christmas tree lit up in the corner of the room even though it was summer because she hadn't seen me or my brothers since the summer before and missed Christmas with us), and rented a movie "on demand" through his cable DVR. (Streaming before Netflix murdered Blockbuster, for anyone who wasn't alive before we stopped summoning the internet with the demonic tones of a dial-up connection.)

∆ The best Studio Ghibli movie. If you don't agree, may all your bacon burn.

∆ The first movie I can recall crying to. I was absolutely obsessed. At least for the first 3 of what would eventually be a 14 movie franchise. (My Grandma brought the first one on VHS when she took a break from retired life- sailing around South America with my Grandpa on their little sailboat, and came to stay with us when my little brother was born.)

∆ The first Disney movie I remember being obsessed with (followed closely by The Little Mermaid). I got it on VHS for my fourth birthday, but that night, before I could watch it, my big brother tore the tape out before my very eyes. When my mom asked him wtf?! he told her he was mad he didn't get any presents on my birthday. I never got a replacement. Still bitter about it.

∆ The movie I've been falling asleep to since I was 5. The soundtrack slaps. (Coming in 2nd place for a nostalgic bedtime OST: Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron.)

∆ This one has a killer soundtrack as well, and I was obsessed with Freddie Highmore and Jonathan Rhys Meyers. (My Dad understood that I loved movies, he's the one who instilled that love of storytelling in me. But I hated his other favorite pass-time- going out to restaurants for 2+ hours while my parents hung out and drank with family or friends. Once I was old enough to go alone, he'd take me to a nearby theater, drop me off to see a movie while everyone else enjoyed their evening at the loud, crowded restaurant, then would come pick me up in time to order food just before everyone called it a night. He may not have fully understood me, but he really tried to make me happy. It's a shame we never got me diagnosed with autism. Anyway, saw this movie instead of having to go to dinner, and felt very special, because on the way back to the restaurant it was just me and my dad, and he let me ramble on about how great the movie was. He always trusted my taste in movies.)

∆ Also, strangely, a comfort movie.

∆ The first movie I remember seeing at the Drive-In Movies, 6 years old, sitting on the roof of my family's ugly green van and eating popcorn. It was the encore of a Double Feature, with a movie that had come out the year before- Men In Black. (This started my obsession with the Drive-In, my safe place.)

∆ And +1 Bonus: If asked what my favorite horror movie is, this is the first one that comes to mind. (2nd place goes to The Shining, the movie I considered tied with Titanic as my absolute favorite when I was 6 years old. My mom was appalled, my dad thought it was hilarious. Also, weirdly, my mom would only let me watch the second VHS for Titanic because the first half had a sex scene and the "Paint me like one of your French girls" scene. It's like she thought sex was worse than an explicit mass casualty event?!)

*Disclaimer, this is not a ranking, just 10 of my favorite movies that are clearly very important to me because of the memories attached. The oversharing was optional 😂 so don't feel pressured guys. Feel free to make your own post or attach 10 gifs to this one and keep the movie recs going, I'd love to see your responses-

@richard-michael-afton @steddiecameraroll @eddiethebrave @finalmoondragon @dragonsandgayships @spectrum-spectre @cloudedsunshines @demon-loverss @asexualasshat @subcultureblues @thatfaeb1tch @zombiethingy (oops I can't count 😎)

[kalied0skull]

Seen any new movies lately ?

i HAVE, anon ! within the past 3 weeks or so I've officially watched about 8 movies !

so i believe right after finishing AAWIL, i ran straight into more horror movies.

i watched ELECTRIC DREAMS, THE REANIMATOR, PERFECT BLUE, and THE LOST BOYS — which were all on a list of [general] horror movies i found interest in.

aside from those movies, i watched DAZED AND CONFUSED (which was recommended to me by an irl), LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE, DINNER IN AMERICA, and i rewatched MAMMA MIA to reminisce ... because abba rotates in my head every so often :3

I'll ramble about my watches under the cut, just because it's a bit much 💀

OKAY SO, if i wrack my mind correctly, i BELIEVE the order i watched these movies was...

