#the rooster movie

[tinyreviews]

Tiny Review: The Rooster 2023. Low-stakes thoughtprovoker.

I like the message. That sometimes living happily(and naturally) also means behaving unorthodoxly(and madly).

That we are all broken. Some people are more broken than others. Some people let their brokenness consume them more than others.

Tim, or Mit (the Hermit 😂), is the conduit through which Dan, and us, learn this.

I thought the rooster is the embodiment of the Dan’s regular life, that it’s death meant the death of his old identity and that he needs to embrace a new identity, or die with the old one.  

Instead, it’s a lesson to just buy back the same old life again? 😅

The Rooster is a 2023 Australian comedy drama film directed by Mark Leonard Winter and starring Hugo Weaving, Phoenix Raei, and John Waters.

[slow--spark]

[misaothewitch]

[almondcroissantsandink]

they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery :)

(a silly 4-pg comic I've loosely titled Seeing Double, for fun! I know it's only mid-September, but I'm so so so getting into the Halloween mood)

[friend-lover-traitor-narrator]

How come I've never noticed this before?!

Look at this scene first:

-> Ice is looking at Mav's eyes first but then his eyes flicker down to Mav's mouth for a tiny moment.

Then look at this scene:

-> Roo is looking at Hangy's eyes first but then his eyes flicker down to Hangy's mouth for a tiny moment.

IT'S THE SAME!!! Like literally the same!

[peachesandcreames]

Happy Thanksgiving, Fam!!! 💞💕

[dannyuta]

TOP GUN: MAVERICK (2022) | dir. Joseph Kosinski

[cirr0stratus]

One day i’ll shut up

[phxoftheashes]

Glen Powell being Hangman on Twitter. I found these and thought they were gold. Lmao

[dearsnow]

SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT (WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE)

- you and bradley had always been attached at the hip until life pulled him away. when you’re finally living in the same place again, your unspoken feelings come to the surface during a san diego bonfire. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x gn!reader, reader is characterized as someone who doesn’t like much attention, jealousyyyyyyyyy, pining & arguments but fluff at the end, ⚠️ mentions of alcohol / weed)

word count: 2,500

a/n - it’s so entertaining to come up with synonyms for kissing 😭 anyways, enjoy this, and listen to american teenager by ethel cain. oh and i was also so tempted to make the girl mickey in a wig, but i held back.

Bradley Bradshaw likes you. He’d go as far as to say he loves you, if he was being honest. He’s never said it, though, not in that way.

When you first met, he was pulled to you like a magnet. It was preschool, and he never left your side. He made macaroni portraits of you and you crafted tiny little friendship bracelets for him. Neither of you could speak well, or write well, but you stuck together anyways.

Your first written words were each other’s names.

Everything snowballed from there, but he couldn’t say he was mad at it.

You were so entirely different, but that’s what made it good, in his opinion. He always needed eyes on him, not for any pretentious ego-boosting reasons, but because it made him thrive. You tended to hide in the shadows. When you gave your eyes to him, and him to you, it was like the most natural thing in the world.

He was the classic class clown type all throughout middle and high school, with a football jersey and everything. When you came to his games, he swore he played a million times better, and you were happy to indulge in his superstition.

You like him, too. You’d go as far as to say you love him, if you’re being honest. You might’ve said it if he hadn’t been so clearly your platonic life partner. You would follow him, as toddlers, with his shirt edge balled in your small fist. You tried to draw him more times than you could count, but it always looked wrong, like you couldn’t really capture the life that he held so deeply in his eyes. You even considered joining the cheerleading squad for him, but you would’ve cringed under the gaze of the crowd.

When he left for the navy, and for college, and for anything after that, you wished you could bounce across the United States with him. Instead, you wrote him letters; copious amounts of them.

One thing that you both never dared to cross was the bounds of friendship. He would hold your hand, his thumb smoothing over the side of your fist, and there was nothing romantic about it. God, you wished it was, though.

