#i'd have ten cents

[deliciouskeys]

Some people really hate piecharts

[leamilea]

how do i tell OP i had the same dream three years ago.

[rambunctioustoons]

toontown meme!

[greyias]

That feel when you're like "I've got no time to deal with that nonsense" of the fandom persuasion, but said nonsense somehow does wind up inadvertently perking up your muses on some languishing projects. Which I will take the bright side and try and focus and hold onto that energy.

Please creativity, return to me. Water my crops. You are my only ho and all that jazz.

[ibijau]

Listen I know it’s cliché at this point to say M Night Shyamalan’s movies suck

but holy shit, Knock at the Cabin is bad

like, really bad. On several levels.

First of all, it’s boring, which is impressive considering the high stakes of its premises, and the fact that it shows on screen the beginning of the apocalypse

second, you can say it’s not a homophobic thing all you want, but making the survival of humanity hinge on the destruction of a gay family is. well. Yeah, that’s in bad faith to be gentle about it (in fact, James Somerton has a really cool video about the movie and the novel its based on and yeah, he says it all better than I could)

But yeah, -8/10, do not recommend. I was expecting so little, I only went because everything else in our cinema seemed worse, and still this disappointed me so much

[vampirezogar]

Me and the mutuals huffing basil at 3 am to acquire BRAIN SCORPION

[magicjesuscup]

I don't like sharks that much but...

You could match this cat plushie (https://lavenderconstellation.store/products/adorable-shark-cat-plush?variant=41474188017721)

if you had this snuggie (https://www.starktrends.com/products/snuggle-sharkie).

[batsplat]

Wait what’s the tea on Valentino’s sleep patterns 👀👀 (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)

oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life

tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will

before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):

The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.

and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):

On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!

and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):

'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'

we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):

Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.

and from 2001, in valentino's own words:

Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.

only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):

"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"

also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):

I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.

how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race

so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race

and here's the autobiography passage:

My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. It’s as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I don’t live the life of a professional athlete. It’s true, I don’t live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense — early to bed, early to rise and all that — but this does not mean that I’m not careful about what I eat and drink or that I don’t train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. It’s just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when I’m training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. That’s why, even if I’m travelling all over the world, I don’t experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. It’s much more likely that I’m just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because it’s the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, I’m Valentino Rossi. I’m wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, I’m always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. I’m proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because that’s actually when problems can arise — if it’s you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I don’t know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because it’s absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. They’re in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, I’ve been a man on the run. And there’s no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply can’t engage in when I’m back in Italy. I can’t go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I can’t walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I can’t stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, I’m screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, I’ve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.

Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. It’s just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I don’t like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. It’s like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. That’s why I’ve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, “Gente. della notte” (“People of the night”). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I don’t change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I don’t really change. Obviously, I don’t go to bed at dawn, but let’s just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there aren’t many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I don’t leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. That’s why I’ve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. I’ve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I don’t think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I don’t actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. It’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.

During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. There’s always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that I’m at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. That’s where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldn’t find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just don’t have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. I’m like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just don’t have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up — usually it’s Jeremy, because he doesn’t trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.

"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. it’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -

[octuscle]

Late Night Possession

Inspired by @malevessel

It was a terrible day. Meetings that dragged on like chewing gum. The air conditioning in the meeting room was faulty, it was well over 30 degrees Celsius outside, much higher inside and the humidity wasn't much below 100 percent. I hate it when lawyers suddenly join us at the end of a project. They talk everything up without even having understood for five cents what it was all about. And my client's in-house counsel was not only annoying, he also stank from the mouth and smelled terribly of sweat. The air in the meeting room was stifling. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when we thought we were finally finished at 8pm. And then the pain in the ass said he had a few more questions….

It was really lucky that I got the last train home. I still had a three-hour journey ahead of me. It would be 02:00 when I was finally in bed. What a day! But I would take a nap now. The train was almost empty, I was sitting in the rest area, no one would disturb me.

