#tiny spotted death machine

[nocturnal-stims]

Margays are small felines that spend most of their lives in the trees. Margays can rotate their ankles 180 degrees, allowing them to climb down trees headfirst. They have been observed jumping up to 12 feet horizontally and have been known to mimic the voices of infant monkeys so they can eat the parents.

🐾 1minuteanimals on IG

[midastouch013]

It's the little things

Summary: You're new to the avengers, and kind of shy, and the redheaded assassin doesn't seem to quite like you, but you're knack of observing things might just turn things in your favour.

Warnings: None. Just fluff

P.S: If I reuse the same gifs, I'm sorry I have the memory of a goldfish

---

The rain pounded relentlessly against the roof of the safe house, a stark contrast to the tense silence inside. You sat on the worn couch, legs crossed and arms wrapped around yourself. Wanda stirred a pot of soup in the tiny kitchen, humming softly. She'd warmed up to you quickly after the mission’s chaos had forced you three into this situation. Her occasional giggles and light-hearted teasing made you feel less like the outsider you’d feared you'd be.

“You really thought hiding behind that vending machine was a solid plan?” Wanda quipped, her eyes sparkling as she turned to you.

“Hey, it worked for a solid three minutes,” you shot back, smirking. “And if it weren’t for your dramatic hand-flinging, maybe it would’ve lasted longer.”

She snorted. “Dramatic? That saved your butt!”

You two dissolved into laughter, the sound filling the small room. Across from you, Natasha sat in a chair near the window, her posture rigid as she scanned the perimeter. Her face was unreadable, cold as ever. The sharp angles of her cheekbones caught the dim light, and you couldn’t help but admire her profile, even if she barely spared you a glance.

The truth was, you had a crush on Natasha Romanoff long before joining the team. It wasn’t just her skill or her looks—though those were enough to make anyone swoon. It was the quiet strength she carried, the sharpness in her eyes that hinted at stories untold.

Wanda caught your gaze and whispered, “She’s not as scary as she looks.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, watching Natasha clean her weapons in the corner, her focus laser-sharp.

Wanda smiled. “It’s the little things with her. You’ll figure it out.”

That phrase stuck with you.

--

Over the next few days, you began to notice the small things about her. Natasha preferred her tea plain, no sugar or milk. She read mission files with the same focus most people reserved for life-or-death situations. And she had this subtle way of scanning the room, always aware of every detail.

You started adjusting, not to impress her, but because it felt natural. When Wanda offered to make tea, you quietly took over and brewed it the way Natasha liked. When she frowned at the creaky floorboards by the window, you shifted your usual spot to stand there instead.

She noticed.

At first, it was subtle—her eyes lingering on you a little longer, her voice softening when she spoke your name. You didn’t push; you let her set the pace. And while Wanda got to see your sarcastic, funny side, you approached Natasha with quiet humor and calmness.

“You’re not like the others,” Natasha said one evening, breaking the silence as you sat across from her cleaning your gear.

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, glancing up with a grin.

Her lips twitched. “It’s an observation. You don’t try too hard. That’s…refreshing.”

“High praise from the great Natasha Romanoff,” you teased lightly, earning a genuine smirk.

---

Over the next few days, you started noticing those little things. How Natasha always reached for the mug with the chipped handle, the one that everyone else ignored. How she’d subtly adjust her position so she was always facing the door, even when she sat down to eat. How she hated noisy chatter but didn’t seem to mind your sarcastic quips or quiet observations.

You started doing the little things for her without thinking—grabbing that chipped mug for her in the morning, leaving a knife sharpened just the way she liked it, or quietly placing her favorite pack of gummies that somehow was stocked plenty in a safe house instead of food like pasta, next to her seat when she’d been brooding for too long.

At first, Natasha didn’t say anything. But the first time she found that gummies, she looked at you, her expression softer than you’d ever seen. “Thanks,” she said, and it wasn’t just polite—it was genuine.

-

By the third day, the tension in the safe house had lessened. Wanda was her usual cheery self, but now Natasha didn’t seem so icy. She even joined in on some of the banter, albeit briefly.

One evening, as the three of you sat around the small table eating dinner, Natasha surprised you by asking, “Why don’t you talk as much as the others?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to be more like Tony?”

She smirked. “God, no.”

“Didn’t think so.”

That earned you a quiet laugh—just a breath, really, but it was the most you’d ever gotten from her. Wanda shot you a knowing grin.

“It’s the little things,” she mouthed.

----

Back at the compound, the small things continued. You made a habit of noticing Natasha’s preferences. If you were grabbing snacks from the kitchen, you’d snag her favorite protein bar without being asked. When she trained late at night, you’d show up to spar—not to prove yourself, but because you knew she liked a challenge.

She, in turn, surprised you with her own gestures. She’d sit next to you during team movie nights, her silent presence enough to make your heart race. She laughed at your sarcastic remarks, those rare chuckles making the room feel brighter. And when you trained together, she corrected your form with a patience you hadn’t expected, her hands firm but gentle.

Six months passed in a blur of missions, training, and quiet moments. You’d become close—closer than you ever thought possible with someone like Natasha.

--

Six months later, after a particularly grueling training session, you found her sitting outside on the balcony. The compound was quiet, the sky painted with stars. Nerves twisting your stomach into knots. Natasha was leaning against the railings, her attention focused on the rare seight of stars on New York's skyline.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, stepping out with your usual blend of sarcasm and slight awkwardness.

She glanced at you and nodded. “Suit yourself.”

You sat down beside her, the silence stretching comfortably between you.

“You know,” you started, fidgeting slightly, “I never thought I’d actually get to know you. You seemed…untouchable.”

Her lips twitched in that familiar almost-smile. “And now?”

“Now I know you’re just as human as the rest of us,” you teased, your grin softening when she looked at you. “But better at hiding it.”

Her gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in her expression.

“What about you?” she asked. “What did I miss about you?”

You snorted. “Oh, not much. Just your run-of-the-mill awkward, sarcastic mess.”

Her laugh was quiet, but it warmed you.

After a moment, you took a deep breath, heart pounding. “Natasha, can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head, curious. “Go ahead.”

“Would you want to go out sometime?” The words tumbled out faster and messier than you intended. “Like, us. Not us as in the team, just us. I mean, just…you and me?”

For a moment, her face was unreadable. Then, to your surprise, she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and leaned in. Her lips met yours in a kiss that was soft and sure, stealing the breath right out of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours. “I’d like that,” she murmured, her voice quiet but sincere.

“You notice the little things,” she murmured. “I like that about you.”

And just like that, the phrase took on a whole new meaning.

[bluesunss]

Coup de foudre Choi Seunghyun x F!Reader

Big bang april challenge - April 19th

summary: struggling to get tickets happens to the best of us. risking your life and getting saved by your former best friend? That's less likely. But the odds are never zero.

warnings: none. created a kpop group for plot's sake

a/n: im tired?! sorry if this is bad. thank you again to @ldydeath and @wcnderlnds for this challenge.

The 'Coup de Foudre' exists.

It means lightning strike. Love at first sight. It is not a mere coincidence. Chemical reactions, hormones, the heart accelerates, the world narrows to just one person.

And we believe it.

VIVARA's debut album was called Coup de Foudre. They took the word from French and altered its meaning. Although they debuted in the early 2000's, they truly gained popularity with their breakout hits such as Starlight Rush and Eclipsed Heart.

What is amusing is that YG Entertainment manages their account too.

Just like BigBang. Your former best friend's group.

You pressed your bag against your back and ran through the pitch-black night.

You don’t believe in love at first sight, and that’s why you adore their band. Their first album had hit all the right spots. When nobody knew them, you were there, singing Break or streak until there was no more air in your lungs and your parents threatened to kick you out (they didn't).

Or in highschool, when you got rejected, and they released Reverie. Only real fans got the secret message. It was about dreaming but spoke of nightmares.

Or Eleven pretty clouds. When you adopted your first dog, Cinnamon - a tiny bark machine with too much energy. It felt like sunshine and cotton candy.

Or, even later. When your childhood best friend suddenly ghosted you. And they released Limbs. That song was controversial. It was exactly what you needed to get him out of your system.

So when they announced a concert in Seoul, you were thrilled. As a teenager, your parents were intransigent. Their kid was not going to a concert. (They also didn't want to pay). As an adult, however, you had the means and the absolute will to.

The problem is that despite being a loyal fan when they had no one, no one asks for your opinion when their band skyrockets, and you’re left scrambling for a concert ticket that seems impossible to get.

Loyalty doesn’t pay off.

Yet, on Tuesday, even though you had to work the next day, you opened your laptop at midnight. The sales would begin at three o’clock, but the website was quickly overloaded, like before a big sale - you had to camp out to secure tickets.

On coffee and tea, you endured until three, battling sleep. You tried studying, reading on your phone - nothing worked.

At 2:59 a.m., your bank card details were entered. At 3:01:37 a.m., the tickets were gone.

All because you mistook a 0 for an O in the card details.

Shame and stubbornness coexisted within you. They pushed you to search further, no matter what you had to go through. You were getting a ticket. Wherever. Resale sites. Groups. Ads. The newspaper.

NOTHING. NOWHERE.

Was this what your loyalty to the band was worth? You were fed up. So, you posted an ad on a site with no hope, and a message appeared.

“October 17th, under Hangang Bridge. $500. 11 p.m.”

The fact that it was in dollars was suspicious, but you printed the tickets at a shady exchange agent who charged way more than their worth in wons.

It felt like you were walking to your death, but you secretly hid your dog in your backpack. Just in case. She was a small harmless thing, but she barked so loudly it could shatter eardrums.

And so you ran through the pitch-black night. Under the bridge. Where broken bottles lie. Out of breath, you paused by a streetlamp, feeling your dog stir, and resumed running.

You checked your watch. 10:54 p.m. The bridge was in front of you. You were on time. You descended into the sand and took shelter in the shadow, waiting with clenched hands.

A masked man arrived after a few minutes.

“Money first.”

You frowned. “At the same time.”

“MONEY FIRST!”

You took your bag off your back and muttered, “OK, OK.” Then you opened it.

“Please, no noise, Cinnamon.”

She stuck out her tongue, panting with joy. You reached into the bag, pulling out the bundles. But before extending your hand, you hesitated.

“I still prefer to exchange at the same time…”

The man suddenly slammed you against the wall, and your bag fell, rolling near the edge.

“LET GO OF ME!”

“WHERE’S THE MONEY?”

