#fucking hate copilot

[wisteriaclaw]

yeahhh so. just uninstalled ms paint. i was gonna draw a little doodle but this is fine i guess

[mad-cosmos]

𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥, 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

"The proverb and the image are often used to refer to a lack of moral ȑ̸̡̜̤̱́e̵͚̯͖͗̊̚͠ͅs̴̡̲̦̽̒͗͘͝ͅṕ̸̼͓͔͌͒̈̍ô̸͇͘n̷̻͝ͅs̴͎͔͚͛a̶̡͉͈͓̋̋b̸̢̝̄ị̶̧͙͑͜l̷͖̬̭̽́i̶̦͂̀̄̚t̵̹̝͌̔y̶̲͗ on the part of people who refuse to acknowledge impropriety, looking the other way or feigning ignorance."

Meaning behind these arts :) MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!

The blue hands represent Jimmy's hands and they are installed on places where the crew got hurt or places that killed them.

Daisuke got one of his eyes lacerated because of the axe, Curly got his ears torned off in the crash and Anya had blood under her mouth when she overdosed.

Plus the "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" represent how they couldn't see/talk about the assault on Anya.

She couldn't speak about it (hands on mouth), and when she did, Curly listened but didn't do anything, so in a way he refused to acknowledge/listen to it (hands on ears) and Daisuke couldn't see anything about it, he even didn't know (so hands on eyes).

[paladinplays]

I figured I would make this just in case anyone else discovered this and hates it as much as I do.

I got a new laptop over the holidays and was horrified to discover that they replaced my right ctrl key with a copilot button. Most people probably wouldn't be super affected by this, but unfortunately, I work with code and I use that button kind of a lot

So! Today I want slogging through the microsoft support forum about this exact issue. It took quite a bit of digging and some trial and error, but I have figured it out! Below the cut is a guide to getting your right ctrl key back if you really want it

The bad news is that there are 2 relatively minor sacrifices that come with this solution. You'll se what I mean as I get further into the instructions

Step 1 is to get the microsoft powertoys app from the app store- it's free and is probably safer than getting some sketchy software from the dregs of the internet.

Step 2 is to got to "keyboard manager" (don't forget to enable it) and then then to "remap a key"

Step 3 Select the copilot button either with the select button and tapping the key or using the dropdown and selecting F23 (same key). You will go to the other side of the screen where it says "send" and use the dropdown menu. Scroll all the way to the top and select disable

This is the only solutions for this part of it because while the key does technically work as a ctrl key, you can't use it alongside any other keys as I learned during this process

Step 4 Add another key remap. This is the first sacrifice you'll have to make, but at least with my computer usage, I don't really use this key much. You'll select the RIGHT alt key and remap it to be the new right ctrl. You'll also need to use the dropdown for this. Scroll up for a little bit and you'll find the entry

Step 5 This is technically more of a note than a step, but it's the other sacrifice that comes with this process. In order to actually be able to use the key with its new function, you have to keep the powertoys app running. This drawback is mentioned on the powertoys info page thing so at least there's that I guess

From there you are free to go forth with your newly recovered right ctrl key! And the only sacrifices were the right alt key and a little bit of your ram. Tbh I just got really tired of having to use both of my hands for a command I used to be able to do with one which is what started all of this. You can also use most of these instructions to just straight up disable your copilot key if you want.

[thatlittledandere]

Attended a semi-optional short webinar on generative AI at work and was legitimately quivering in rage when they outright recommended using AU to write fanfiction. Because stories with open ends might be distressing for some autistic people apparently. So you can ask an AI to finish the story for you. I wanted to break something

[writing-slanted]

I hate microsoft copilot so much, when i go into a word document I am preparing myself for greatness, not your sorry ass begging for me to numb my brain with your automated document writing. Let me write in peace.

[voidddrifter]

something i just found out today was that if you have that fuckass copilot key on your computer and you hate it, there's actually an option to remap it to the windows search bar

i'm on tumblr mobile so no pictures BUT.