"Hey bro, I swear! The bitch was begging for mercy. And then I fucked her all the more!" I am rudely torn from my reverie. Two seats away, a guy has sat down. A migrant with Arab roots, I'd say. Not a Muslim, because he doesn't perform ablutions. It smells of sweat and tobacco. The guy is on the phone at 11:30 at night in the train's rest area. On the phone? No, he's shouting. Without a headset of course, I can hear his "bro" on the other end just as well as I can hear him. And the guy is smoking. On the train. That's all I really needed today to be happy.

I may look weak. I am weak. Sport was never my thing. But I'm not anxious. Even if the guy has arms that make my legs look skinny. But he's not allowed to use the phone here. And he's certainly not allowed to smoke here. I stand up. I go to him. He only looks at me for a split second and immediately turns his attention back to his conversation partner. "Excuse me, this is a non-smoking train and you are in the rest area… So may I ask you…" BAAAAANNG! His fist hits me without any warning. My eyes go black.

Shit, why does my fist hurt? Shouldn't my head be hurting? I rub my fist. And see myself. On the floor. Knocked out. Shit! Shit! Shit! I look in the window. At my reflection. A migrant with Arab roots. "Yo dude, you good? Yo bro, spill the tea, what's the 411?" I hear from the cell phone. I pick up the phone, say that everything is okay, but that I have to take care of something here and hang up. I lie on the floor and sniffle. So it's the other one. Or is it me? Damn it! What's happened here? Take it easy now. This is a dream. I have brain trauma or something… What would I really do now if I were in that bastard's body? I'm like remote-controlled. I take my wallet out of my jacket pocket. I take my watch, the gold cufflinks and my glasses. I put everything in my laptop bag. The next station is coming. And I jump out of the train. I need a cigarette now. I don't smoke, but my body is obviously addicted to that shit. There's a Zippo and filterless Marlboros in my bomber jacket. I'm still a bit inexperienced with it, I have tobacco crumbs on my tongue. But the smoke feels good. So good. And my head is finally starting to work properly again.

Okay, I'm in the middle of nowhere in Stoke-on-Trent. Shit, I've got the belongings of a man who's been knocked out on a train to Manchester. I'm going to need money. I take the money out of my wallet, take the credit cards and pull the maximum amount out of the ATM in the deserted station concourse with each one. According to the departure board, there's a train back to London in ten minutes. The platform is empty. I get on, leave the laptop bag with everything that might remind me of myself in an empty compartment and quickly get off again. The train departs. Shit, shit, shit! I need one more cigarette first. I smoke the second one much more routinely on the station forecourt. Opposite the station is a somewhat shabby-looking hotel. While I'm thinking about going in there, a bus arrives. Destination Birmingham. Without thinking twice, I get on the bus. Birmingham. I drove through there a few hours ago. In a completely different body. I fall asleep.

It's dawn when my cell phone wakes me up. The phone of the guy who knocked me out. Mine after all. Shit, I'm not awake yet and the situation is challenging. The phone isn't vibrating discreetly, it's quite loud. BILLY TSTRK as the ringtone. One of my favorite hip-hop artists. He's also from Beirut. It's my buddy Dylan. He asks if everything's okay because I haven't been in touch. I say I've had a bit of stress with the wanker on the train and am now on the bus to Birmingham rather than Manchester. Dylan says cool, he'll tell Hamza and he'll pick me up at the bus. "You're a man of honor, I'll kiss your eye!" I say and hang up.

It's 05:30. I've been on the phone with Facetime. Without a headset. Several pairs of eyes stare at me in annoyance. "laenat alfilastiniiyn alkufaar" I curse and close my eyes again.

Had to go into hiding for a few weeks. The police were looking for me. Of course, there were surveillance cameras at the station. As far as I know, my old body is in a mental hospital. The story of the investment banker who suffered brain trauma after being mugged on a night train and then thought he was his tormentor was in the press. Not that I still read the papers. But it even appeared on Yasin's Instagram account, which is now my account.