“IN MY BAG! FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, LET GO-”

Cinnamon suddenly leaped out, barking loudly.

“Where’s this damn dog from-!”

He tried to kick her, but one strike sent him crashing onto the asphalt. Another one to the ground. A third came from the foot straight into his stomach. The man groaned.

It was the moment Cinnamon bit his wrist while barking. The man, nearly crying, struggled to get up, stumbling away headfirst.

Your savior was breathing heavily.

“Damn it, if it wasn’t for Cinnamon’s barking, you’d be dead!”

Holding your chest, you collapsed. Seunghyun dropped down behind you. “Are you okay?”

He leaned close to your face, Cinnamon curled in your arms. You nodded, sniffling. “I was so scared.”

Then all the emotions resurfaced.

“T.O.P? What are you doing here?”

He made a sort of pout. “It sounds weird coming from you.”

You couldn't hear him. The emotions were still so strong. Your heart was racing. You cupped your face in your hands. “How did you find me?”

His mask was up. He pulled it down and got closer to you.

“I was passing by and recognized Cinnamon’s barking. I thought it was an illusion. I haven't heard her in forever.”

He stood up and dusted off his pants, then extended his hand to you.

“What was that man doing?”

“He wanted my money for a VIVARA ticket,” you said softly.

"That band you used to force me to listen to?"

You chuckled, laughing at the memory. "Acting like you disliked it. I saw you swaying your head, once."

You didn't need to look to know he was smiling. "Their lyrics made no sense. They put random words together."

Tapping his shoulder, you checked Cinnamon was still strutting next to you. "You're acting like saying Fantastic baby on repeat makes sense," you rolled your eyes.

"Pffft. You saw this?"

That's where you stopped walking, heat burning your cheeks. "It's... it was a hit. Everyone saw it. That's it."

"Your ears are red, cheonsa. Don't lie to me."

Ugh! This man. "Well, you were gone, and I needed to check you were alive. That is all."

He faltered. "About that-"

You interrupted him. "No I'm good. I don't care. It's fine. I'm fine." But your voice was shaking. "Only thing saddening me right now is that I will never get to see VIVARA live."

"You can."

He stopped walking. You halted too, surprised. "Why did you stop? And can what?"

"A ticket. I can get one for you. Or as many tickets as you want."

The cold air from the river made you realize that rain was about to fall. "What?"

You rubbed your cold arm to calm the goosebumps. Seunghyun started walking again and took off his long black jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

“Jiyong know the main girl. They wanted to collaborate. It’s super easy for me to get you a ticket.”

You shook your head, still shocked. But you couldn't. That was unfair. And you were acting as if Seunghyun hadn't disappeared from your life for years, gotten in a popular boys band, released at least three hit songs.

“No, I can’t ask you for that. At least I’ll pay you back-”

He stopped you again, his hands on your shoulders.

“Hey, cheonsa, what are we? For life, for death, you remember?”

You chuckled weakly, avoiding his gaze.

“That was when we were kids. Should I remind you who broke the promise?”

His fingers tightened around your shoulder, but he didn’t answer. He took two steps back, and you continued walking through the dark night.

The first raindrops fell.

“Should I pass you the ticket tomorrow?”

"I said no."

"And I don't care. Just tell me if I should come by Donggyo tomorrow or meet you somewhere."

Your eyes darkened.

“I moved out.”

The rain intensified. You started to feel cold and pulled his jacket tighter around your shoulders. “You’re going to catch a cold," you told him.

He shook his head.

“No.”

But you saw him shiver.

“Seunghyun, you’re still a terrible liar.”

He laughed softly, stopping once again in the middle of the path, near the river.

“Will you come to one of our concerts? They miss you, too. You were friend with Jiyong. It's not fair to him.”

You looked at him, eyes shadowed by what seemed like tears but was actually rain. A flash of lightning split the sky.

You smiled. You both acted like this was normal, but you knew you could not be friends again. It was fun to pretend.

“If the line is as long as for VIVARA…”

Shaking his head, he fumbled for his phone in his pocket.

“One call, that’s enough. I’ll give you the ticket you want.”

Cinnamon was happily shaking her tail next to you.

"Just call me, cheonsa. I'll always answer."

You both looked at each other. You both knew it was a lie.

The air suddenly grew colder.

“That’s not fair.”

He laughed. “It’s the perks of being the best friend of a famous rapper. Life’s unfair.”

A bolt of lightning tore across the sky. Cinnamon flinched and jumped in your arms. Seunghyun observed her tenderly.

You both stopped walking.

You looked at him properly for the first time in so many years.

He was still as familiar as before.

But something unfamiliar settled in your chest as you stared at him, wet hair, droplets rolling down his chin, rosy lips half-smiling and tender eyes.

The distance was so vast.

We believe that Coup de Foudre happens between strangers.

Then why is your heart racing for the first time ever looking at your old best friend?

"I guess I'll send it by mail," he murmured, breaking the silence. "Still got the same address?"

You nodded, unable to look away, glued to his dark eyes. He came closer. Lifted his hand. Wiped a raindrop from your cheek. Infinitely gently wrapped his arms around your body. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Then, he pulled away.

♪

You sat alone in a sold-out stadium.

The lights dimmed. The crowd roared. VIVARA took the stage.

They sang Reverie.

In the back of your mind, you could hear his voice whispering: for life and for death.

But he wasn’t in the seat beside you.

He never was.

You learned from a friend the group tore apart. You imagined going to his apartment with a bass and snacks. Forcing him to watch you sing. Making him laugh. Forget.

You still have his jacket.

You still can’t listen to Limbs without crying.

Cinnamon still sleeps next to you every night.

The Coup de Foudre exists.

It’s not always beautiful.

Sometimes, it strikes only one person.

And it burns.

Forever.

sorry if it's rushed! I overestimated my planning skills.

tag list: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @sevendaysummer @gdinthehouseee @eru-vande @bluesunss @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @currentloser @makeitworse @berfgrimm @sherxoo @aizshallnotbefound @keiraryan

normal tag list: @michelllleee @breakmeoff

[bl4nk-card]

is requests aren’t open feel free to ignore this, but would you be willing to write Norton (Survivor and/or Hunter) with a really loving s/o? Always bringing gifts and being almost sickeningly sweet towards him? I need to coddle him…

the manor (and norton)'s sweetheart ♡

✧ [ SFW general headcanons ] ✧

norton campbell (surv) + fool's gold (separated) & a sweet gn! [lover] reader <3

a/n: this request is cute!! also, i'm so sorry everyone, i can't add the 'read more' option without everything becoming a mess for some reason

✧༺♥༻

(SURV) NORTON CAMPBELL

you with your sweetness --- did you want him to faint on the spot? his heart beats so fast everytime you become so affectionate around him.

if you're a playful person who'd run off (or try to) after smothering him in tiny kisses, norton would most certainly not let you walk off like that.

'no. no pulling away, sweetheart.' --- he would drag you back into his arms --- 'i got you now, and you aren't getting away anytime soon, so sit your ass back down-'

the sight of you both is an interesting one to all. 'how did norton capture the heart of a sweetheart like you?', no one could ever comprehend the contrast in your relationship, but no one dares to bother the prospector unless they had a death wish.

norton is terrible at showing it, but he gets very flustered by your attention. baking him goods? he'll eat it with his face away from you and your tiny pastries. clinging onto him so suddenly? he'll stiffen before scratching at his neck. the thing is --- he doesn't pull away. no, he doesn't shove you away, because he doesn't want you to stray far from him.

'nnorttonn!!' squealed a voice. out of instinct, he felt tense upon his attempt at comprehending who that was. but as he looked at you, he saw the image he always did in those loving eyes of yours: somehow, you held hope and prosperity. once more, he found him asking himself: how could you be so .. happy?

he would then be hugged with such joy before being pulled towards a small couch. on the soft cushion, you rested his head against your chest, allowing him to listen to the beat of your heart.

and you began your routine, giving him little kisses on the forehead, the cheeks, on the tip of his nose, his jaw... while you often did this, it would always catch norton off-guard. 'i love you', you would say, and his ears would grow a little red again.

would he ever admit it? probably not. but he loved the sound of your heart, the way your chest lifts everytime you breathe.

'.. love you too.'

that thing you do with his hair? the ruffling, putting random accessories on the strands? he may be grumpy in the mirror, but norton loves the feel of your fingers, the way you work so gently to accessorize him.

when you tell him to be careful right before matches --- making sure he's fed well, got enough rest, and is not missing anything at all --- norton could never focus on the match itself. he thinks about you, how you care for him so lovingly. he thinks about how he loves you so very much, and he promises to himself that he will bring you something after the match.

before he began to fall in love with you, norton never cared about getting injured or hurt. but, being the angel you are, you patch him up so carefully that maybe, just maybe ... he'll purposely get a scratch here and there. yeah, he definitely got shocked on the cipher machine while throwing a magnet-- trust.

do you really think you're the winner with your sneakily-given gifts? norton will take that as a challenge especially if you are both deep into your relationship.

the prospector's expression faltered for not even a moment. the other residents remained tense at norton's ever-so-threatening facade with some talking quieter around him. he looked especially bothered. no, not bothered. heated. anticipating.

norton has just come out of the match. with (name). and that sly little lover of his ran off before he could confront them about the little stunt they pulled on him during the match minutes ago. he remembers it. oh, he remembers it well. he will never forget that cheeky look on your face as you nudged yet another one of your gifts in his arms and took off. a cupcake with a teddy bear on its icing.

he turned to one of (name)'s friends, gruffly forcing out a question, 'you know where they are. where are they?'

the poor person could only stammer, unable to even look norton in the eyes. however, as they looked everywhere, desperate to not meet norton's glare, they caught a glimpse of the prospector's flushed cheeks. 'in.. in the gardens---'

abruptly, norton stood and made his way to the said area, his steps louder than they usually were, his strides quicker.

yeah, you're on. prepare yourself because you're going to run out of breath real fast once he rains a million kisses on you.

you know how you know? because norton's ears flush after you express your love to him. you catch the slightest glimpse of them just before he tries to lower his hat just enough.

norton doesn't deny the fact that it was you who gave these gifts to him everytime someone points it out. he may be irritated if someone yells it out: ' ohhhhh, norton, was it your sweet sweet lover who gave that/those to you? ', he would only glare at them, ' so what? is that a problem? mind your own business. '

norton stores all the things you give him. he has a cabinet, a box, or any nice little container that holds all your given trinkets. there was one time you walked in on him organizing it. never have you seen him panic so hard.

norton 'tries' to show his love like you do. he will send you secret gifts (he knows about your interests, and yes, he listens to you<3), write you those silly little letters you'd squeal at, and hand it to you nonchalantly. 'yeah, yeah... just keep it.'

you, being the sweetest among all, almost always invite him to cuddle. or rather, pull him to cuddle. and while norton can be stubborn and grumpy at first, he relaxes into your hold. before you realize it, he's clinging onto you (subconciously) while your fingers comb through his hair.

during these cuddle sessions, norton falls asleep quickly. and he is irritable when he wakes up, so trying to leave his grip will be rather useless. he will keep you there unless you really, really need to go. you dared to be so loving to him, so you will receive it.

norton views your sweetness as a beacon of light; he will do anything to keep your sanity in the manor you're both suffering in. if someone tries to destroy your loving spirits, well, you'd never hear from them again.