(excluding mamma mia, because it was a nostalgia watch and nothing more! I've seen it already :D)

PERFECT BLUE (1997)

absolutely LOVED this film. somethin' about psychological horrors in animation tear me apart and leave me thinking about it for DAYS. this movie was heavily reccomended to me for a while after watching serial experiments lain, and despite the fact they were two insanely different stories, they still shared this same vibe of me constantly going "what the fuck is happening" and still loving every part of the big confusion.

this was such a nice movie, and i indeed had to watch a couple analysis videos just to really get a full idea on how it was supposed to be interpreted, because unfortunately i only paid attention once the big plot twists started... plot twisting... over and over again just THROWING my ass around.

however i do think it was a really interesting interpretation on disassociative disorders & folie a deux. not my favorite depictions, but it was an interesting one nonetheless that i was comfortable with!

THE RE-ANIMATOR (1985)

this movie was SOOOO fun. i fucking loved watching herbert and his fuck ass experiments and ohmygod is that little guy autistic. my favorite genre of old horror is always when it's two silly guys and some random love interest, because it's just so ridiculous and cheesy but it's FUN!!!

and i ENJOYED IT!!! I don't have much to say on this one because all in all it was a very half-paid-attention-to watch, but i really loved all of the goofy ass effects and I'm a sucker for lovecraftian story renditions.

DINNER IN AMERICA (2020)

someone lied to me when they said this movie was super cool and awesome

BECAUSE OKAY look I'm not a HATER to romance films... but also... there was just a LOT happening there 💀 i believe this movie was reccomended to me from a tiktok moot and i just? ran with it?

definitely one of those moments where i should have read the synopsis before jumping head first blindly into a movie, but i did actually enjoy some parts of it!

the visuals were incredible, i loved the soundtrack, i justttt.... thought the storyline was kind of odd? still really cool though i loved it a lot — but i will admit that i hated the depictions of autism in the movie because it felt insanely infantilising :( i know that was kind of what they were trying to go against, but euhhh errr uhhghh ... i dunno something about pattys character just rubbed me the wrong way unfortunately

DAZED AND CONFUSED (1993)

this movie was reccomended to me by an irl (I'd like to thank @levithatman despite the fact he still hasn't watched aawil like i asked him to AHEM AHEM AHEM) and i LOVED IT!!!

he told me it was how "his highschool experience should've been" and that's the only information i got on it before i watched it, and afterwards i was insanely confused because why the fuck would you want that (as if he isn't the same guy who wants to get hazed in a frat... tsk tsk)

anyways I'm throwing too much shade at my homie, this movie was fucking BOMB. i loved the character dynamics, there was so much happening to keep me occupied, it's definitely one of those 90s highschool movies that really just feel memorable because "that shit would never happen irl lmao" — it gave off Breakfast Club if it was full of druggies and fuckass middleschoolers, loved it loved it

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (2006)

I'm gonna be so honest i saw this movie in a "movies with queer representation" list, and then in a video edit of "movies that i think about a lot" and i ran to it just because... hell yeah dude that's what i strive for HAHAHA

this movie is definitely one that i should've watched with an irl to discuss about and have fun and such because it kind of just left me... well that's just it , IT LEFT ME. the ending was so abrupt and painful and i was sat here confused the entire fucking time because SO MUCH JUST HAPPENED IN THE SPAN OF 30 MINUTES OR LESS.

the craziest little family dynamic if i do say so myself, but i absolutely loved it and running around with the hoover family was so fun to watch and experience and aahhhh it really is one of those films that just FEEL nostalgic despite it being ur first time watching. ykyk?