1) go to your settings

2) type "copilot" into the searchbar in the top left

3) click "copilot hardware choice"

4) scroll all the way to the bottom

5) there's a setting called "customize copilot key on keyboard." click that dropdown menu to the right and select "search"

6) copilot key is now windows search bar

i dont know if this has ever been posted but here it is for anyone that wants to get rid of it but doesn't want to mess with powertools ^^

[museofvoid]

i'm looking for a new laptop since i'm starting school this fall and it is painful....

[boyapologist]

the pilot was rude to me <3

[peachjaem00]

God I forgot how much I fucking hate when my sister drives

[wykwryt]

fucking hell they put an ai chatbot in windows 11

[luwha]

I won't use your Ai stuff, "insert company here". Idk man, those products are scummy, shitty, misleading, made with stolen stuff.

That stuff poison everything it touches, shittified the internet, fucked completely image search. Helped no one. Generative Ai is hell.

That things chugs energy, waste water, all in the name of giving you wrong answer and lame art whose only objective is pay an artist less, and artists are already KNOWN for being paid VERY LITTLE.

Copilot, gemini, grok, whatever. Not a SINGLE benefit.

There was no reason to even create it. It served no human person. It served no one. No one benefitted from it and the cost was to screw everyone else. Idk man, i rly hate generative AI.

[alchemistc]

visions are seldom all they seem

an: warning for a hint of dubcon hidden in amongst tommy's memories

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That's a fucking fairytale if he's ever heard one. Tommy's had enough friends brought back from the brink, enough experiences of his own, to know that it's a crock.

When you die, you...die. You're there, and then you're not.

Tommy's legs are pinned, and there's smoke filling the cabin, and the last thing he'd said to Evan before he walked out the door was "Tell your father thank you, but I'm happily involved with a younger man."

There's something poetic about all of this, Tommy thinks, as he watches Garrett stumble to his feet, just beyond the door he'd managed to break loose to Tommy's left. Tommy hates poetry. Not necessarily as a general rule, but there's a lot of pretentious shit out there, and this feels pretentious. Maybe that's just the smoke inhalation.

"Kinard!"

Garrett's coming around the other side, lopsided and limping, but still pushing.

Thank fuck they hadn't been carrying passengers. He's pretty sure one of the blades had sliced clean through the hull behind him. He can't really look - there's something caught in his belt, pinning his back to the seat, and he's got one arm too fucked to reach for the blade strapped to his hip, and another that wouldn't reach if he tried. He's losing blood, he's losing time. He's done the math.

"Kinard!" Garrett's not having much luck with Tommy's door, which makes sense. The landing skid had done good work with the whole right side of the bird. Tommy's pretty sure the aftermath of that piece of work is the reason he can't move his fucking legs.

There are tools, somewhere nearby, that might have been useful, if Tommy hadn't used Garrett's clear concussion against him in an effort to get Garrett the fuck out.

It's funny, though. Funny that this is the way he goes. Not in the initial crash, which they'd somehow both survived. Not even from the blood loss, though Tommy guesses the coroner will have something to say about that being a mitigating factor. Probably won't even be the fire, which Garrett seems to have banked, a bit, with the extinguisher he'd scrounged from - somewhere. No. Four tours and a dozen plus years as a firefighter and it's the smoke that's gonna get him.

The windscreen is cracked. If Tommy wasn't in the midst of dying, he'd probably be thinking up the most professional way to tell his superiors that his windscreen isn't supposed to fucking spiderweb out like that, but -

Garrett's got the extinguisher in hand again, which is a nice thought, except he'd watched him drain it earlier. But he's not -

Tommy flinches when the canister makes contact with the windscreen and it cracks a little more.

He wishes he'd texted something better to Evan than a thumbs up emoji in response to his "Be safe" text. Gonna look real fucking ironic in a few minutes, here.

The glass webs out further when the canister makes contact again, and over the crackle as the flames kick back up, Tommy realizes that Garrett's yelling at him. Has been, for a while now, most likely. He can't really hear it, or contextualize it, but he's definitely yelling.

Something cracks. A few shards of glass sprinkle on down towards his knees. Garrett's voice gets louder. "--uckley's gonna kill me if I fuck up your pretty blue eyes, fuckhead, so close them right fucking now, Kinard!"

It's not like he has anything better to do than take orders. He follows his instructions.