'they're so odd', one of the residents chimed. 'being so loving like that-'

that was the last sentence they ever said.

FOOL'S GOLD + SURV! reader

fool's gold gets all wide-eyed everytime you pull one of your little kiss-attacks on him. 'climbing a stool of sorts just to do all of that--- what was your motive?'

.. but after that, fool's gold laughs mischeviously. because you're next. and if you thought his survivor form was ruthless when 'paying you back', then double your efforts at getting ready for fool's gold; he will coddle and love you to the max.

knowing how you're so happy all the time, fool's gold wants to make you smile more by taking the items that survivors leave in matches when they get eliminated. it would be the most random assortment: perfumes, elbow pads, flashlights, flare guns--- with all of these in hands (let's pretend he can carry those things without struggle), he makes his way to your room. on the way, he smiles all to himself thinking about how you would react seeing the things and how you would throw yourself at him, hugging and cherishing him all night.

it may sound silly, but from time to time, fool's gold would pluck a flower or two for you when he finds one during a match. he tries his best to keep it all pretty before giving it to you with a proud expression, bloodlust gone from his eyes.

fool's gold gets upset when he comes back wounded from a match. and much like his survivor self, he comes to you in hopes of being healed with your gentle, loving hands. he knew you'd tell him your sweet little words, your whispers enough to sooth him for the whole week. he doesn't talk all that much during it, but he demands attention through other ways like purposely playing with a bandage, nudging a hand on you, and taking your little medical supplies.

(this one is similar to the other headcanon i wrote!) everytime you approach him with that giddy little expression on your face, fool's gold immediately takes you into his arms, letting you sit on a forearm, another hand on your back while you lavish your attention at him. however, once you're in his arms, you might not leave for a long while especially if he finds a sofa of some sort. he'll trap you there and give you the same love.

very random but fool's gold really adores nuzzling his nose against yours; it makes his heart flutter crazily, with how adorable you look and feel <3

✧༺♥༻

[sodaneko]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒: 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞

♫ Adrienne Lenker - Angels

I don't really like you, I just wanna kiss you I don't know how to love you, but somedays, I miss you Oh I just wanna see you there, sleeping on my floor With the ache inside to ride the mighty wind and nothing more

✰ 𝐜𝐰: discovering more y/n lore in this one. implied child neglect (no detailed description), brief death mention but in a more lighthearted way (if that still squicks you skip the 8th slide of the convo between Makki & y/n) written part between the handwritten collage and SMAU parts.

⭅ back to m.list

Another sold out night. The lively sea of voices is slowly quieting down, familiar and new faces going either home or out dancing for the night. Onigiri Miya attracts all kinds of people, there’s a plate for everyone. He wouldn’t want it any other way. At the end of day, everyone needs to eat, no matter their background or story. And if they all collide in the tiny universe of his shop, even better.

There’s only around a handful people left when Osamu starts his nightly routine of cleaning and preparing for tomorrow. Ever since he opened his own shop, he understands his old captain a little better. Repetition, perseverance, and diligence–it does feel good. Helps him to unwind after a long day of shaping rice balls, mincing ingredients and ringing up orders. Wherever a hand is needed, he is there.

“It’s on the house,” Osamu says smiling, placing two cold bottles of ramune on the counter where Bokuto and Akaashi are sitting, huddled together like two lovebirds.

It’s the same spot where he saw her crying, her hands jittery when she wiped her cheeks, obviously flustered but unable to stop the tears from falling either. He could see how hard she tried to hold them back, the small wobble of her bottom lip, the clenching and unclenching of her fists. How she still took photos of her plate, clearly knowing which angle and lightning was best, practiced. The small gleam of excitement despite everything in her glassy eyes. Her palms pressed together in a silent gesture of appreciation after she finished her meal. Osamu couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t her first time holding her crown up like this, when everything inside of her was cracking. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about her ever since. 

Not when he ran after her to find her on the empty playground, dimly lit by the light of the vending machine. Not when she hesitantly accepted the brown paper bag he shoved into her still trembling hands. Not when she kind of magically pulled out a box of the tastiest sweet treat he ever had in his entire life, her voice suddenly more calm once she started rambling about the process of making it.

Osamu felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t fathom in words, like an invisible pull inside of him.

Had he been upset over her bad review? Maybe a little. But whatever hint of annoyance he felt when reading it over his morning tea quickly vanished once he dove deeper into her blog. There was so much love between every line she wrote. She was witty and smart and always a little hungry; for life and the next plate in front of her. He found himself nodding along when she shared about her experience in culinary school and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of deep admiration for her openness about mental health and the cruel sides of working in food service. Osamu knew best how grueling it can be, striving to do better. 

Three whole days. That’s how long it took him to read through her entire blog, more than ten years of her life. He read it over breakfast, in between short breaks at work, leaning against the backdoor while waiting for the daily delivery, at night when he brushed his teeth. Several times he told himself that he should just close the damn tab, that it was just a drunk and petty review and that they’ll never cross paths again.

Here lay the problem though–he wanted to see her again. 

Preferably when she was not upset over something (or worse: him), but honestly any scenario would do. The cap she forgot at his shop is now hanging from his coat rack at home, silently greeting him every night after work. He can’t help but wonder if she’ll really come around again one day to pick it up. Osamu was no dick, just a little petty himself, and he'd send the cap off with her roommate Akaashi if there was no way in hell that she’d ever return to Osaka again. But when she unblocked and followed him on Twitter the other night, that must have been a glimmer of hope, right? Even though she’s been mostly hostile so far in her replies.

But they’d get there. 

Some day.

Probably.

“Samu? Saaamuuuu?” 

Osamu blinks out of his daze and realizes that not only has he been polishing the same glass for five minutes straight now, but Bokuto is also leaning over the counter, shoving a phone under Osamu’s nose for him to see. He throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder and takes it, eyes on the bright screen. 

“Look, look,” Bokuto urges him with a grin while Akaashi next to him smiles a bit more subtle, but knowingly. “Keiji just talked about how they were having a barbeque a few days ago on their rooftop. Y/N prepared a feast for them, see?”

The photo is bright and colorful, a whole arrangement of various small plates assembled on the table, each holding some delicacy. Dips, grilled veggies, pita (which looks like it was handmade), olives, stuffed peppers, a small cheese platter, cut fruit, pastel purple drinks (lavender syrup, Osamu remembers)... but what Osamu ends up zooming in is not the food but her, sitting at the table with the sleeves of her oversized shirt rolled up casually and smiling brighter than the late summer sun–wearing his cap.

No. No, no, no. 

His heart did not just skip a beat, no fucking way. 

Oh, he was in deep. 

“She won’t admit it, but she likes it,” Akaashi says as if he read Osamu’s thoughts. He hands the phone back to him and a small voice in the back of his head is tempted to ask for the photo, just so he can stare at it a little longer (for the food, he lies to himself), but he knows she wouldn’t want that. Osamu is not sure if he wants it, either. It doesn’t feel right. Maybe he can get her an Onigiri Miya shirt as well as a matching apron and snap his own photo one day, and then… 

Fuck.

What was he even thinking?

But the stupid, wide smile on his face just won’t falter.

✽ 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫…

like i said, this chapter is a love letter to Makki in disguise

y/n would spend all big holidays at the Hanamaki family home, even her own birthday would be celebrated there lovingly

she has gone no contact with her birth family after she graduated from high school

the cooking TV show has been one of the most stressful events in her entire life and she still can't watch clips from it without wanting to die from cringe (she did really great though)

her approach to anything in life is a constant "oh shit oh no oh bad bad bad" and "fuck it we ball" and it amazingly works for her. most of the time.

y/n always leaves some money on the table when she's gone for longer than 24h because she is afraid the food in the fridge might not be enough (it's always enough)

no one of the roommates knows where the Hello Kitty condoms came from but they've been a staple in this household ever since

also a first Osamu POV!! i was waiting to finally write this

Akaashi is PLOTTING isn't he

y/n was very tempted to deep fry the cap but then came to the conclusion that it would be a waste of oil probably

or maybe she's just lying to herself. we'll get more into this later

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @gigiiiiislife @yuminako @notverymarley @krissiekris

@wyrcan @kentocalls @simp-simp-no-mi @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @nu-suave @zq13 @morgan-lowell

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup

send me an ask or dm to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

[fluffydeoxys]

thoughts on my hank design and how it's changed since my first attempt ~3 months ago, under da cut.

There are kind of two main aspects to Hank. There's a big, hulking and monstrous quality, paired with a swift litheness that's still important to encapsulate. Hank is powerful, but he's not slow. As demonstrated quite clearly in the animations, he's forceful and acrobatic. There are some ninja elements to his Consternation design, but he's not the skinny, nimble type.

Thus, while he does lean quite heavily into heavy muscle girth, I am happy with the balance I think I've achieved. I think a lot of this is achieved by making the tassels free-flowing and weightless, in tandem with the open bottom half of his coat.

This was an interesting thing to toss up between: open or closed coat? In addition to this, flat or popped collar? In the end I chose an open coat and a downturned collar for a few reasons.

For the open coat, firstly, it let me showcase the belts and harnesses on his legs properly, which I'll touch on later. It also allowed me to give the coat some room to flow and flap out, which is in direct contrast to Zero, albeit she can lean more into this with her full cloak. It also comes across as more 'open', like Hank welcomes challenges and danger. Coats can be quite effective in conveying mysterious, closed-off characters, but in this case, it's helping them come across as mysterious and dangerous. Capable.

I think I may still draw a more closed coat from time to time, especially for simple stylisations or when drawing Hank as a little creature. But who knows, maybe the more sensible belt structure in the middle might make it easier to simplify it.