Now that you’ve moved to San Diego, following him one last time, you beg whatever makes the rules to break them just once.

You walk up behind a broad-shouldered man you barely recognize and tap him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to a man named Bradley? I believe his call sign is something silly, like ‘duck’.”

He whips around, sunglasses and mustache entirely new to you. He speaks your name in a breathy whisper, like he’s afraid his words will break if he says them too loud. “You’re here? Like actually?”

You’ve barely replied before you’re wrapped in a hug, feet lifted off the ground and body spun around so many times you think you might be sick. “Geez, Brad, put me down!”

He sets you down gently, holding out an arm for stability as you collect your bearings. “Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe I’m seeing your face after all this time.” You’re even more breathtaking than he remembers.

San Diego has done him well, you reckon. His gold-tinted skin holds a deeper sense of warmth, now, even though he has always run hot. “You better get used to it. I have a fancy new apartment now, so I’m here to stay.”

His face holds a beaming grin, and the whole world falls away. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here with just my coworkers.” He doesn’t even notice how you look at him with lovesick eyes.

After two months of San Diego, you say the one thing you thought you would never say: “I’m so sick of the sun.”

It’s midday, and you’re prepping for a Fourth of July bonfire party on the beach. The sun is beating down on your back, forcing you to scamper into the ocean every once in a while. Bradley is right beside you, wheeling yet another cooler onto the sand. “If I wasn’t worried about our shit being stolen, I’d suggest we abandon it and let Jake do all the work.”

You laugh. Jake was the one who suggested the whole bonfire, but, of course, he was “too busy” to help set up. You don’t mind doing the work. If it was an opportunity for you to be beside Bradley, you’d do anything. You’d even brave the burning ball of gas in the sky.

As you work, the sun disappears quickly.

By this point, after over two decades of friendship, you’ve lost a bit of that hope that pushed you to follow Brad in the first place. You know he’s attractive, and every woman in the world seems to know it too. What you didn’t know is that you’re pretty damn attractive too. As you’ve told yourself, you prefer to keep the attention off of you.

So, as the sun’s last dying rays scatter over the cooling sand, you pretend not to notice the women ogling your best friend.

The bonfire is great. Amazing, even. The flames reach high into the sky and the smell of smoke permeates the air; everything is cast in this sort of hazy glow, highlighting tanned skin and bright swimsuits. There’s also a woman chatting up Bradley, touching his arm flirtatiously, but you push that to the back of your mind. Instead, you’re focused on the guy in front of you, even when her giggle sends a ball of spikes into your heart.

He’s tall, a little on the skinny side, with tousled black hair and a puka shell necklace. Sand clings to his sandaled feet. He hands you a beer, which you tell yourself you won’t drink much of. You’ve already had a bit too much.

“So, know anyone here?” He asks. He’s eyeing you with a certain ferocity that you don’t notice, his gaze raking up and down your body.

You pop the can open and take a small sip. “Yeah. I know Bradshaw, and the rest by association.” You gesture to Jake and Natasha, who are arguing over a beach volleyball. You almost smile at the way she jabs him in the ribs, making him double over just enough for her to steal what’s so carefully held in his hands. The guy nods.

“I don’t. I’m here for the vibes, y’know?” He takes a step closer, and you notice he smells like smoke and something deeper, like perfumed weed. “And the pretty people.”

You shift in your place. “Have you found what you’re looking for?” You’re almost teasing now, completely missing the hunger in the way he licks his lips. Maybe you’re a little drunk, or maybe you’re just enjoying how someone seems to be giving you the longing looks you so sorely crave. It’s one night, you figure. You won’t ever see him again. What’s wrong with a little good-natured flirting?

“Absolutely.” He murmurs, reaching forward. His hand connects with the back of your neck, his breath cascading over your face, and your eyes flutter shut— before you’re yanked backwards by an arm around your waist.