The windscreen doesn't shatter - it's built not to - but a second later Garrett's got something wedged into the seal, tearing at it now that the things mangled enough not to be airtight, and Tommy isn't sure where he'd gotten a crowbar, or how the fuck he'd climbed the nose with a bum leg, but he's a little glad he'll be too dead to get the lecture from Garrett's wife on making sure his copilot doesn't do dumb shit.

"-kill you to - little leverage wouldn't - 'mon Kinard - 'mme something to work -"

Tommy's flagging. He can't really breathe, anymore. There's chance the impact shattered a rib or two.

The windscreen actually folds, under the leverage from outside, but Garrett still doesn't know Tommy's pinned. He'd have had a better chance if Garrett had just worked the fire, but Tommy doesn't plan to tell him that. As it is, he sucks in smoke and blinks through the haze as Garrett folds the windscreen farther back. "Hold on, Kinard!"

Tommy laughs. "Not going anywhere," he says, which aren't the last words he'd have chosen for himself, an hour ago, but - seems fitting, anyway. He gets a feeble cough out, and then things go blurry.

"Fuck you, Tommy," isn't the last thing he ever expected to hear, either, but - well. Today's been FUBAR since he took the chopper up, so.

Fuck you, Tommy it is.

---

The field behind his grandparents house is loud, in the soggy twilight - frogs and crickets and cicadas, a cacophony of noise.

Oh, Tommy's absolutely gonna be pissed if all his friends just didn't get far enough into dying for the flashbacks. It's not like he could have asked any of the ones who'd actually kicked the can, of course, and Tommy'd never been actually all the way dead before. Just - on the brink.

This isn't anything like Evan had described.

Tommy turns. And there's nonna, in her sapphire blue muumuu, flicked with gold trim, grey hair permed within an inch of its life. He can smell the romas she must have brought in from the sun at dusk, and the espresso poured into her fancy china next to her porch chairs - a rocking chair he'd never had a chance to fix up for her before she'd been gone, the Adirondack he'd stopped fitting into when he sprouted six inches the summer between sophomore and junior year.

Nonna grins.

Tommy watches a firebug flit by him.

He blinks, and Nonna raises an eyebrow at him - the same way she'd done the first time he tried to lie about where he'd gotten the bruise on his chin, or why his knuckles were scabbed over, or what he thought of the model on her favorite set of dog eared bodice rippers.

Tommy isn't sure what he could possibly be lying about right now, but he doesn't get a chance to ask. Between one blink and the next the night, the frogs, and Nonna's back porch are gone.

---

Tommy fucking hates Dorian Gray. The reasons had changed, over the years, but even more than being wedged into this fucking deathtrap of a desk, with it's lose nuts and bolts and the arm on the wrong side of his fucking body (because Tammy Pritchard always got the lefty desk in every fucking class and not a single one of his teachers had ever thought to wonder why his handwriting on his homework had better penmanship and an incredibly unsubtle smear of ink when compared to his in-class assignments): even more than the scent of Heather Chester's perfume and the reek of weed and Cheetos coming off of Barry Trott, in the seat in front of him; even more than the squeak of chalk against the blackboard as Mrs. Henderson posits the question of the day (What is so horrifying about the painting?); Tommy hates this fucking book.

He sort of wishes this memory had taken him back to freshman year instead - at least he could articulate why Holden Caulfield had been a whiny little bitch.

It's not like he could say -

Well.

Actually.

This is Tommy's death rattle. So.

"It's a mirror," Tommy says, like he hadn't all those years ago. No one notices that Tommy's a few decades too old and more than a few inches too wide to fit in his desk. "It's an indictment on everyone who ever had a hand in creating such a beautiful monster."

Mrs. Henderson doesn't look up. Tommy doesn't know why he expected she would.

She'd never listened to him before, either.

---

He'd been expecting his dad, next, which is his own damn fault.

Captain Turner's zipping his pants back up.

Tommy rises from his knees.

The paperwork is there on his desk. A glowing recommendation for the flight training he's been denied twice already. Tommy's throat feels gummy. He can't remember when Turner stopped using condoms.

This isn't how it happened.

"Open your eyes, Kinard."

Tommy's eyes are already open.

---

"I'm proud of you, son," Gerrard says, and Tommy would very much prefer it if he was just dead, already.