I went with a flat, downturned collar because Zero already had a distinct, flared collar that hid her face. While an upturned collar would just emphasise Hank's head and create some dramatic angles, I like it being more in line with its shoulders. I described in a previous post about how I depict/think about design elements of Hank about how I think lowered but broad shoulders convey this particular kind of "relaxed". Not chill and comfortable, but merely waiting. His surroundings aren't that important, but when they are, you can see his alertness. Unsettling, I would imagine.

Giving the belts a more sensible structure was the main motivator for doing this (+well. improving artistically since then, I s'pose), and I am quite pleased with it. This time, I focused on the idea of "restraint" in tandem with "preparedness", which a harness perfectly encapsulates. Hank's restraints are sort of... figurative. It can be willed and pulled and tugged by the Machine, by a power on high. Tugged about by the narrative. It is restrained by its body, held back from true destruction.

The clothes are tight, conforming, applying pressure. Focus, assuredness, prepared for slaughter. They serve a single purpose: death, and with no real interest in being protected. It wants to hurt, to feel something, and to do the same to others. There is more 'protection' in the torso at least (and it looks quite sturdy and hefty itself) so Hank isn't a complete sitting duck dumbass, though. I also quite like how there's barely any skin showing, just the tiny slit of forehead and half of their fingers.

It illustrates a pretty interesting comparison between Zero and Hank. Zero is a little more dressed down but not anywhere near casual. Gives off a sort of 'retired' energy, which is intentional. A passive, wandering force. Whereas Hank is like a storm rolling in, active and hunting. He has a very strong and intentional hunter-like quality.

The skull kneeguards were a very random addition, but I think it's adorable honestly. I love adding little cute qualities (when appropriate), another one of these things being the Antipathy design on his coat pocket. It's subtle and you can only really spot it when you're looking closely, so it doesn't ruin the overall cohesion or intimidating factor.

The choice for the underside of his coat being a red gradient was to have some visual variety and interest, but it is also an intentional parallel to the Other Place, or at the very least, the red-black gradient of Nevada's sky nowadays. The way it is worn and tattered is a direct mirror of Zero.

I've become quite fond of Hank with black nails; I think they contrast nicely with fingerless gloves and how pale their skin is. But I'm a huge fan of claws, and now 2BD also has them too (though this is just in the gloves) alongside Zero, so I kept my original idea of retractable claws, but now I have them retract into black nails.

I felt it was a cute, intimate detail that Hank has a holster on his leg specifically for Zero's knife. It's a piece of her that she willingly lends him from time to time, and Hank, who normally doesn't care about 99% of things that walk this earth, has a spot on his body for that weapon. And that Zero would willingly surrender a tool to him when, realistically, he doesn't actually need it. Little things like this showcase their "closeness" quite aptly, I feel.

Hank is much more heavily scarred than Zero because while both of them have fought for lifetimes, Zero's journey primarily happened a long time ago, in the infinite spiral of the loop. Her scars are old, pale and weathered. Theoretically, they are as many as Hank, but her present body isn't displaying every injury in every lifetime. Meanwhile, Hank is in the present, actively fighting, tearing through others and being torn apart. Its scars are fresher, and it is stitched together more often. It's scarred down even to the very fingers.

"Crush, Destroy, Kill" being on the back of Hank's neck was just a fun, random idea I had. I don't imagine he got it tattooed; rather, it appeared one day when Hank was revived. I like to think these principles, this 'motto', is literally etched into their skin.

I liked how the metals of Hank turned out more bronze, whereas Zero is silver. I don't think it has any particular meaning, but it just looked interesting. Though speaking of, I liked making Hank's metal jaw quite square, with the little two fangs on it. I also like depictions where the metal has a full row of teeth (and I may draw it like that on occasion myself), but it looks nice and sturdy and square like this. Also helped by the heavy metal texturing. Looks like a weapon all on its own LOL

A much more minor thing, but the proportions have also contributed considerably to a better depiction of Hank, in my eyes. His shoulders are broader, and his head isn't as high above them - personally, I think he's almost always slouching, even if only mildly at the neck. They just don't care about 95% of 'presentation' besides this very specific idea that Hank likes. His arms are nice and large, and I think they look much better with this sturdy, stocky muscle and body silhouette compared to my first, older version. Also their goggles aren't so dang big. Funnily I struggle a lot with drawing Hank's face with the correct proportions, but I am getting better.

And here they are, all together with their proper height scales now! There's a less obvious size difference between Hank and Zero now, which I am very happy with. Their shapes are more distinct, as well as their body types and silhouettes being much more distinguishable. I would probably redo Zero's pose to better reflect her personality but there are other things I want to work on, and I mainly prioritised that pose as being a clear reference.

i like hank with big tongue sory

[quinnred]

The Swords Grow Wild: Even the Dead Dream of Home

A piece done as the intro artwork of "The Swords Grow Wild" section of the art zine "Visions Unveiled" published by BobTheSeagullKing in collaboration with Logan/Tachyon , CrabdominalPain , and Luke Baker.

"A giant corpse twinkles within a cloud of oxygen, its metallic bones glinting like a quiet star within this blue gaseous death blanket. Although it is a tiny light among an infinity of tiny lights, a machine eye spots it.

The probe investigates on behalf of a million curious minds, coordinating its paleobiological autopsy of the leviathan from light-years away. 

The “bones" are of a nano-constructed steel structure, stained by long dried oils and muscle pressures. Much of the remaining tissue had decayed into pale iron rich sinews along the three spines running along the body. 

What most intrigued the probe and its coordinators was the golden husk of the body’s brain and nervous system. Not only was it bizarre to see such a precious metal used in a biological structure, but that it held activity. The brain itself was not alive, but it still preserved echoes of the alien’s thoughts and memories. Such a preservation of information seemed unlikely to be a natural product, at least to the minds behind the probe, hypothesizing that this was an artificial organism, maybe even an alien equivalent to the probe. 

By studying and mimicking the neurological mechanics of the husk, the probe could connect to the neural network and perceive abstracts of information.

Images of birth, or more aptly construction, as its newly crafted eyes connected to its brain, allowing it to witness each massive organ be placed within its metal carapace. A skip in time, the creature rushing with other armoured missile brethren across a battlefield, surging forth in a wild aerial spin deploying numerous biomechanical bombs as if shedding metallic feathers. Other living war machines fight with and against the creature as chaos consumes an alien city of urbanized stone, steel and bone. 

Clearer memories flood in, the creature ascending towards the sky, its form searing with atmospheric heat as it escapes pursuing explosives. A goal screeches within its instincts, to kill whatever lays above these clouds. It plows through the last layer of atmosphere and- 

It lies in a void, circling around the sphere it came from, body torn apart but flickering with life. Its target, a biomechanical ring hovers above the green and blue world with only scars to bare. 

Time passes by millennia between neural blinks, as the creature drifts away, the world gradually blooms red and orange with overgrown infrastructure. The Target grows many rings until it engulfs the rusted planet like a rib-cage shielding a heart. The image drifts further and dimmer until all that can be seen is a twinkle and then darkness as the sensory organs decay. 

Even in death, it still dreamed of home."

[canadianfangirl-95]

Liar, Liar, Hearts on Fire 

Paramedic Frankie x f!reader 

Summary: After a head spinning car crash, you’re left with unresolved feelings for a handsome paramedic. After finally running into him again, will you and he able to cross the finish line and navigate the ever-changing dating world with your lack of trust in the premise of long-lasting relationships? Or will he be waving a red flag in the end? 

Series Warnings and Information: 18 + minors DNI, reader is in 30s, Frankie in 40s, post events of Triple Frontier, car accident, minor injuries, blended families, divorce, legal/medical mumbo-jumbo which I have done no research on, brief talk about past drug use from reader & Frankie, talks about Toms death, discussion of anxiety medication & anxiety, lying, swearing, reader has hair long enough to put in clip, drinking, fluff, smut, fingering, protected piv, oral f & m receiving 

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 Word Count: 4300+ 

Chapter 1 - 

Light leaking through the window of your bungalow in small town Florida stirs you long before your alarm does. Turning over in your bed, adorned with a fluffy white comforter and light pink sheets, you squint and eye the disheveled sea foam green curtains now failing at their job of allowing you to sleep in on a Saturday. Groaning, you roll over and tuck your head below the covers, hoping the warmth and serenity of sleep will embrace you once again.  

Your desire for more rest is suddenly halted by the pressure of a weight jumping onto the bed. The feeling of kneading moves up your leg with the unmistakable tenderness of tiny paws. Pulling the covers down you smirk at your creamy brown cat, he has a distinct dark brown line above its lip that made him too adorable to leave at the animal rescue as you dropped off a donation of cat food all those years ago. His whiskers tickle your nose as he makes himself comfortable on the warm bed now bathing in the morning glow. “Mornin’ Burt.” You hum; he moves to run his silky body under your raised hand. His purrs are music to your ears, and he rolls over to lay beside you. Checking the time on your smart watch, you figure now’s a good enough time as ever to start your day. Once he’s alerted you to the fact that he's ready for food, it won’t be long until his purring turns to screeches of desperation.  

Rolling out of bed, you slip on a pair of checkered red and black shorts and fuzzy slippers to head down the hall, stopping to fill up Burt’s food bowl so he doesn’t begin to berate you again. The sound of the food scattering against the porcelain bowl as it pours stirs him from his spot on your bed and he quickly scurries after the sound and starts munching on the dry kibble. The dull lull of the coffee machine soothes your still tired head, but before you can even enjoy the first sip of your coffee, your phone rings. The noise startles you slightly and you glance at it to see your mom’s picture light up the screen. A smile creeping on your face, you tap on the answer and speaker buttons before continuing your mulling about the kitchen with the phone on the counter. 

“Hi Mom.” You say sleepily, a yawn pulling at your lips.  

Her voice comes through the speaker, “Hi sweetie, I’m not too early, am I?”  

“No, no it’s fine. Burt was eager for some breakfast, so he woke me up a while ago.” You say, dismissing her concern. 

“You know it’s because of that diet you have him on, he’s hungrier earlier.” She says matter-of-factly. 

You let out a huffed laugh and eye the chonky cat on the floor, now satisfied after his breakfast. “I know, but the vet really tore me a new one when we were there for his shots because he was overweight, so we gotta do what we gotta do.” Shrugging, you place a piece of bread into the toaster and turn the dial before moving to the cupboards to grab some peanut butter and a knife from the drawer.  

“So, what do you have planned today?” She asks. 