My boys had to get used to it a bit. The investment banker is still in me. And that's a good thing. As Yasin, I have a pretty complex company to run. Import, export, all sorts of different stuff. I wash the money in investments in shisha bars and fitness studios. Hey, I only invest in things I know something about. And I practically live on the weight bench and in the shisha lounge area. Even though I think shisha sucks. I'll stick to cigarettes.

[paper-mario-wiki]

hi, i'm not the person who asked you about the life update, but could you elaborate on how being a creator means to live in a world of ideas instead of the real world? i'm just really curious about your reasons for quitting, specially because i want to create things in the future (not necessarily streaming, but anyways), hope you have a good day!

i'll be talking mostly about streaming for the sake of this answer, but this is similarly applicable across a wide range of platforms:

the job of the streamer is, effectively, to be the life of the party every single day. your goal is to be the person that has something interesting to talk about, and is quick with a joke, and has nuanced understandings of certain things, without actually obtaining any sort of "expertise" in anything lest you alienate viewers. short of having a stated goal for a stream, the only goal of the streamer is to let people relax with a voice they enjoy, saying things they like hearing. you can become very strong in different aspects of streaming, like in the production, or as someone who focuses more on a skill they've honed like art or speedrunning, but the demographic of streamers which pulls, by far, the most significant viewership, is personality based streamers.

this becomes more complicated when, for example, you are very interactive with chat, or you stream with multiple people at once. now, to maintain this charismatic sway you have (the one that got you the job in the first place), you must be able to adapt to and bounce off of other people, as you are now no longer performing alone. naturally, there's a need to not only manage your own flow of consciousness, but also to be at least partially in sync with someone else's.

beyond these complications, you must also consider drawing in new viewership. when i was a streamer, i was quite successful, relatively speaking. pulling 300 viewers consistently is something a very slim amount of streamers can actually do, and even then i was still making under 50k a year, which is not bad, but also not good. in paying for my apartment, my insurance, my travel fare, and all the other stuff that living independently draws money out of you with, i was more often in the red than i was in the green. hence, the need to draw in new viewers, which cannot be done without something eye-catching.

think about this: there are, at any given time, TENS OF THOUSANDS of streamers live in your native language on twitch, and they are all FREE TO WATCH. the attention market is sparse because the streamer market is oversaturated. and considering all of THEM want new viewers too, everyone is constantly refining and improving their craft, which requires everyone to move creatively in tandem with each other lest they get left behind.

if you are a streamer making ass-dollars and ass-cents, it becomes easy to begin resenting people like jerma, solely because everything he touches seems to turn to gold. i personally found it easy to feel very disappointed in myself when peoples projects that seemed so simple would take off. it was a constant "why didn't i think of that!" situation, at least for me. and when you don't have the energy to keep that up, or the social stamina necessary to figure that all out while also being upbeat and happy in front of people near daily, it can become very draining.

what i mean specifically when i say the "world of ideas", is like. there would be times where i could schedule out my failures weeks in advance. i'd be so in my own head about the process, i could see the exact path i could see myself taking that would lead me directly to ruin. how playing games i actually enjoyed would steadily drop viewership, or how focusing on my studies would make people forget about me. and of course this is augmented by my anxiety, i know this is absolutely not the case for every streamer, but that overwhelming feeling of needing to find a new game to play, or a new gimmick to use, or a new ploy to get money that doesn't make you feel guilty even though your source of income is mostly queer and mostly poor young adults and your rent is coming up and you're $200 short but you also just had a fundraiser last month about a DIFFERENT emergency but you cant make it a bummer or else people wont want to tune in so you have to make it something fun like "you laugh you lose!" or "$1 art request streams!" while feeling nothing but anxiety while youre trying to sound like youre enjoying yourself even when youre asking 250 people to donate every 30 minutes or so and nobody seems to want to and chat is moving slowly and. and and.

well, it starts to eat away at you.