You stumble. “What the hell?” You curse, colliding with a hard, warm chest. You drop your beer in the sand as you fall back. It’s Bradley, and he looks furious. “Brad, are you kidding me?”

“Come here.” His voice is lethally quiet and sharp as a knife. Your mind is reeling as you follow him a few paces closer to the fire, but a hot pool of anger sits in your stomach.

“Are you being serious right now? What in the world were you thinking?” You hiss. You look up at his tight-lipped face, utterly stoic in the light behind him.

“I’m not letting you kiss that piece of shit.”

“Who are you to decide who I kiss?” You’re so, so mad. So mad you could punch someone, but that would probably hurt you more than the person your fist connects with. Bradley just intervened in the one thing you thought he would never intervene in. You’ve let him swap spit with girls you’ve never seen before, and now he’s over here acting like you kissing one guy is the epitome of nastiness?

He scoffs. “You didn’t even notice, did you? That he was eyeing you like a piece of meat? God, he reeks of weed and swamp ass, too. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I could have the once in a lifetime opportunity to make out with a perfectly attractive guy without someone interrupting.” Your arms are crossed, but you feel a lump forming in your throat. In your mind, that really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s not like you go out of your way to meet people, and the people you’ve met have never even slyly complimented you. You’re not the type that gets dates or drinks sent your way or anything more than platonic. Currently, platonic is staring you in the face with the rage of a thousand suns behind his eyes.

“Make out with Bob or Nat, I don’t care. At least they won’t undress you with their fuckboy blue eyes. Even Bagman is a better choice.”

“You don’t get to decide those things��� friends don’t get to decide those things. I mean, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when you were openly flirting with that girl.” In the back of your mind, you know he’s right. You know that your stomach dropped when the guy leaned closer to you, and that your kicked-down self esteem made him out to be a whole lot more attractive than he probably (definitely) was.

Bradley runs a hand through his already slightly messy hair, sighing like he’s regretting ever hitting you with a sand pail in preschool. “I at least get to decide when to save you from creeps and when to leave your love life alone. Trust me, you were in more danger than I ever was.”

“I reiterate, friends don’t get to decide those things.” He can see the insecurity swimming in your beautiful eyes. Yeah, you’re definitely at least somewhat drunk. You’d never argue with him like this if you weren’t. You’re also more than a little mad, and disgusted with yourself, and disappointed with your lack of charisma, and so jealous of the girl he probably tangled tongues with.

“What do I have to be, then, to get it through your thick skull? You know I love you. I’m just looking out for you.” His voice is softer, now, and sweeter, dripping from his mustache like honey.

He reaches out, and you cringe away. Love. It’s a word unspoken, one that’s been lingering on your mind since the day in seventh grade when he suddenly became attractive to you. Like most things, you assume it’s friendly. “Do you really love me if this is what you’re pulling? Say it like you mean it, Bradshaw.”

“I love you.” He states, taking your hands in his. This time, as you try to pull yourself from his grip, he holds on. “I love you.” He says again. It holds a certain weight that gets your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He’s firm but gentle, and he can feel the years of unspoken feelings bubbling on the tip of his tongue.

That’s when the guy from before decides to approach, sliding a hand uncomfortably down your waist. “I think you interrupted us, dude.”

Bradley drops your hands, and before the man can grab you even lower, he’s getting decked in the face.

He collapses to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing like a bitch. “Fuck you, what the fuck! Fuckin’ Navy piece of fucking shit.” You raise your hand to your mouth as he scrambles to get away. His blood leaves a scarlet trail of droplets in the sand.

“Bradley…”

“I just want you to be safe.” He mutters, like he didn’t just punch someone in the face for you. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, romantically, but I can’t stand seeing you with guys that aren’t as smart or good-looking as one fraction of your pinky toe.”

You reach up to his jaw, carefully, gingerly, before pressing your lips to his.