Placing your items on the counter you lean against the white marble and fiddle with your fingers, “I was planning on staying home most of the day, but I realized last night that I still need to get Kenzie’s birthday present, so I’ll be at the mall at some point I guess.” Your sister is turning seventeen next week and you had completely neglected to get her a present, only remembering when she started sending you messages about party plans the night before.  

“She said if you needed ideas that she is really into Lululemon.”  

Rolling your eyes, you reply. “Of course she is, what teenager isn’t into overpriced sweaters.”  

She laughs, “Yeah well, you know she’s at that age where they all have to have the best stuff.” 

Smiling, you ask, “What are you doing today then?” Perking up when your toast pops up from the toaster. It’s overly hot when you grab it, so you quickly toss it down and mutter a curse under your breath before placing your thumb and index finger in your mouth to soothe the slight pain from the contact.  

Her voice comes through the receiver again, “I have lunch with your grandma and then a yoga class this afternoon.” 

Smirking, you comment, “Oh is that why you called? To try to convince me to join yoga again?” The knife glides over the piece of bread as you spread the peanut butter from the jar over it. 

“I really think you’d like it dear, it’s very energizing.” Her voice laced with a hint of condescension. 

You roll your eyes again and reply in a sarcastic tone. “Mom, I told you, I’m not bendy.”  

She chuckles with you and sighs, “Well maybe if you were more bendy you wouldn’t be single.”  

Your mouth gaps in mock offence, “Mom! Ugh don’t even get into that. I am doing just fine thank you very much.” You punctuate your sentence with a bite of your toast and a smirk at your mother’s continuous intrusion on your love life.  

“Alright, I’ll just continue to be the bendy one in the family. Tim will enjoy it.” She comments about your stepfather.  

“Ugh, gross. Goodbye mom!” You say with a mouth full of bread and peanut-butter. 

She giggles, “See you later, get your sister something nice.” With that she hangs up the phone.  

Shaking your head, you pick your phone back up and pull up one of your many dating apps. Her comment didn’t bother you, but it did remind you it has been a while since your last date. During your early 20s, you were a bit of a wild child. Lots of dating and partying, whiskey might’ve just come out of your vein if you had bloodwork done. So, by the time your 30s hit, you were a little worn out and fell into a more domesticated lifestyle of Greys Anatomy and crocheting. Maybe it was time to look for someone to talk to that isn’t related to you in some way or simply a friend from work. Scrolling through the endless photos of men on another dating app you pretended didn’t exist that barely piqued your interest while munching on your toast began to bore you more than you thought it would. Meeting someone the old-fashioned way in person is far more your style. But the times have changed, and you don’t exactly have many opportunities to be a damsel in distress saved by a white knight in this day in age.  

Dating in itself didn’t particularly scare you, you enjoy talking with guys and flirting, but the intimacy of it is was what shook you. You had been a little, let’s say, free-spirited when it came to sex in your previous life, but now you’re more cautious. More closed off to giving something so delicate to another man. It’s been a while since the last time you slept with someone, a boyfriend you didn’t have much in common with but could at least make you laugh, but definitely not finish.  

Looking down at Burt curled up at your feet, you sigh. “Sorry boy, no new daddy for you today I guess.” Tucking your phone into your shorts pocket you take the last bite of your toast and head back upstairs to get ready for the day.  

The mall is bustling, the heat of the day seemingly driving people inside. You’re able to locate one of those scuba sweaters from Lululemon in a bright pink for your sister that you’re sure she’ll love and then head over to the food court to grab a cinnamon roll for the road. The streets are fairly busy when you pull out of the parking lot, not to be unexpected on a Saturday morning, but you’re happy to take it slow and enjoy your snack as you head back home. You are remiss that you forgot your sunglasses at home as the glare of the mid-day sun blasts through your windshield. 

Only a few more blocks until home, you’re running through your list of to do’s in your head for when you get home. Dishes, wash some work clothes and actually use the exercise toys you got for Burt, when a sudden CRASH breaks your train of thought and your head slams into the left side of the car. Your car spins and you hold onto the steering wheel for dear life as you wait for it to stop. Teeth gritted together and foot slamming onto the brakes in an attempt to slow it down. Your air bag bursts in front of you and the vehicle collides with another object you can’t see before it finally comes to a halt, glass from the passenger side window scattered throughout the front of the vehicle.  

A few blocks away, a group of paramedics are seated on a collection of armchairs and loveseats, waiting for their next call.  

“Go fish.” Benny rings out to Will with a smug grin.  

“Hm? It’s not my turn.” Frankie states confused, looking down at the cards in his hand and the deck on the table in front of him.  

Benny chuckles, “Earth to Frankie, I said Go fish, not Go Fish.” 

Frankie looks up to think for a second about the phrasing and then snorts at his confusion, his lips curling into a smile. 

Will rolls his eyes and picks up a card, “Not only can I not believe you talked us into playing this game, but I’m also losing terribly at it.” 

Benny grins smugly, the scruff on his face twitching with his smile, “Hey, the day shift is boring. Gotta switch it up every once in a while.”  

Santi shakes his head and looks down at his cards, “So, how are things going with Maria Fish?” he asks, his eyes flitting up to Frankie seated beside him.  

Frankie pulls his lips tight and shrugs, “Good as it can be when you’re getting a divorce. Sign the final bit of paperwork soon and then I guess I’m a free man.” His deep brown eyes scan the cards in front of him. 

“You’ve been a free man for almost a year, why you’ve waited this long to even try to date is beyond me.” Santi comments. 

“I know, but just didn’t feel right. It’s not like I hate Maria, just didn’t work out. I still have to be civil with her for Nico’s sake.” Frankie comments. His marriage was shaky to begin with before what happened in South America, thinking a baby would fix it, they had Nico. After he got back from his much lengthier trip than he thought he would take, they only bickered and inevitably decided that two happy homes for Nico were better than one miserable home. She had wasted no time after their separation, having recently moved in with a guy she’s been dating for 6 months now. Frankie, however, feels like he is stuck in a time loop until the paperwork is over, spinning his wheels. He has no reason to feel that way, maybe some self-inflicted punishment after what happened to Tom and making Maria scared while he was missing in the jungle. Either way, a real relationship has not been in cards for him this entire time. 

Santi finally returned to the US a little over a year ago, and the four of them decided to put their steady hands, and good in a crisis skillset to use by becoming paramedics. Good wages, and they get to feel like they’re helping people again. No one shooting at them while they attempted to save lives was an added bonus.  

The phone on the wall suddenly rings and Santi jumps up to grab it, “Garcia here.” He says as he leans against the wall, his foot swinging over to rest on the other. 

The rest of them sit and wait as he collects the information from the 911 operator. He confirms the call and hangs up before turning to the group and begins patting his pocket for his phone. “Nice jinx Benny, three car accident on Park not far from here. They want both ambulances. Let’s go.”  

With that, all four of them spring into action and head towards their vehicles. Will jumps behind the wheel of one with Benny beside him, and Frankie pulls open the driver’s side of the second with Santi sprinting around to the other side. In an instant, their lights are flashing and the doors to the bay are opening for them to screech out onto the street. Santi is relaying the details of the accident over the walkie talkie to Benny and Will in the other ambulance.  

When he’s done, he looks over at his friend in the driver’s seat, leading them towards the scene of the crime. Always calm when he is driving or flying, doesn’t matter what the type of circumstance is, Frankie is always the guy you can count on to get you there safely.  

Santi clears his throat and shifts in his seat slightly, “So, do you wanna start coming with us to bars now that you’re allowed to date again? Meet a nice girl.”  

Frankie shrugs, “I know I’ve been out of the game for a while but, is that really where you meet nice girls? Shouldn’t I be talking to girls in coffee shops who are reading and have glasses on.” He jokes with a slight smile.  

Santi smiles, even Frankie joking about meeting someone was a huge step for him. He’s been so closed off since the separation. “Well,” he continues, “However you meet her, and you will, meet her.” He confirms as he sees his friend’s chest deflate momentarily, “I’m sure she’ll be great, just give it time.” He reaches over and pats Frankies chest which earns him a nod and smirk in his direction.  

Pulling up to the intersection, Frankie can see three cars thrown about the area and lots of people stopped to help. There’s one boy in blue trying to redirect traffic as he comes to a stop near two of the cars. Getting out, Santi heads to the officer while Will, Benny and Frankie each jog towards a vehicle to check if there are still drivers in any of them.  

Frankie eyes the side of the small red car he approaches, analyzing that it must’ve been hit from the passenger’s side and hopefully the driver isn’t in too bad of condition. He rounds the back and takes a peek into the backseat for other occupants before stopping and leaning down to peer in the window of the driver’s side.  

The new figure snaps you back into attention, your car door opens and a man’s voice sounds from outside the vehicle. “Hey, miss, can you unhook your seat belt?” 

Nodding, you turn your sore body and unclip the seat belt. It slides across you and back into position. Your hair is disheveled across your face so you can’t see very clearly, and you only let go of the steering wheel a moment before, so you haven’t had a chance to correct yourself out of shock. He continues, “Okay, can you walk? Do you have any pain?” 

Clearing your throat, you reply. “I think so, and uh, - just my head.”  

“Okay, we’ll get you out of here then and move you over to the ambulance to get checked out.” His voice is strong and confident, and you do your best to nod your head before swinging your legs over to the outside of the car. His hands immediately reach out and grab hold of your arms to help you up. You walk with him as your guide to the ambulance, where he ushers you to take a seat on the edge of the now open back.  

Frankie leans down and starts assessing you, “Do you mind if I move your hair so I can check your face for any cuts?”  

“Okay.” You choke out, head still spinning.  

He brings his hands up to take hold of the parts of hair that have fallen over your forehead and gotten stuck on your eyelashes, pulling them apart and tucking them behind your ears. Only then does mouth fall slightly slack, you’re beautiful. Your skin, your lips, your eyes practically sparkle when you finally look up at him. He feels an overwhelming feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he takes a deep breath. 

You look up at the man in front of you, being able to take in more than just his voice and uniform, and he’s handsome. I mean, really handsome. His strong jaw and nose. His chocolate brown eyes and curling hair peeking out from under his uniformed hat. You swallow, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you can’t imagine you look particularly well, considering how much you had been crying while you waited for help, the pain in your head making you practically hysterical for a moment once the car came to a stop.  

He stutters, “Um, ok I’m just gonna check you for any cuts. Just keep talking to me alright. What’s your name?” 

You swallow deeply, as he takes your arm into his hand and begins turning it over, you give him your name and he repeats it. He finishes checking you over and does a concussion analysis.  