The thing is - the thing is Gerrard looks genuinely pleased to see him - a rare enough thing in general, rarer still because this is the older Gerrard, the one he'd shut the fuck down in front of the very first chance he'd been given to tell him exactly how rank Tommy really thought he was.

"You know when to give up," Gerrard continues. And.

Oh.

Well.

Did he have a choice?

"Of course there's a choice. Make the right one. Keep on making it, Kinard."

---

Pain.

Christ. Tommy's had shrapnel under his skin for decades, now - he's been blown up, and shot, stabbed once, although that was a grazing blow, really.

This is so much worse. He feels like he's hemorrhaging, like his lungs are constricting, like -

"You're no son of mine."

Yeah. That'd been worse than the IED by far.

"Dad," he says, but the damage is done. His room is in shambles, which Tommy thinks is overkill - his dad'd probably found the Blueboy Tommy had tucked under the mattress a long while before he had swept all his football trophies off the shelf and emptied what looked like the entire contents of his wardrobe onto the floor.

On the plus side, it looks like he'd actually ripped his annotated copy of Picture of Dorian Gray in half, too, so small favors.

Only.

This hadn't happened. This was his nightmare scenario, the horrific dream he'd had every day for six years until he got out of basic and the nightmare scenarios turned physically violent, instead. If his dad had ever known an inkling of Tommy's inclinations he'd ignored it until the day Tommy made him stop ignoring it.

He'd never found his dirty magazine - just the one, because he'd been too fucking terrified of having a second one lying around somewhere.

Those words he'd reserved for something else entirely.

His dad had thrown a bitch fit when Tommy'd enlisted in the Army instead of the Marines, but those words - those were the words he'd gotten when the father he hadn't spoken to in three years learned that Tommy'd gone for turnouts instead of a gun and badge.

How do you emulate your father and rebel at the same time?

"Love you too, pops," Tommy says, and waits for the blink.

---

"Oh," Tommy says, and blinks open his eyes. Keith smiles back. It's a charming little grin, the first thing that had caught Tommy's eye across the bar three months before this night. And it's not - the room is all wrong, and it'd been midday, not evening, six hours between shifts and the first time their schedules lined up in weeks. Keith is all lithe muscle and smeared makeup, barely an hour out from his latest shoot.

"Don't say it," Keith says, and shifts his weight against sheets that aren't even the right color.

Tommy had wanted to say it, though. Thirty-odd years and he'd never had the courage to say it to anyone who might say it back in a meaningful way, but Keith -

They'd been all wrong for each other. Conflicting schedules, conflicting lifestyles, conflicting expectations. Keith would spend the next six months flying back for hookups, jet setting around the world on a campaign for Dolce & Gabanna, and then text Tommy to let him know he should get tested and never reach out again. Tommy would fly his chopper over the aftermath of a tsunami and wonder how it felt to drown.

The hands on his skin are wrong - rough with calluses, working hands. Tommy slides his thumb across the palm of one and thinks it feels like home.

"Don't go back to sleep," Keith says. There's something playing on Tommy's TV, which had never been in his room when he was with Keith.

That had been a recent development, actually, and technically it wasn't even his TV, but when Evan's lease had been up it had just made sense to the both of them to -

"Monster truck rallies, really?" Keith says, but the volume on the TV is too loud to make out what he says next. His mouth moves, and the words don't make it to Tommy's ears, and when he blinks again he thinks he can hear sirens.

---

The chicken barely moves as Bobby passes it off to Officer Grant, and there's some sort of significance to this moment, Tommy knows, but Sal is too busy making smooching faces at Tommy, his laugh deep and bracing, for Tommy to figure out what that significance is.

Eddie is staring at him from the passenger seat when he swings up into the rig.

"You need to come back," Eddie says, and that stupid fucking mustache twitches. "You stupid bastard, you have to come back."

---

"Just like that?" Tommy asks, staring at the transfer papers, and Nash looks at him like he knows too much.

"Have you changed your mind?"

Tommy's uses his middle and ring finger to pull the transfer papers closer to himself. Bobby hums, satisfied. "Good. I've got my eye on one of the new kids in training - hate to pass up on him."

Tommy shakes his head. "You still haven't replaced Sal. Who's even gonna train this new guy?"