Like a scene from a movie, Fourth of July fireworks explode behind you, not unlike the fireworks going off in your mind. He has one hand on your waist and one hand on the back of your head, and neither make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s Bradley, and he makes you feel like the safest person in the world.

Your lips are soft, so soft. Bradley can practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as his body finally takes in the moment he’s been dreaming about his entire life. When you pull away, he misses the feeling, like the lost puzzle piece of his heart was stolen as soon as it was put back.

“You think my pinky toe is smart and good-looking?” You place a hand on his bare chest, teasing. He gives you the grin you’ve come to adore.

“Every part of you is. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you too. For more than your pinky toe, of course.”

“Oh,” he says, suddenly conscious of the self-satisfied look you shoot her, “y’know that girl I was talking to?” You raise your eyebrows questioningly as he nods his head at her. She sends a little wave, in which you notice a sparkling ring on her finger. “That, my love, is Reuben’s wife.”

You feel your heart sink to your feet as the embarrassment sets in, your cheeks growing warmer than the fire. You mouth a quiet “sorry” at her and she laughs, shooing your apology away with a gentle sweep of her hand.

“Is that why you went after Mr. Broken nose?” Bradley whispers in your ear. “That’s one hell of a way to make me jealous.”

You crinkle your nose as your face flushes impossibly warmer. “Not everything has an ulterior motive, Bradshaw.”

He looks perfect in this lighting, and to him, so do you. You can hardly believe that decades of friendship and tension and wishing led to this slightly improbable moment. You’re honestly glad you almost kissed a stranger.

“Yeah, but you’d best believe I do.”

He takes your hand in his and drops to one knee. Everyone turns to look at him, but for once, the only eyes that matter are yours. “Will you do me the honor of letting me be your lawfully appointed boyfriend?” You smile so wide you think your cheeks might split. You join him in the sand, holding his face in your hands and kissing his cheek.

“You really did mean it, huh, Brad?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes. It’s a definite, no-questions-asked, yes.”

[halestrom]

“You should kiss me at midnight.”

Jake stilled, turning his head to stare at Rooster, well aware of the silence around them as the daggers stopped and stared at them. He thought of a dozen things to ask. Or say, as he leaned back in his chair and took in Rooster. His over shirt was long gone. Leaving him in clearly loved t-shirt with long faded words, a size or two small so it stretched across his chest and stopped above his bellybutton, a good few inches of tan skin bared. His hair was messy, alcohol and a long afternoon fading into night making his curls win the fight against whatever he used to keep them in place. He was sweaty, but they all were. The bar was sweltering, and Jake had long since unbuttoned his shirt, soaking up the attention in the form of eyes staring at his chest. Rooster looked good. He knew he did if the smirk on his face was any indication.

But Jake wasn’t ever gonna make things easy.

“What’s in it for me?” he asked, tilting his chin up, daring, commanding an answer worth his time.

Rooster didn’t back down. “I suck dick real well when motivated. And I love making out so it’s good motivation.”

Fanboy groaned, tilting against Payback as others around them gagged but Jake ignored them. “I wanna leave but I don’t, you know?” He hissed, trying to be quiet but too drunk.

Jake ignored him, and the eyerolls directed his way. “And?” He bent his elbow to prop his chin on his fist. “So, do I. You’re not special.”

“No?”

Jake grinned. “Nah. Try again.”

“Well, the fact that it’s not an instant no says a lot,” Rooster said, not moving, gaze locked with Jake’s, and it felt like the rest of the world fell away.

This was a moment that had always had the chance to be there. It never built. It simmered. Lingering under the surface for a long time and aside from one ill advised hook up had never gone anywhere. And Jake knew it never would because their career was the most important thing. They wouldn’t fuck that up. Not unless they were sure.

And it seemed like Rooster was finally taking that chance.

Jake hummed, watching Rooster for a long moment, the bar around him fading. “Buy me a drink.”

Rooster grinned, looking at the still full glass of beer. “You’ve got one.”