[foone]

If I had a nickel for every time MST3K riffed an 80s Italian film where Donald Pleasence gives a gun to the hero's love interest who is under mind control and tells her to shoot the hero, but she resists the command... I'd have ten cents.

Which isn't much, but it's still weird that it happened twice.

[afirewiel]

I've been seeing a lot of discourse about Rose and Tentoo on my dash lately and I thought I'd add my two cents. I have never been a fan of that ending for Rose. "He's Ten but human! He has Ten's memories!" That argument would hold a lot more weight if it weren't for the fact that earlier in the same season there was a clone of Martha who had Martha's memories and yet acted completely differently than Martha, showing that she was in fact not Martha but her own person. In the "Almost People" arc in season 6, we get a copy of Eleven with his memories, who again acts unlike Eleven and is his own person. In one of the new specials, we get copies of Fourteen and Donna, who also have their memories but are not them. So this whole "memories are what make the person" argument in Tentoo's favor just falls flat.

He had Ten's memories and yet still committed genocide. An act Ten was enraged at him for. So clearly they are in disagreement here, so Ten's memories didn't seem to do him any good as he still chose to do something Ten did not approve of. And why would anyone, least of all the Doctor, leave the woman he loves with a man who had just committed genocide!? It makes no sense to me for him to do that. If anything, one would have thought the Doctor would want to keep Rose as far away from Tentoo as possible after that.

"You changed me. You made me better. Now you can change him." Excuse me, Doctor, but it is not Rose's job to change him! She doesn't owe it to you, to him, or to anyone else to make make him better. She made you better by influence, not because she actively went "I can fix him." And expecting her to, is just wrong and that is not the healthy basis for a relationship.

The biggest reason, however, that I don't like this ending is that Rose wasn't given a choice. Ten didn't let her choose between him and Tentoo. He didn't tell her that Tentoo was human and then asked her if she wanted to stay and live her life with Tentoo. Nope. He told she was going to. "But she kissed Tentoo!" Only because he was the one who told her how he felt about her. Ten purposefully avoided answering her. And even after she kissed Tentoo and realized that Tardis was leaving with Ten and Donna in tow, she chased after them and looked heartbroken when she realized they were gone. Even RTD and Billie Piper have said that the ending was a cope out and that Rose wasn't given a choice. That if she had been, she would have chosen to return to the Tardis with Ten and Donna.

Perhaps if we had gotten a spin-off show about Rose and Tentoo's life, I could have warmed up to this ending, but we didn't. Instead all we got was Ten losing her again (this time of his own choosing) and then immediately losing Donna afterward and him being all alone. So yeah, not a happy ending in my book. If you like it, that's fine. I for one just cannot.

[ari-zonia]

If I had a nickel for every game I played with a homophobic bisexual brunette in a service job with a dead not-girlfriend, I'd have ten cents

[utilitycaster]

If the Reilora were created from people like the Tishtan who were scooped from Exandria, sent to the moon, and warped by the will of Predathos (rather than spontaneously created in some fashion) it really will be an "if I had a nickel every time a group of Exandrians and a chunk of their city got sent off-world during a cataclysm and were mutated into red psychic creatures, I'd have ten cents, but it's weird it happened twice" scenario

[actualalligator]

"I should really stop being a coward." for buddie if you are so inclined :)

Thank you so much for this! It ended up being much longer than I planned, but it was fun!!

"I should really stop being a coward," Buck sighed. He sat in the back of the ambulance, watching Eddie punch the bag across the room.

"Yes," Hen said from behind him. "And you should actually help me restock the ambulance or get out of my way."

"Sorry, sorry." Buck stood and did help. They were just finishing when the B-shift crew started to filter in.

"Buck!" Eddie shouted.

When Buck turned, Eddie was standing freshly showered and dressed in his jeans and a hoodie, bag over his shoulder about ten feet back from the ambulance.