Bobby's in his civvies. He's holding his rosary beads. Did he start out like that, or is this death knell just fucking with him now? "Not your time, yet," Bobby tells him, and Tommy doesn't -

---

"Just a little something I learned at the 118," Donato says with a grin, while Jerry eyes the blown up photo of Tommy and Evan kissing in the hospital lobby that's been hung up on the announcement board right next to Jill's kids butterbraid order sheet. One of the nurses must have taken it. Donato must have bribed one of the nurses to take it on the ride to the hospital. "We're, like, a base and a half away from wiener cousins, you know," she sing-songs, and Tommy tilts a raised brow her way.

He's still staring at the picture. When had Evan's hand made it that far into his turnout?

"I'm just saying, having been on the your end of those lips - congrats."

"Does it smell like smoke in here to you?" Jerry asks, and Tommy tries to swallow, tries to respond, but there's something stopping him from -

---

"Hey," Evan says. He's on nonna's rocking chair. The cicadas and the frogs are loud, against a backdrop of misty fields. It still smells like sundried tomatoes, but there's an antiseptic scent underneath it. There's a firebug perched on Evan's birthmark. "I'd, uh, really hate it if the last conversation we ever had was about my dad's weird obsession with you."

Tommy would also hate that. He goes to say so and can't speak. His chest is on fire, and his leg feels like it might give out if he takes a step forward. Evan's too far away, but he can still feel the calluses on Evan's fingers on his wrist, steady against his pulse.

"So, if you could just. If you could just open your eyes. Twitch your fingers. Um. I have a ring, and a speech, but I'd settle for like, you waking up to tell me you're leaving me for Andrew Garfield."

He's thinking of Andrew Lincoln, but Tommy can't get his throat to work to tell him so, or to remind him that Tommy actually hates that plot in Love Actually. Now Colin Firth...

The fingers slide from his pulse point to his ring finger. His leg screams. The cicadas drown out whatever Evan says next.

---

The lights in this room are too fucking bright. It smells of sterile metal and the cedarwood soap Evan uses. His hand is stuck to the bed.

"Tommy."

Tommy's pretty sure he's imagining the firefly perched on Buck's brow as he slides into his sight line, but the rest of him is real, and solid - his ridiculous fade and the curls askew atop his head and the slow blooming smile across his face, the hand sliding up his arm and the suddenly wet corners of his eyes.

"ey," he says, or tries to say - it comes out as croaky as the frogs that'd guided him through whatever strange dream he'd been having. He's losing the edges of it already, trying to grasp details even as they slip way. Evan's going to be so fucking disappointed they can't trade coma dream stories.

Evan hovers while a nurse looks him over, demanding ice chips from someone out in the hallway, and Tommy can't stop looking at him. He'd been dead. He'd been sure this was it, this time.

Tommy gets three ice chips down before he's allowed to speak.

"Why's the chicken important?" Which is - great. They've got him hooked up to good drugs. He'd meant to start off with the basics - I love you, and don't propose to me in a hospital room I know it's a Buckley special but I'd like to limit our significant moments here until they actually dedicate a wing in your honor. "Did Eddie shave the mustache while I was out?"

Jesus Christ.

Evan's laugh is wet, and his hand is wrapped around the cup of ice chips, instead of around Tommy's, which seem unnecessarily cruel.

"I love you," Evan says.

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Evan informs him, eventually, that he'd crashed twice on the med-evac and been gone for a total of one minute eighteen seconds ("There's no significance to that. A coincidence," Tommy tells him. Evan doesn't fight him on it. Not then, anyway.) The flashing thing is still a crock of shit. Tommy's lost most of it before Evan gets around to 'you'.

Tommy finally gets Evan close enough to grasp his hand - slide his finger over the rough pad of his thumb, dig a nail into the forking lifeline in his palm. "Hey," he says, when Evan's grip goes tight, and tears well up in his eyes again. "Were you watching monster trucks while I was out?"

[sunflower1experiment]

Jimmy x Reader

Pre crash anyway

Tw// slight nsfw?, thighs, Jimmy, harassment, cursing

in this it's simply you doing his hair while he rests between your legs.