THE LOST BOYS (1987)

and then ELECTRIC DREAMS (1984)

this is one of those movies EVERYONE in my circle has watched except for me. and MAN was i missing out. i fucking loved everything about the settings for this movie, the backgrounds and the environment we were placed in is a world IIIII WANNA BE IN. it was so fuckin cool man i fucking loved it

although the plot was a bit everywhere for me i really did enjoy the entire film, i loved the costumes the characters the settings the story the AHHHHH AHHHHH it was so fun and so cool.

vampire movies are definitely one of those things I'm mellow about but i really did enjoy this one, absolutely delightful watch and i now yearn to be in cali with all the cool kids and vamps ☹️

my favorite characters in the entire film were the frog brothers, they're so fuckin stupid and silly the entire damn film AND THE FACT THEY WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG fucking hilarious i loved it hehehe

edgar and miles should've kissed at the end I'M JUST SAYING!!!! I'm just saying...

I'll be quite honest i think it was really interesting to see the way someone interpreted new technology and then turned it into this lovesick little computer who hates his roomie because he's dating his crush. like... what the fuck 💀

i originally thought this film was gonna be way more computer horror based, but it surprisingly wasn't!!! all he did was turn the lights off and burn some things on accident! but then again it was still at that time where tech wasn't really... KNOWN ykwim

all in all i think it was a delightful film and I've been conjuring up the time to make some fun fanart for it because of how much i really just loved all the characters :3c

[hogzzz]

Dinner in America micro analysis

maybe i’ll do another one later because there’s a lot to this film

I watched Dinner in America, and a lot of people seem confused about the "uncalled for" racism in the movie’s opening scene. However, I think some are missing the point. Every single character in the film is a caricature. We focus so much on how weird the main characters are that we forget to analyze the behavior of the background characters and see the bigger picture.

The film satirizes the American Dream and people trapping themselves in a system. All the families depicted are different stereotypes of white middle-class American families from the 1960s and 70s. The first family, for example, is a joke about the stereotype of a racist, football-loving dad, a clueless jock son, and a mother who stirs up drama to distract herself from her shallow and boring life.

To understand this, we need to reconstruct the idea of the American Dream as the film portrays it—a Christian family that’s strict, “normal,” and ironically, only "normal" from the perspective of the American Dream. The film reveals how absurdly flawed this "normal" is. Even the bullies fit this stereotype, perfectly embodying a version of small-town American life that feels trapped in caricature. Most of the characters are so isolated within the confines of this "American Dream" that they don’t know anything beyond what they’ve been spoon-fed about being "good Americans" (like when Patty’s mom asks her dad if he knows what a rave is).

Naturally, within this limited worldview, their behavior is racist, ableist, close-minded, and fearful of anything new. The movie mocks this system, the propaganda that forces people into a box, living a false dream of being “normal.” The main characters are the opposite of that. One actively rejects being liked by people stuck in the system, while the other physically can’t fit in, even if she wants to.

The whole meaning of the movie is captured in its soundtrack, “fuck everybody else but us.” If you live for others, afraid of being judged, you’ll end up living a boring, joyless life, where you’ll only have time to judge others.

Overall, I LOVED the movie. I think it was more of a statement in itself, though the filmmaking lacks some details that could have been added, like working more on storytelling through objects and other subtle elements. However, it delivers well enough when it needs to.

[nessvn]

When you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen to, publish (or just write the names of the songs) then send this to your favorite mutuals 💜

hiiiiiii my beloved chavruta here are 5 songs off the top of my head :

predictable but WATERMELON from the dinner in america soundtrack <3<3<3<3<3 changed my brain chemistry

faustian bargain by saint avangeline

我的新衣 by vava

fire of love by jesse jo stark

la camisa negra by juanes

[regarding-stories]

How Fallout's music mirrors the franchise's endless malaise

I've sunk hundreds of hours into Fallout 1, 2, 3, New Vegas, and 4. Music always played a role in the franchise ever since its conception, albeit a limited one. And I'm positing that Fallout in general is going downhill and the music mirrors it.

How you like dem mutfruit??

The original Fallout 1 and 2 - you know, where most of the actual lore comes from - had a limited amount of music due to their technology limitations. You get an ambient synth soundtrack that was a constant apocalyptic downer and you get two pieces of music that were effectively callbacks to "Dr Strangelove" by Stanley Kubrick.