"Happy hour ends in half an hour. Do you want wings or not? We gotta go!" Eddie asked, resting a hand on his hip.

Buck glanced toward Hen, who rolled her eyes. "Go," she said. "You should really stop being a coward."

Buck looked at her for a second, then nodded. "See you tomorrow, Hen." And he hopped out of the ambulance and sprinted to the locker room to change.

Eddie leaned against the jeep when he got out there. "If we miss happy hour, you're buying."

Buck laughed. He unlocked the jeep and tossed his bag in the back.

Eddie got in and immediately started to fiddle with the radio, settling on a classic rock station and humming along as they drove.

Buck parked the jeep near the back of CJ's lot and turned it off, but didn't get out. He unbuckled and turned to face Eddie. "Eddie, can we talk a sec?"

Eddie glanced at his watch. "Can we talk after we've been seated and ordered wings?"

"Yeah, yeah," Buck said, ducking his head.

Coward.

He climbed out of the jeep and followed Eddie into the restaurant. They were seated quickly.

"I'm thinking hot and the Thai curry ones we got last time," Eddie said, flipping over the happy hour menu to look at the wing flavors.

"So you want to melt my face off," Buck replied. "What about some of the Korean BBQ?"

"I'm trying to build your spice tolerance, Buck. I'm doing you a service here," Eddie said with a grin. He then flashed that grin at the waitress Sarah who was often their server on wing night.

"Getting in right under the wire, I see, gentlemen. What can I get you?" Sarah asked.

"We want two dozen. Ten buffalo hot, ten of the Thai curry, and four Korean BBQ. A basket of fries and," Eddie paused, glancing at the beer list. "Do you still have the black forest stout?"

"I'd have to check. They were on the last one. But Rosewood sent another stout to replace it with," Sarah said.

Eddie nodded and offered her the menu. "Whichever Rosewood stout you have is fine."

"Buck?" Sarah asked.

Buck offered her a smile. "Lots of ranch. And whatever pilsner is on tap."

Sarah tucked her pen on her apron. "I will go put that in and get those drinks."

Buck watched her go before he looked back at Eddie. "Kind of you to get four wings that are a little less spicy."

"You like spice. Even if it makes you cry a little," Eddie replied, smiling. "And last time you said the curry wings were the best you've ever had." He paused, tilting his head. "Do you want me to go grab her and change the hot to medium?"

Buck shook his head. "You're right. I do like spice." And then he took a second to just look at Eddie as he stared down at the drinks menu.

"I will never understand paying fifteen dollars for fifty cents worth of liquor and some juice," Eddie said, shaking his head. "I can get a bottle of tequila and a carton of orange juice for fifteen bucks."

"Shitty tequila," Buck said.

Eddie grinned. "That's what the orange juice is for."

Buck laughed, shaking his head, but convinced he fell even more in love every time Eddie flashed him that grin. He thought weak at the knees was a made up think until the first time Eddie smiled at him.

Sarah returned. She set Buck's pilsner down in front of him and then about three-quarters of a pint in front of Eddie. "Keg kicked in the middle of the pour. I'll bring you another when they've got the new one in."

"Thanks." Eddie picked up his glass and held it out toward Buck. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Buck replied, clinking his glass against Eddie's and taking a drink. As Eddie's glass came away from his mouth, it'd left behind a little foam on his upper lip. Fondness spread through Buck and without thinking much about it, he said, "I love you."

He wished then that he was in one of those made-up worlds where love at first sight existed and love made one weak at the knees because time also seemed to stop there when things like this happened, when those words accidentally slipped put.

But Buck wasn't in one of those worlds. He was in the real world, and time kept ticking as Eddie registered exactly what it was Buck had said.

Eddie blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Buck said.

"Fuck." Eddie shook his head. He laughed. "This is where you finally do it? In CJ's?"

Buck frowned. "Finally?" he repeated, then pointed his finger at Eddie. "I asked if we could talk in the jeep. You asked if we could do it after we ordered wings. It's after we ordered wings. What do you mean finally, Eddie?"