It was quiet, your hands massage Jimmy's hair while water spills past him onto the tub, he was antsy at first. Why are you wasting time? To which you roll your eyes with a quick remark. "Keep acting a fool and your chair stays a mess and greasy. Jeez."

For some reason he always calmed down when you used his own logic against him, like the time he made that crude comment. You simply responded with, "Wooow Psych evals must be so useless for you to make such comments, but that puts at the top of needing some eval anyway so, you can come see me later on." He was silent, and didn't really harass Anya after that but with you it was arguments left and right. Sometimes he'd leave in a huff, but now here he is.

Snug between your thighs while you use a tow to cover his eyes, he rubs a hand over them then kisses your thigh tiredly. "How come you're catering to me now?"

"You were complaining about the showers, you act like everyone is out for you, and let's not forget that you get anxious easily. For someone who works with the Captain you're not very headstrong." The way you called him out sort of annoyed him, it made sense when he called Curly out and was able to read him. But for this to happen to him was a bit overwhelming, so he just used it as an opportunity to nuzzle your thighs again.

Once you finish with Jimmy's hair he relaxes and begins to cuddle you, "Lucky me..."

"Sure, lucky you. Let me know when you need help okay?" The copilot nods, his nose touching along your inner thigh then he'd press his face into them. "Okay, in exchange I can hold your thighs, right?"

"Sure Jimmy, you can totally do that...find some decorum please." The man stares at you with an eye roll but watches your hand rub his hair, it was obvious you had a slight soft spot for him. Yet there was a huge boundary, displayed between the two of you that he respects and yet also dismissed.

It was agitating watching this man silently defy you, while you gave him such a cold gaze until he looks away. Sometimes he'd get on his knees and rest on your lap. "I hate the way everyone looks at me...."

"That's just your mental state crumbling, best to do a pysch eval-"

"I hate the way you look at me! You hate me, don't you?" You watch him and then caress his face, "No. I hate how you reject the chances to get help and then wallow in self-pity...makes wish I could help but I can't, not if the guy I like rejects it."

Jimmy nuzzles your lap some more, letting tears shed down, "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry..."

"I know."

Jimmy sobs pathetically, and you hug his head.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Alternate universe where Eddie Munson makes it to top gun. It’s been his dream ever since he’s heard stories from his uncle, who was in top gun many years ago. He knows how the planes run as Wayne had a hobby of repairing them, which slowly turns into his main job when he brought Eddie in. Eddie is charismatic but he also takes the job very seriously, respects everyone there. Well almost everyone there. Except fellow Alpha Steve Harrington who seems to be out of place. Sticks out like a sore thumb.

Steve Harrington has also worked his ass off to be in top gun, but unlike Eddie he’s not really as interested in the program. He was only there because his father forced him to. He isn’t obvious with his displeasure there but somehow Eddie picks it up. It’s like he knows how Steve feels about things before Steve does. But what Eddie doesn’t know is that he isn’t really an alpha. He just happens to be a more muscular omega who’s forced to take scent changers to stay in the navy.

As the team dives more into training, people are forced to alternate in the copilot seats. To help build team trust. Eddie’s first partner is Nancy. She bosses him around the entire time and he hates every god damn second of it. But they push through but are quickly denied together. Steve’s first partner is Robin and it goes incredibly well. Except for the fact that somehow the two of them, even with their professional skills, tended to be more clumsy together. They are quickly rejected.

As each partner goes by the more annoyed Eddie gets. Then finally, it was his and Steve’s turn to be copilots. Now Steve has been forced to be the pilot every single time for the last couple of groups, and for once he’s quick to take the back. Eddie’s shocked. He figured the other would want to be in control. Instead of reading into that or the odd behavior of the other Alpha they head up in the air and everything goes fucking great.

Steve and Eddie are synced up the entire time. Steve catches every thing that comes at them and Eddie flies smoothly. They are quick to be partnered. Even though Eddie begs them not to.

Eddie and Steve are constantly bickering outside the plane. But the second they are inside it’s like something snaps and they are one. Neither of them can explain it.