From the retro interface and the EMP-proof analog technology eventually the idea of a 1960s or 1950s retro style arose. I mean, the car in Fallout 2 had fins, after all. There was this aesthetic of ray guns and a throwaway Elvis joke... all of this added up over time, remixing a bit of "Twilight Zone" with a general B movie flair to create what seemingly became some form of Fallout visual style.

And its carcass.

Frozen in an amber-like radioactive coating

I posit that what Bethesda does with Fallout is like the undead are to the living. It goes on but degrades, losing the quality that made it alive, maybe even vibrant. It bears and expands on an outer shell with less and less inside that actually matters. My prediction for Fallout 5 is basically will be yet another generic suck-fest. Because you have to sell it to as many people as possible, keeping the money train going.

I'm not even talking about gameplay or the gaming experience itself. If anything, the release of Fallout 76 proves that nobody at Bethesda really had a game plan or an understanding of what gamers actually want. They thought plopping gamers into a map and giving them less guidance constitutes a "sandbox" and "multiplayer" when in reality they never thought about what players could do together at all, giving them very little to shape the world they were in with.

Exciting.

What defines Fallout for Bethesda is... hmmm.

It's set somewhere in North America. And since Americans are the biggest player base, let's throw in even the occasional nonsensical patriotic reference. Also an ever-increasing amount of Americana.

A radio station like in GTA, but when it's not broadcasting game info, it plays largely really old music, usually melancholic.

A recycling of anything seen in the early Fallout games in terms of lore, visuals, and especially names. If that isn't enough, expand along lines of what some pop culture version of the 1950s looks like - from Stepford Wives of some form to flying saucers.

Then splatter everything with Mad Max, except nobody gets a car or motor cycle because the engine can't do it.

Finally, slather everything in stuff you made up that you think qualifies for the "Rule of Cool".

Examples include:

A nuclear rocket launcher. Things that go boom are fun, mushroom clouds are obviously Fallout, so isn't just cool to combine the two?

Frozen TV dinners from 200 years ago, still edible due to some insane preservation technology.

Robots. Because there were robots in the original games. Let's rehash all the designs mostly, but then add some tank- and Terminator-like ones, because game challenge.

Supermutants. They were already cool, part of Fallout lore, let's find a silly reason to make them absolutely ubiquitous! (The rule of Supermutants is by now: Everywhere has their own reason for Supermutants, but they end up the same kind of Supermutants, anyway.)

Etc. Ad nauseam.

Do the same, but bigger or faster or edgier.

That's just the state of the world now. I expect more of this Fallout 5, don't you? It's the winning (!!) formula!!!

The same, by the way, goes for the TV show. It has largely retained the setting of Fallout 1 and then thrown in stuff from New Vegas (for locations and its silly "plot") and Fallout 4 (for cooool) and mostly colored within the lines.

Wait, didn't you want to talk about music?

Rrright...

So, as I said, if you listen to Fallout radio stations, you will find a lot of the same music, over and over. The uniting theme is "times gone by" and that it sounds like it has been played off of a record. (It makes a little sense if you think about how records might survive radiation and electromagnetic interference where tapes won't, but then everything comes on these cartridges anyway...)

It hit me just yesterday how liberating it would be to hear an upbeat rock song in a Fallout setting as if people actually had a feeling of going somewhere in life instead of persisting, subsisting and barely existing.

Nobody makes anything new, especially not music. If they're not calling back to the 1950s, they're calling back to patriotic music of the 18th and 19th century. They're no longer creating their own styles, fads, anything. They're just echoes of our existence.

Everything is always destroyed, over and over. The whole world persists in a state of rust and goes back to the square one that mimics the end of a Simpsons episode. Because if the world improved or truly changed, Bethesda's style of story rehashing wouldn't work anymore.

And that's reflected in the music. You can't have "Listen to our new band!!" or anything that isn't strict to their perception of Fallout aesthetic. Since Bethesda's idea of Fallout is reanimating the corpse of the original games by reference, but not by idea, the aesthetic becomes ever more hardcoded.

One of the reasons the Fallout show goes rampaging through stuff added in New Vegas is because Bethesda's own offerings were already derivative and added so little that would be useful for the supposedly epic storytelling the show attempts.