“Alright, so no major cuts but I’ll put some Band-Aids on the ones on your arm. Must’ve been from the glass from the passenger side window, and I’m not seeing any signs of a concussion. I know you said your head hurts, but it probably hit the side of the car pretty hard so just take it easy the rest of the day, take some pain meds and if you’re still in a lot of pain then go to the emergency room to get further checked out.” He kneels down in front of you, and you take in the caring look on his face. “Do you have a phone with you, to call a ride?” 

“Yeah, yeah it’s um-,” You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to get the words out. “In my purse on the passenger seat.”  

He nods and then jogs over to your vehicle, reaching through the driver’s side to grab your bag off the floor. When he returns, he hands you the bag and you smile politely.  

“Should I call now or how much longer do I need to stay?” You ask.  

He clears his throat, having got distracted slightly by the way your eyes look as they gaze up at him from a lower position. “You can call now, I’ll let the officer know you’re ready to give a statement. He’ll arrange for your car to be towed, if you have a mechanic that you usually go to, they can take it right there. It doesn’t look too bad actually; I’d say you’re lucky.” He does his best to smile and ease your anguish, as well as calm his own nerves. He takes off his blood-stained gloves and becomes increasingly aware of the moisture that has built up inside them. He’s never had sweaty palms while assisting a patient before and he nervously rubs them on his thighs.  

His movement only brings your attention to how thick his thighs are and how much the material has to stretch on them. Blinking a couple times to help yourself focus, you reach into your purse and grab your phone. After hitting dial, Frankie walks away and heads to the officer.  

The phone rings as you wait patiently, “Hey sis.” Comes through the receiver you have pressed up against your ear.  

“Hey Carlos, um, listen I’m fine, but I was in an accident. I need you to come and pick me up. Can’t drive my car.”  

“Shit, what happened? Is everything alright?” His voice is laced with concern.  

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, really. I just need you to take me home.”  

“Okay, text me the address and I’ll leave right away.” 

Nodding, you reply, “Okay thanks, love you.” 

“Love you too.”  

Frankie stills, wishing he had stayed with the officer a tad bit longer, having heard the end of your conversation. He finds himself hoping that was your mom or someone like that, anything but a boyfriend or husband. “All good?” he asks. 

Looking back up at him you nod, “Yeah, I have someone coming.” You finish sending the text and place your phone back in your purse.  

“Good, good. I’ll just uh, take care of those little cuts so you don’t get any blood on you.” He leans past you into the ambulance to reach for his first aid bag. The smell of him engrosses you and makes your head somehow dizzier than it was. His broad shoulders fill up the space beside you as he pulls at his bag to find what he wants.  

He stands back up straight and applies the Band-Aids to the few cuts on your arm, as well as hands you an ice pack. Tossing the wrappings in the bag beside you and smiles. You look up at him with yearning, he’s so handsome, why are you entranced by him. It must be the head injury making you confused, you raise the ice pack to the side of your head that is aching. Before either of you can speak, the officer approaches and introduces himself, asking if you can explain what happened.  

Frankie begins to step back, “I’ll give you some space.” He turns and walks over to Santi who is closing up the back doors on Will and Bennys ambulance before giving it a few pats on the back. The vehicle immediately taking off.  

Santi nods at Frankie, “Driver that caused the accident may have some broken bones, they’re taking him the hospital. The driver in the black sedan was just bumped by the red car. They’re fine and their vehicle is as well, so they’re gonna head out. That red one need a tow?” he asks, gesturing to your vehicle.  

Frankie nods and rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah, she has someone coming to pick her up.”  

Noticing the way his friend shifts on his feet and distractingly keeps looking back at you, he prods. “You good?” 

He looks back at Santi and realizes his mental absence, “Yeah, yeah fine.” He looks back at you once more, hypocritical to what he just said.  

Santi smirks and crosses his arms across his chest, “What’s up with that girl?” he asks, nodding over to you, still speaking with the officer.  

Frankie lets out a huff and steps closer, “I don’t know man. Never felt like this while treating someone. She’s beautiful, just look at her.” They both look back again as you try your best to smile at the officer.  

“She’s a looker. You gonna ask her out or something?” He asks joyfully.  

Shrugging, Frankie says. “I don’t know. It’s not exactly appropriate to ask out a patient, is it?” He shoves his nervous hands into his pockets to try to wipe some of the moisture that has built up again.  

“Honestly, didn’t read the HR manual.” Santi shrugs with a sly grin.  

Frankie lets a deep breath out his nose and slowly makes his way back to the ambulance. He nods at the attending officer as he thanks you for your time and leaves. “How’s that head of yours?” he asks with kind eyes, trying to come off as considerate and not creepy.  

Slowly lowering the ice pack you bear a smile, “Not bad, I think some ice and rest will help.”  

He nods, “That’s good, I’m glad. So, uh-,” he begins nervously before a sleek black car pulls up to the scene and draws his attention.  

You look over his shoulder and notice the car, your brother practically hanging out the window as he calls your name to tell you he’s here.  

“Oh, that’s my ride. Am I okay to leave?” you ask nervously, shifting your bag onto your shoulder. A slight pain from the movement makes you twitch your neck uncomfortably. 

Looking back at the man in the car and back again at yourself, Frankie feels his chest deflate. “Yes, feel better.” 

Pulling an awkward smile you nod, “Thanks.” Standing from the edge of the ambulance, you raise the ice back to your head. A few steps by him and you feel this pull, behind your belly button. It draws you back and you turn to look at him again, “Hey.” You say, and his head snaps up. His sweet brown eyes washing over you and sending chills down your spine. “Thanks for saving me.”  

Frankie looks down bashfully, and then meets your eyes. “You’re welcome.” His smile is sheepish, he still isn’t used to the hero treatment. He used to correct people, saying it was only his job and anyone else would had done the same, but they seem to enjoy thanking him and it makes them feel a bit better. He finally stopped turning down their acknowledgements and flowers when he realized it wasn’t going to be stopping anytime soon. 

A lop-sided smile creeps on your face as you turn and head to the car. Climbing in the passenger side, your brother reaches over and hugs you tightly, before pulling away from the scene.  

Frankie heads back to the ambulance and starts collecting his things. Santi appears beside him, a somber look on his face, “That was a boyfriend I presume?” 

Shrugging, he replies, “I guess so.” His head still down as his hands work on muscle memory alone, his mind somewhere else entirely.  

“Don’t sweat it man, it’ll happen.” Santi says, patting his friend on the back before rounding the ambulance and hopping back in. 

Chapter 2

[the-most-humble-blog]

🔥 HUMANS ARE NIGHTMARE FUEL, AND YOU’RE TOO STUPIDLY ARROGANT TO REALIZE IT

The only reason you’re not in a constant state of horror at what we are… is because you are one. Everything else? We’re the thing that goes bump in the night.

You think sharks are scary? Wolves? Bears? You think lions are apex predators? You think monsters are the things from horror movies?

👎 WRONG. 👎

Because the real apex predator on this rock? The real nightmare fuel? It’s us.

Everything else in nature has rules. 📌 Animals hunt to survive. 📌 Predators kill when necessary. 📌 The wild operates on instinct, balance, and need.

Humans? We kill for fun. We hunt for sport. We conquer because we’re bored. We are so overpowered that we straight-up ran out of things to fear—so we started making up fake horrors just to feel something.

✔ We’re the only species that builds dungeons, torture chambers, and weapons designed to end civilizations in a single strike. ✔ We’re the only creatures that study war as an art form. ✔ We don’t just survive the wild—we bulldoze it, sell it for profit, and sip coffee on top of it.

🚧 YOU NEED PROOF? LET’S PLAY A GAME 🚧

Let me break your brain real quick. Here’s a simple exercise:

🔪 Imagine you’re a tiger. Strong. Fast. Apex predator. Right? Wrong. You’re a joke.

You’re hunting, stalking your prey in the jungle. Then a human walks into your territory. 🟢 Scenario 1: You attack. He shoots you in the face from 200 feet away. You never even saw it coming. 🟢 Scenario 2: You try to be sneaky. Too bad this bastard has infrared night vision, drones, and an automatic rifle that can drop an elephant. 🟢 Scenario 3: He tranquilizes your ass, throws you in a metal box, and ships you to a zoo where children laugh at you for eternity.

🔥 You’re no longer an apex predator. You’re a house cat with bad luck. 🔥

Now let’s go bigger. You’re a great white shark. 🟢 Scenario 1: You spot a human in the water. Easy prey, right? Nope. That tiny, squishy fleshbag is swimming for fun, not even scared of you. He has a spear gun. You don’t. You lose. 🟢 Scenario 2: You try to run. Too bad, he tagged your ass with a GPS tracker and is now monitoring your every move from a satellite in space.

Now let’s go next level. You’re a bear. 🟢 Scenario 1: You charge a man in the woods. Biggest threat of his life, right? Wrong. His species invented high-powered firearms before your species even figured out stairs. 🟢 Scenario 2: You avoid humans. Too bad, he strapped a motion-triggered camera to a tree and now knows exactly where your den is.

🔥 We are the cryptids of the animal kingdom. We are the monsters in the dark. Everything else? Just prey. 🔥

🚧 YOU DON’T FEAR HUMANS BECAUSE YOU’VE NEVER BEEN ON THE OTHER END 🚧

But imagine, for just one second, that you weren’t human.

✔ You don’t speak their language. ✔ You don’t understand their weapons, their machines, their technology. ✔ You just see a hairless ape that can appear out of nowhere, take down the biggest, strongest creatures with zero effort, and leave without a scratch.

THAT is what animals see when they look at us. Not a fellow creature. Not a competitor. A horror story.

📌 We’re the only species that kills its own kind for fun. 📌 We’re the only species that goes to war over invisible concepts like “borders” and “pride.” 📌 We’re the only species that figures out how to domesticate, enslave, and genetically modify others for our entertainment.

👹 Humans aren’t "top of the food chain." We’re the fucking Grim Reaper.

🚧 AND WE’RE ONLY GETTING WORSE 🚧

Evolution didn’t stop with fire and tools. Now we have nuclear bombs, drones, AI-powered death machines, and ways to kill without ever seeing our enemy’s face.

📌 A lion has claws? We have bombs that can wipe out an entire ecosystem in seconds. 📌 A shark has teeth? We have submarines that can nuke an entire coastline. 📌 A bear is strong? We have cybernetic exosuits that make the average human stronger than any beast.