It’s when they are on what’s supposed to be their easiest mission that they both realize something’s wrong. Something happens and their plane is taking a nose dive. Both of them eject safely but when they land Steve ends up landing wrong and is very injured. Without his medication and how distressed he is Eddie is quick to discover he is an omega. With this Eddie grows more angry, upset that Steve didn’t tell him as they were copilots. Eddie needed to know everything, especially something huge like this.

Without thinking Eddie ends up nose deep in the others scent gland and he’s setting Steve’s dislocated leg back in place. He doesn’t mention how pissed he is to the other, finding the situation not fit for that conversation.

Their scents mix together and they keep bickering. But no heat behind their voices as they wait for help. Steve is wrapped in Eddie’s coat, bundled up and in between Eddie’s lap.

Time skip to hours later and they are still yet to be found and both are captured by the enemy. They are forced to be in separate cells and both of them are extremely mistreated. It’s not until months later when they are finally free that they see each other again.

Both of them still bicker around everyone else, but alone they are connected to the hip. Gently taking care of each other and getting their omega and alpha to recover. There is still slight bitterness from Eddie, and he makes it known when they finally fuck around for the first time. He forces Steve to make a nest, even though the navy doesn’t allow it and takes care of Steve gently but is still bickering with Steve the entire time.

They keep their relationship secretive along with Steve’s secondary gender. Even though Eddie nearly blows their cover every time another alpha gives Steve shit.

It takes a while but when they are finally honorably discharged from the navy they both end up in Wayne’s home. Eddie helping Wayne with fixing planes while Steve, who’s now finally able to mentally heal from hiding his secondary gender for so long, stays home. They finally process what they have is a relationship after Steve pretty much begs for Eddie’s pups one night. And they don’t decide to mate until after they spend Steve’s first heat together.

Soon, they’ll have their own pup running around. With a fake top gun uniform on as they follow Wayne to work. Both Wayne and the pup are ridiculously close. More close than the pup is to Eddie and Steve, and they are absolutely fine with this.

Eddie soon realizes, as he holds his second born that maybe being in top gun hadn’t been entirely his dream. Maybe having a family was.

[driftwithme]

Wouldn't it be fucked up if the PPDC blamed everything that happened with Knifehead on Raleigh and that's why (1) he got kicked from the Jaeger Program and (2) Chuck hates him.

What if the official report is that Raleigh wanted to break the protocol and Yancy of course would follow him. It was Yancy who gave Raleigh the idea to change to his other arm to kill the Kaiju and stop it from things getting more fucked up, so Yancy is the official martyr of the PPDC while Raleigh is the pariah.

That's the reason why Chuck still believes that Raleigh is not good to pilot, because they had been taught that those who break the chain of command like Raleigh did are dangerous to the whole program. Jaeger pilots do not abandon their copilots, right? So Raleigh surviving made him a sort of devil. Herc understands him 'cause he went through something with Scott, but to someone like Chuck it'd be unexcusable.

That's also why Mako criticizes him when she's talking about his battle record. She's repeating the words that had been taught to her (and Chuck to some extent).

If they kicked him out, it'd explain why Raleigh went to risk his life on the Wall. He still wanted to fight against the kaijus. That's the closest thing he had to being part of the effort.

And it'd explain the tense relationship between Pentecost and Raleigh. The sarcasm too. Raleigh lost everything, his entire family, then his job and purpose. He knows he was in the wrong, but the only thing that would make him go back to the Jaeger Program was his desire to help and to not die with nothing. Go down swinging, you know?

[33max]

3 times GP uses the force to speak to Max | 1000ish words of padawan max and master lambiase ✨

“Max,” Gianpiero sighs, “would you mind?”

It takes Max a moment to understand what his Master is talking about, Max hadn’t been doing anything… copiloting is boring and he had completely zoned out while Gianpiero navigated them around the fourth moon and into the nearest hyperspace lane. Max was just daydreaming about getting back to the temple and finally having his own quarters, away from his Master, where he could- oh.

“Sorry,” Max blushes, looking over at his Master and shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He can suddenly feel where the leather belts are digging into his shoulders and his groin.

It’s embarrassing how often this happens. He shares a strong training bond with his Master, as most Padawans do during their Jedi training. They can share thoughts, feelings, and even images across the bond when they concentrate – Max both loves and hates it, especially when GP insists on cracking the most ridiculous Dad jokes directly into Max’s brain in the middle of briefings from the Jedi Council.