Eventually a medium evolves as its universe expands. But in Bethesda's mainline it shrinks. Because their idea of Fallout is superficial and without substance... it has no vision. The surface cannot evolve because there's no idea present. Without an idea underlying it, the superficial has to suffice.

Two counter-examples

One obvious one is not from Bethesda. It's what Obsidian did when they had a chance to make New Vegas. The big picture struggles from their scrapped Van Buren prototype for Fallout 3 emerge here and frame the story in a big way.

While the soundtrack of NV isn't a revelation, either, it hews consistently to their western theme. Because often they're telling a western-style story and setting within the Fallout universe. And it works. It's not without flaws, but it works. It matches the sense of a frontier in peril caught up between rivaling powers.

And even though I just criticized this example, the Minutemen in Fallout 4 also are an example of this. They're in general upbeat (just dreadfully incompetent to the point of extinction) and they bring their own unique theme. Sadly, it's even further from the past. And unlike settlements in NV, in FO4 nothing is accomplished without the player. Which is sad, from a role-playing/social aspect.

But largely, the world of Fallout lives in limbo, rehashing the past more and more, not less. Their baddies come from before the Fall: the Enclave, Mr House - kinda, now Vault-Tec itself, the Institute.

What modern Fallout lacks is a faction not derived from the past, that believably has a future, their own style, their own music. (They don't have to reinvent all music or a new style, just stop going backwards in time...) Just not another rehashed aesthetic. A new society.

I don't know how often baddies have fantasized about a slate wiped clean in Fallout, all too willingly wanting to provide it themselves, but they're all only intent to color their canvas with another blast from the past. Recreate the old US government before the fall, or a grand Vegas of their own devising, a 1950s style playground for corporate execs with picket fences (?)... and whatever the Institute wanted. But who is there to say - we are the new thing? Let's see them try, experiment, fail, branch out in different directions.

You know what's a classical Bethesda story? Person, tired with humdrum settlement they were born in, strikes out for new place, found dead at hand of raiders. End of quest. The new is bound to die!

Fallout needs a new story or to go away. Fallout 4 was a fun game but somehow the substance under the shell is just oozing away and out the bottom, and the shell solidifies. Their biggest promise so far for FO5 is not to do settlement building again. What gives? People rejoice, a broken half-assed feature goes away with no idea what to replace it with.

Please prove me wrong, writers of next game. I'd like nothing better than being proven wrong on this one. Fallout in general has potential, but nobody that does anything with it. The TV show so far is more of the same. Fallout needs to be saved from the visionless people that own it. Or it will just fall apart like a radioactive isotope long past its half-life...

[grapeofsoda]

Tag game ✨

tagged by my darling sweetie ongly doople skrunky @ahalliance thank u

Rules : Tag 10 people you want to get to know better.

Last song : La Nave de Olvido SPECIFICALLY by Mon Laferte #feminism

Last movie : Sinners (2025) EVERYONE GO SEE THAT FUCKING MOVIEEE saur fucking good it's immaculately done and the soundtrack goes unbelievably hard

Last book : Leah on the Offbeat (+ Simon vs. the Homo sapiens Agenda). very fucking good books i enjoyed them as a teen and i'm enjoying rereading them now

Last TV show : Worst Cooks in America <- okay so in my defense i love these reality cooking shows they're fun to watch during dinner .

Sweet/savory/spicy : sweet :P

Relationship status : @ahalliance 🫵

Last thing I googled : average male height globally. Okay listen i saw someone say [male character] being 5'8 made him a short king and my 5'2 ass got so mad i had to make sure i wasn't going crazy. I'M NOT. 5'8 IS AVERAGE.

Looking forward to : going on a road trip with friends in a couple weeks! that's the only concrete thing atm

Current obsession(s) : unforchies i'm back in the dan and phil mines

tagging: @awesomehoggirl @figofswords @fioblah @butchjackietaylor @cabinetduo @conscious-naivete @loafwins @suriandtaal @sp-milktea @tmmyhug