And if aliens ever showed up, they wouldn’t look at lions, sharks, or bears as a threat. They’d look at us. And they’d get the fuck back in their spaceship and leave.

🔥 We are the reason the universe might be empty. If intelligent life existed out there, they probably took one look at us and thought, "Yeah, no thanks." 🔥

🚧 FINAL WARNING: KNOW WHAT YOU ARE 🚧

You’re not an "earthling." You’re a cosmic horror story in human skin.

✔ You don’t live in nature. You conquered it. ✔ You don’t fear the wild. The wild fears you. ✔ You’re not part of the food chain. You ended it.

You are the thing nightmares are made of.

And the only reason you’re not horrified by humans? Because you are one.

🚀 Reblog this and remind every soft-brained idiot that humans are the final boss of reality. 🚀 Comment if you’ve embraced your apex predator status. 🚀 Follow for more unapologetic, fact-based horror comedy.

Ready for more unapologetic truth bombs? Follow The Most Humble Blog for sharp takes, dark humor, and the hard conversations no one else will have.

🔥 No survivors. No mercy. Just human supremacy. 🔥

[im-gonna-sing-the-doom-song-blog]

KEEP YOU WARM 

Dick Grayson X Reader

Request! Stuck in a snowstorm, a young vigilante and Nightwing take shelter in a cold cabin. As they endure the storm together, they form a bond, finding warmth and comfort in each other's company.

No warnings.

*sorry for bad grammar and all that!

The snowstorm howled outside the tiny, dilapidated cabin like a restless wolf. Inside, the air was a mix of frigid drafts and tense camaraderie. You held yourself close, trying to keep you body warm against the freezing temperatures. Your costume, designed to endure torrential rain and oppressive humidity, did little to protect against the biting chill of a Blüdhaven winter.  

You really should have gotten a warmer suit. You look at the vigilante leaning against the opposite wall. Skin tight suit? How???? This dude should be shivering right now. Unbelievable!  

“You doing okay there?” Dick Grayson—Nightwing, you reminded yourself—looked at you with concern from across the dim room. His own suit, designed for the city’s chilly climate, seemed to shrug off the cold that had you gnawing on the inside of your cheek to keep your teeth from chattering. 

You nodded, though your shaking hands betrayed you. “Totally fine,” you said, your voice a strained whisper. “This is nothing. I’ve been through worse.” 

It was a blatant lie. Growing up in a tropical climate meant the closest you’d ever come to snow was a slushy machine at a convenience store. You were twenty-one now, freshly transplanted to Blüdhaven at Superman’s recommendation, and still acclimating to a world so vastly different from the one you’d left behind. The idea of learning from heroes like Nightwing had sounded thrilling in theory, but at this moment, all you wanted was a heated blanket and a hot bowl of soup. 

Dick’s lips quirked up in a knowing smile. “You don’t have to pretend to be invincible. We’re in this together, remember?” 

You gave a weak laugh. “Yeah, well, being freezing cold wasn’t exactly part of the mission plan.” 

The mission had seemed straightforward enough when it started. Intercept a small gang trying to smuggle weapons out of the city. But the storm had rolled in faster than expected, cutting off your escape route and killing your comms. Now, here you were, stuck in what looked like an old hunting cabin with no heat, no backup, and no way of knowing when the weather would let up. 

“Come here,” Dick said, patting the spot on the floor next to him. 

You raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“You’re freezing. I’m not. Body heat is a thing.” 

Your cheeks flushed, though whether from embarrassment or cold, you weren’t sure. “I’m fine. Really.” 

Dick gave you a look that could only be described as ‘big brotherly disapproval.’ “Hypothermia isn’t a joke. You’re not doing anyone any favors by being stubborn. Come here.” 

Reluctantly, you crawled over to him, shivering as another gust of icy wind found its way through the cracks in the cabin’s walls. Dick wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against his side. The warmth radiating from him was immediate, and you couldn’t suppress the sigh of relief that escaped your lips. 

“Better?” he asked, his tone light. 

“Marginally,” you admitted, though the truth was you felt significantly better. The heat from his body seeped into yours, chasing away the worst of the chill. You still felt like an ice cube, but at least now you weren’t actively contemplating death by frostbite. 

“You know,” Dick said after a moment, “I’ve been meaning to ask—why Blüdhaven? I mean, there are plenty of other cities you could’ve gone to. Metropolis, Star City, even Gotham.” 

You hesitated. “Superman recommended it. Said there were ‘good heroes to learn from’ here.” You glanced up at him. “I guess he meant you.” 

Dick chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, it’s not exactly a prime vacation spot. What’s the real reason?” 

You shrugged, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I wanted to get as far away from home as possible. New city, new start. Besides, I’ve always been better at hitting people than giving interviews. Vigilante work just…makes sense to me.” 

“That’s fair,” Dick said, his voice soft. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself in the process. It’s easy to get caught up in the mission and forget you’re only human.” 

You laughed. “You sound like Superman.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, too.” 

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, listening to the wind battering the cabin. The storm showed no signs of letting up, but at least the cold didn’t feel quite as unbearable anymore. Dick’s arm around you was steady and reassuring, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this strange, snowy city. 

“You know,” Dick said eventually, “you’re tougher than you look. Most people would’ve bailed on Blüdhaven the first time they saw what winter here is like.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, mimicking his earlier tone. 

He grinned. “Good. You should.” 

Outside, the storm raged on, but inside, things didn’t feel quite so bleak. For the first time since arriving in Blüdhaven, you felt like you might actually belong here. And maybe, just maybe, you’d found someone who could help you figure out how to navigate this new life—snowstorms and all. 

[miniar]

Volcanic eruption on the edge of town in Iceland

January 14th update.

Early this morning a crack opened up in the earth and lava started to spill out. This wasn't entirely unexpected but it's placement is the worst case scenario for a lot of people.

You, like the people who live in Grindavík, can watch the slow flow of molten earth towards the town live, on webcams that cover the area from a few angles, on either of these two links. Remember, these are people's homes, so, while bearing witness to nature's wrath is something we may want to do, know you're doing it along side the very people whose homes those are. Don't be a ghoul. Link 1 - Icelandic national broadcast

Link 2 - Morgunblaðið

Now let me go back a couple of days and cover some preamble.

A group of people have been working hard, building a low protective wall (think sandbagging but for lava, not water) and trying to fill in the massive crack in the earth in the Icelandic town of Grindavík when one of them went missing. His tools were spotted down the crack, but after a few days of searching, the authorities gave up on finding him. He's presumed dead, swallowed whole by the earth. This is the first death associated with the situation.

When the crack opened this morning it opened across the protective barrier they had been working on. Some effort was made to try and get the expensive machinery out, making several people watching on live feeds very very nervous, as the lava started running on both sides of this little barrier. A clear black split in the bright red heat of molten rock in the dark winter morning. No machines and no (more) workers were lost, but fear rose quickly. If the lava split the barrier then what of the town?

Before the question could even be asked "officially" enough to start formulating a swift answer, a second smaller tear in the earth opened on the town's side of the wall, far closer to the nearest street, the nearest home, than the previous larger crack.

People who had been struck with fear and a panicked hope that Something could be done to protect their homes watched as that hope was swiftly set ablaze.

The search for the missing man stopped just the day before yesterday, so this has been very quick, and while the previous situation was marked with repeated and intense earthquakes and a tiny spillage of lava that lasted less than a day, this was almost gentle. People didn't get a buildup of warning as pressure rose and the ground readied itself to spill forth it's contents, not the way they did before. It seems the pressure release of December just wasn't enough for a notable difference. The town of Grindavík stands empty right now. No one is in there, waiting for the slow flowing doom. But these are still people's homes. Everyone's been evacuated, but almost everyone had been hoping, and had begun waiting, to go HOME. They are watching this now. Wondering if their home will even exist tomorrow.

This is expected to be the worst volcanic event in Iceland since the eruption in Heimaey where a large portion of the settlement was entirely lost.

We rebuilt then and odds are we'll rebuild now, but everyone who's ever lost anything close to this degree knows that no matter how well you rebuild, no matter what well you replace what you've lost, what's lost is still Lost.

So, be kind, don't be a ghoul, and maybe take the moment to respect the fierce power of the earth we all have such tendency to take for granted, and be reminded of how even in places of peace, human life both physical and metaphorical, is so very, very, very fragile, that we should be treating it gently and not as disposable.

And if you want to donate to help the people of Grindavík, I suggest you donate to help the people of Palestine instead, or to a Transgender charity, or to any other people who are face man-made horrors instead. Your kindness is wonderful, but while this is a fucking disaster, it's one Iceland's familiar with, and it's only natural. You can't counterbalance mother earth, but you can counterbalance your fellow man.

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 20 - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

📜 Everyone wants Jake's reaction to Liz's risky photo. 👀😂Well, you got it... and something else... Let me put it this way: I have to take my chance where I can....

❗+18, sexual themes, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child character, deployments, letters, verbal fights, hurricanes, near-death experiences, angst, Don't read if you have Thalassophobia/Aquaphobia cause Jake and Bradley... well, you'll find out, intense moments of peril/disaster.

#7.4k words

Part 19 | Masterlist | Part 21

Hangman could hear his breath, the mechanical exhale and hiss, through his oxygen mask as he finally set his eyes on the carrier alone out at sea.

The tension in his shoulders released, and the weight that had been pressing him down since he and Rooster launched this morning lifted slightly.

"Rooster, where are you?"

"Right behind you, Hangman," came his crackled tense reply.

The attack on the facility had been gruesome and extremely time-sensitive. They only had a few seconds to spare in reaching their destination should there have been any reason for a delay. It was one of the few things he had worried about when they were being briefed, worried if the same ghost that had haunted Rooster on the uranium mission would resurface yet again.

Thankfully, it didn't, and the pair of them managed to get to the target well on time, just to take down two enemy fighter jets before they had even managed to get above the hard deck line.

It might have helped the attack happened right around dawn when nobody was least expecting it—three weeks at sea for an hour in the sky. And the worst of what they thought would happen and what they had prepared for didn't.

You and Sadie had been with him the entire time, your polaroids pinned in his cockpit near the control panel. They were the same ones he had before, the one Sadie took of you and the other of Sadie standing in front of the F-18. 

He was looking at them now, between you, Sadie and his navigational beacon, knowing that the second his wheels hit the upper deck, he'd be that much closer to going home.

Hangman was cleared to land, his radio buzzing with the familiar voice of the control tower as he approached the tiny runway. He adjusted the F-18's flaps, feeling the jet respond instantly beneath him, knowing it wasn't over yet, not until both he and Rooster were safely on board.