Max does try to shield his personal thoughts from GP, but he’s not very good at it yet. His peers seem to have mastered this skill, and his Master worries that Max is not practising enough. GP is probably right, Max is very good at shielding from others, but his bond with GP is too strong… when he shuts it out it feels like part of him is missing. So he doesn’t shut it out.

“It is okay, Padawan,” Gianpiero smirks, “It has happened to us all.”

“It doesn’t happen to you,” Max groans. His Master never shares anything without intending to.

“No,” Gianpiero laughs, “but that is because I practised shielding from my master, Max.”

Max glares at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gianpiero says, calmly. “You need to practice.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t like it. I like having you there.”

“I know, Max, but it is an important skill that you must learn before you can become a Jedi Knight. Not to mention I do not want to be sent indecent thoughts of Padawan Leclerc while I am flying.”

“You could have let me fly,” Max says, shaking off the embarrassment of GP witnessing some of his more lewd daydreams.

You can fly when you practice your shielding.

Max frowns. “Fine.”

—————

If there is one thing that Max knows he’s good at, it’s lightsaber combat. He knows all of the lightsaber forms well, he can fight in any of them, and he knows that he’s the best in his class. Padawan Leclerc is very good, especially at Djem So, but Max refuses to lose. Especially to Charles because Charles is good at everything. Even hyperspace theory. All of the Masters love Charles.

Anyway, Jar’Kai comes naturally to Max. And he’s not just good at it, he’s the best.

The first time he had tried Jar’Kai, he knew. He felt it in the force. He didn’t even have to think about his next move, his body already knew it, and the force hummed around him pleasantly.

He was practising Ataru with his Master, and Gianpiero had looked at him, tilted his head, and said “You’re fighting like something is missing. Maybe you should try a second blade in your left hand.”

And then Gianpiero was handing across his own blade for Max to try.

“Are you sure?” Max asked, holding his Master’s weapon so carefully. The hilt was still warm from where Gianpiero had been gripping.

“Of course,” Gianpiero laughed. “Come on, let’s set up the training droid.”

The moment Max ignited both blades it felt right. One orange blade and one blue, glowing in each of his hands. He had found his lightsaber form, but it was not just that, holding his Master’s ignited blade he felt like he was two halves made whole.

“It suits you,” Gianpiero commented as Max took his opening stance against the training droid.

Guess we found your form.

Can you feel that, Master? The force…

Yes, Padawan. I can feel it. ——————

“This sucks,” Max shivers.

It has been three days since their ship crashed in the middle of fucking nowhere on an ice planet of all things.

He is sick of being cold. He is sick of having to light a fire to defrost ice to have water to drink. He is sick of eating ration packs. He can’t feel his toes. He wants to go home.

“Sharing a tent with me or being stuck on Hoth?” Gianpiero asks, amused. He’s way too relaxed for someone who might freeze to death soon.

Max doesn’t blame his Master for the crash, not at all, very few star pilots could have avoided being shot down by the seventeen vulture droids that the separatists had sent to ambush them. He just can’t help but be irritated at his Master’s inhuman ability to stay completely calm and level-headed about their current situation.

“Both,” Max says, curling up further into his sleeping bag and turning his back on his Master. This isn’t the time for jokes.

“Max…” Gianpiero says, “Someone will come for us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I can feel it.”

“You said that three days ago.”

“And I was right three days ago.”

Max lets out a frustrated scream into his stupid too thin and slightly damp pillow. He is sick of waiting for a rescue that might not be coming.

Padawan, come here.

“No.”

Max, you’re cold. Come here.

“I am not cold,” Max says stubbornly, even though his teeth are chattering.

“Padawan,” Gianpiero sighs. You don’t always have to be so strong, part of being a Jedi is being able to acknowledge what we are feeling and be vulnerable before letting that emotion go.

Max’s eyes water. He’s fine.

His Master must feel Max’s misery in the force, because the next thing Max knows he is being force-pulled, sleeping bag and all, into his Master’s arms.

It startles a laugh out of him. “Master!”

I’ve missed this, you’ve not snuggled your old Master in years.

I’m too old for this.

You’re never too old to be comforted, Max. Remember that.