“Maybe I don’t like this one.”

“You’re a big boy. You can buy your own.”

Jake snorted. “Wow. Really selling it there.”

Rooster shrugged again, smirk firmly in place. Ever since the mission a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and Jake would be lying to himself if it didn’t want to draw him in. The second guessing was done, and all the ego Rooster pretended to have before had changed. He wasn’t pretending anymore, and Jake would be lying if it didn’t feel like catnip to him. He knew he had an ego, and more than one person he had been with had commented on how he could almost steamroll over everyone. But Rooster had never been one of those people. He had met Jake word for word. Comment for comment and had never backed down.

“I don’t need to sell it sweetheart. You’re just being an asshole because you can.”

Jake let out a bark of laughter at the, mostly, accurate statement. He was being an asshole just because he could. But he was also doing it because he had always loved it when Rooster fought back. “That so?”

Rooster raised his beer to his lips with a smile. “Yeah baby. It is.”

“Hmmm, well, doesn’t seem like you’re getting a kiss,” Jake said, leaning back and picking up his own drink to finish it off in a long swallow, not breaking the gaze.

Rooster tilted his head back, watching Jake as he stood. “Yeah I am.”

“Confident,” Jake said, knocking his knuckles against the table, breaking the spell. “And on that note, I’m gonna go get a drink.”

As if summons, one of the over worked waitresses appeared, handing Jake a drink with a jerk of her head toward Rooster before she disappeared again, the crowd beginning to surge as the minute warning started. Jake stared at the drink, and then back at Rooster who was grinning, proud of himself. He leaned back against the chair and crooked a finger toward Jake who was half staring at the drink wondering how the fuck Rooster had managed to do that. They weren’t at the Hard Deck, which would’ve made sense, but it was a random bar for the night, they all needed to get away from the Navy for one night.

Jake heard a round of groans as he shrugged, grabbed the drink and walked around the table and slid into Roosters lap, surprising the man if the raised eyebrows were any indication.

Shurgging, Jake wrapped an arm around Roosters neck and shifted forward, his legs spreading wide so he could get close and he felt a hand rest on his lower back, sliding under his shirt.

“Told you that you just needed to buy me a drink,” Jake said with a smirk, reaching back and setting the drink down.

Rooster snorted. “Was that it?”

Jake shook his head. “Nah, the competence.” He paused and leaned in closer as the countdown hit thirty. “There’s nothing better than a man who knows what he wants and goes for it.”

That made Rooster laugh, shaking his head. “Baby, trust me I’ve always known I’ve wanted you. I just had to fight some shit out.”

“And you have?”

The hand on his back slid lower into his back pocket as the countdown hit ten. “Yeah I have.”

Jake curled his hands around Rooster’s neck, thumbs stroking over his jaw as he pressed in closer, feeling fingers dig into his ass.

“Right answer,” he said just as the count hit zero and Jake kissed Bradley, feeling the other man surge up into the kiss as the crowd around them started to cheer as the New Year rolled in.

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

I love talking to people who've seen "Top Gun: Maverick" but only see the Hangman x Rooster relationship at face value.

Me: Hangman and Rooster definitely dated before

Them: Well yeah, it does seem like there's a little bit of sexual tension there

Me: A LITTLE?

Them: Yeah, but Hangman obviously caused Rooster to dump him because he's a dick, right?

Me:

Me: Hangman was definitely a dick before, but he also definitely became a dickier dick because Rooster broke his heart.

[military-newsboys]

Mav: Today I realised I'm old Ice: What happened? Mav: I fell in the kitchen and instead of laughing, Bradley came running to see if I was ok Ice: Mav: I saw fear in his eyes

[fangerine]

"Easy, Maverick. Let's try not to get fired on the first day."

TOP GUN: MAVERICK (2022) dir. Joseph Kosinski

[almondcroissantsandink]

i feel the need--the need for speed!