Eddie looked down at his drink. "I just wasn't sure when you were going to tell me."

Buck's face suddenly felt hot, and something burned hot inside his gut. Embarrassment, maybe. Shame, like he was the butt of a joke. Was it a joke? Had he been so obvious that Eddie had just known? Was it sad? Pathetic?

"I love you too," Eddie said. "I need you to hear that before you start to spiral about this. I love you."

"Why did you wait for me to say it," Buck asked.

Eddie reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Because when Taylor said it first, you weren't ready, and you felt bad about your response. I wanted you to get to say it first. And I wanted you to hear it back. I love you, Buck."

Buck wrapped his fingers around Eddie's wrist, just holding it there, grounding him for a moment. He let out a breath. "Will you kiss me before my mouth goes numb from all these stupid hot wings you ordered?"

Eddie moved each of their beers off to the side and leaned across the table. Buck's hand dropped as Eddie moved his to rest on the back of Buck's neck and pull him close.

The kiss was quick, but everything Buck wanted it to be. Eddie didn't pull away.

"I love you," Eddie said.

Buck laughed and surged forward to kiss him again.

[bushkit]

Ok guys I gotta talk about something that is BOGGLING my mind right now cause I swear I'm going insane. 😭

So in My Inner Demons episode ten (the “hot tub” one 💀), when Leif asks why the daemos just don't start threatening humans Rhys not only says the human population outnumbered them, but it severely outumbers them. I don’t doubt that as a whole that's true, there are literally eight billion humans that exist on Earth, but these guys have only seen a very small portion of the world.

Like, they are in a town (we literally don't know where it is either, but I assume somewhere in the U.S). They haven’t been outside very often and when they have there's hardly been anyone around. And this is confusing me so much.

These guys have seen a MAXIMUM of a hundred humans on Earth if we are counting people we cannot see in the show, if we aren’t counting them that's gotta be less than fifty. Do you see the problem yet? Probably not really, but allow me to make this even worse or, more accurately, let Rhys make it worse.

Looping back to the start of this post, Rhys says the human population severely outnumbers Asch’s kingdom, which we assume is the largest of multiple. Even worse, Asch asks if it outnumbers the other kingdoms combined as well, to which Rhys says and I quote, “I assume so.”

HELLO? ARE THERE ONLY LIKE FIFTEEN OF YOU GUYS?

Literally this makes no sense. This would be better if there was only like a few small tribes of daemos, but how are there so few daemos in multiple kingdoms?? Have you seen how massive Asch’s kingdom alone is? How are they a functioning society, that is under MONARCHIES, with from the sound of it, A MASSIVE WAR GOING ON???? Now again, I do believe there definitely are way more humans than daemos in general. But less than fifty daemos across all the kingdoms (I headcanon there's five)? I'm sorry, but I just cannot accept that as true. In my mind, there's gotta be at the very least four million daemos spread across all the kingdoms. Four million feels like a lot, but compared to the human population in general and in the United States alone, it is very little, so by all accounts they still are greatly outnumbered. But at least this time the population is more believable and there is less of an opportunity to get serious continuity errors which unfortunately already exist in canon.

As far as headcanons go, yes, I do believe there's definitely more than four million daemos especially considering where they are in the world I've created. Tramea, the continent I've placed them on in this world, is slightly bigger than North America. The largest population of daemos, where all the kingdoms are, is way up north on the continent in the temperate, heavily wooded regions. In my world the daemos have to share this continent with the dragons, who fill up other areas particularly with two “bloods” being native to the south side. Of course, there's likely daemos who aren’t necessarily affiliated with the kingdoms are spread all over the continent.

So anyways that's it for now, this was something I just found weird and I thought it’d be interesting to throw in my own two cents about it since I haven't seen anyone else mention this. Lemme know your thoughts about it I'd love to hear ‘em!