He took a steadying breath, the sound echoing in his mask as he said to himself in his head, 'Make it perfect. For them."

The back wheels touched down flawlessly, catching the arresting wire with a strong tug. Jake felt himself being pulled forward out of his seat, the straps of his harness tight on his chest. But the second his back hit the chair, he finally felt like he could breathe. The weight on his chest dissipated, and Jake couldn't help the smug grin.

He was finally in the clear.

"Nice landing," he heard the landing officer say through the radio. Jake, taxing himself to the elevator on deck, watched as the officer gave him a thumbs up from the runaway below.

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good," his cheeks hurt from the edges of his mask, grin wide as he cockily gave a two-fingered salute.

If Jake heard the following tense groan coming out of his radio, he didn't let on.

Parking the jet on the elevator strip, Jake watched as he was lowered down into the ship's hanger bay, looking for his designated mechanic as he turned off the flight system. The second he reached the ground, he guided the machine into its designated spot, turning it off completely.

He popped the canopy open before going for his helmet, unstrapping the buckles with haist. He went for one of the pockets on his harness, reaching into the tight space to grab at the zip-locked bag, placing it on top of his helmet before reaching for the polaroids of you and Sadie. Holding both between his thumb, he brought them to his lips, kissing the images simultaneously before placing them safely inside the bag where they belonged.

As Jake stepped down the ladder, a mechanic greeted him, readying a list of questions as Jake started up his post-flight checks.

"It's a good thing you guys finished when you did. Radar points to a tropical storm coming in tonight."

Jake raked his fingers through his hair, trying to combat the sweat. "So we got confirmation we are moving out?"

The mechanic nodded, not bothering to lift his head as he dug for his notepad. "The second you guys were called back. We're already on route to base."

The news only added to his high spirits. Today was a good day.

He was going home.

As Jake answered all the mechanic's questions while checking the jet, out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bradley's jet ascended down the elevator and rolled into its resting spot. Bradley popped his canopy, climbing out, sliding down the ladder and high-fiving his mechanic, smiling.

He had no idea where the urge, or dare he say courage, came from when he finished walking over to Bradley as he was finalizing his post-flight routine.

Jake waited till Bradley said his last word before approaching him. Jake held out his hand, his voice clear over the commotion, as he said, "Good job flying out there, Bradshaw."

Bradley glanced at Jake's outstretched hand, then to his face, his expression inscrutable. There was a palpable pause, a pregnant beat of tension, before Bradley deliberately rested his hand on the side of his jet, ignoring Jake's overstretched hand completely.

"Don't think one mission changes everything," Bradley replied tersely, eyes sharp and focused.

His reply didn't deter Jake. In fact, he only smirked, lowering his hand. "Didn't think it would. I just wanted to see if you had the balls to acknowledge a job well done. By the way, I went to Liz and apologized. Something you probably never imagined I'd do."

Bradley scoffed, a short, derisive laugh escaping him. "You think an apology is your ticket to redemption? You must have been more rattled up there than I thought. She'd never forgive you after a stunt like that."

Jake bit his lip, contemplating what you or Sadie might say to Rooster at this moment.

So, in a rare second of honesty, in front of his rival, Jake answered Bradley.

"I never expected her to accept my apology, Bradshaw. But I had to try. For her. For Sadie." Jake paused, looking solemn before continuing on. "You know what it's like, leaving on a deployment, not sure when or if you're going to come back. I had to try, and believe it or not, I want to try to get along with you for both their sakes. It's what they would want."

Jake lifted his hand once again, hoping Rooster would take it. But Bradley didn't, nor did he reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake to bow his head and drop his hand once again, not knowing if he should sigh or roll his eyes. At this point, it was frugal to think Bradley would ever change his ways.

Least of all for him.

...

"Seresin! Bradshaw! You have mail!"

Jake looked up from his plate just in time to see the communications officer slam a white envelope down to the empty space in front of him. The officer continued her journey down to the other end of the table to Rooster, tossing a nearly identical envelope into his outstretched hands.

Bradley hadn't spoken a word to him since the hanger earlier, not that Jake expected him to. The mess hall wasn't necessarily the friendliest place, and while Jake couldn't have cared less about whether or not he was making friends, he and Bradley tended to stick together silently. They didn't really speak to each other, though. Even when they had to bunk together.

It's funny how deployments did that.

Jake slid his tray over to the side, reaching out to grab the thick piece of paper between his hands and inspecting the front.

White was probably the wrong word to use. The envelope looked like it had a rough time getting to him. There were dirt marks and scuffed-up edges, several post stamps thrown uncaringly on the front. Even a few water marks, which made sense, considering a gust front was currently pounding the upper deck.

What stood out to Jake, though, was your handwriting still perfectly intact. He'd recognize it anywhere.

Lt. Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Jake flipped it over, not expecting to see the words written across the back.

This is everything I didn't say

Jake pulled himself back in his seat, only to realize he had a pair of eyes on him. He looked over to Bradley, noticing how the chicken was staring at the object in Jake's hands. He had already opened his, two pieces of lined paper on the table in front of him.

"From Liz?" Jake finally asked, tilting his head towards Bradley's letter. Rooster looked back down at his, staring at the front. "Sadie, actually."

As if that didn't sting a little bit, Jake thought. Bradley looked back up, eyes fixed on the one in Jake's hands. "Liz?" he asked. It was almost sombre.

Jake tore his eyes away from Bradley to trace your cursive writing with his fingers. "Yeah."

There was something to be said about receiving letters or packages from family and loved ones while in service. Regardless of whether or not Jake and Bradley were on the outs, no one ever dared to mock this particular part of their job. Hearing word from the other side, the outside world, was something sacred, and Bradley knew better than to hold it against Jake- even if he did break your heart.

You had chosen to write him that letter. There was nothing he could really do about it - like he even had a choice. Bradley had to pick and choose his moments where he could.

Jake finally broke the seal, immediately going for the folded-up pieces of paper inside. He let the envelope drop, the sound heavy as it hit the table, and Jake knew you had probably stuffed polaroids inside.

He unfolded your pages and began to read.

Jake,

Everything became still the moment my sister passed away. I keep remembering, picturing it like hands on a clock, having counted the seconds away before finally coming to a stop. The days didn't matter. My next thought, my only thought, was Sadie. Then you came into my picture, our picture, and cheesily enough, that seconds hand on that metaphorical clock started to tick.

I can’t lie; I knew you'd break through my walls the first time I saw you. Not in the Hard Deck that day, but when you were playing football on the beach, me watching you from Penny’s chair. I knew who you were instantly.

Because you had a rep, and everyone had warned me about you - Womanizer.

But I knew the second you spoke to me, the second I had turned around after fixing that damn keg, seeing that mona lisa smile of yours (Yes - I have been calling it that and no, your ego does not need to grow two more sizes because of it), my heart was screaming, Hello, I love you.

(Those are in reference to a song; they don't count just yet).

I have a confession to make, which is partly why I wanted to write you this particular letter.

I put up a wall between you and myself then and there. I think that's the only secret I've ever kept from you. Because as much as I knew something was probably going to happen between the two of us, whatever it would have been, I knew you had the power to devastate my heart completely.

I didn’t get your name that day. Not until you showed up on my doorstep with my favourite flowers, asking me to forgive you, and you sat out in my backyard with everyone singing along to Southern Nights.

The first crack in the wall started when you followed me inside, helping me with the dishes. You were honest with me that night, not the person I thought you to be, and I realized you were putting on a show for others to see. And when I showed up in that long cool black dress at the hard deck that day, and you taught my klutzy ass how to throw a dart, the wall cracked further.

(I can hear you as I write, Jake Seresin. Saying I love your ass, don't diss my ass. Stop making everything sexual, you horny beast.)

Sadie knew it, too... that my walls were cracking. She sees everything. It's why she invited you on that damn hike. And there is also a part of me wondering if Ridley sent that damn sake from wherever she is now, hoping to get the two of us together - it would be something she'd do if she had the power…if she was able to rule the world to make it happen.

Then, all of you guys were deployed. And everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I don't know if three little birds told me things were going to be alright back then, but I somehow knew, deep down, they would be -  even if you fly like you have nothing to lose and everything to prove. You don't, not to me. And oh, what a night it was when you came home.

I wanted you to kiss me that night. But I'm glad you didn't. Because the night I drifted away in your arms, you might as well have shot a missile from your F-18 and made my walls crumble almost completely.

Almost. Because what truly did it was when you let Sadie hang on to you during that thunderstorm. How you cared for her and told her it was going to be okay. How good you were with her and how you might be with your own. I will never stop saying how much that meant to me- what it still means to me.

Then you rammed me up against my hallway, and I had to really hang on for dear life.

(I just realized we never talked about our futures on our first date. We were too busy screaming Let's dance to figure out if Marriage/Kids, etc., were on the table - if they are something you want. Cause I'm all in Jake, whether we do or not. All I know is that I want to be with you - you and Sadie are enough.)

Then someone made himself known, and hell would have to freeze over before I mentioned his name in a letter to you - Dream on asshole. But you loved, yes loved, me through my worst moments, Sadie's worst moments. When I sang as a Blue healer for my feelings deep blue, when sons and daughters of people long gone raged, and I had to hide in my bathtub, waiting till it was all over.

When you showed me it was okay to live and experience life through the bad moments, that it was okay to remember my sister, even in the rays of a sunset from the sky. And when you made me want to scream sex on fire, cause damn Jake, we definitely weren't taking things slow.

I won't mention the 'incident' with George or how much rain I saw when Bradley drove me home. I know; I've always known how much generational trauma you've carried in your blood throughout your entire life. I will say, though, out of all the songs that had to play on the jukebox the night things for Sadie and I finally came to an end, it had to be Come a little bit closer. (That pissed me off, you have no idea, Jake.... stop laughing, you asshole).

And although it’s been weeks for me since you left me standing at the end of my driveway, after you apologized and I felt like a Sapling, searching for an Oak, watching you drive off to go our separate ways for a small length of time, being worlds apart, I’m counting down the minutes, the hours, the seconds till I can tell you what you need to hear.

Because My sister had a box. A just-in-case box. Filled with letters, objects, and memories. I finally opened it, with Sadie, of course, on an evening I will never soon forget. I don't want a repeat of that. Of me finally visiting Ridley and reading her letter, her last words to me on her grave.

I don't want that to be us.

So Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, after breaking down my walls not once but twice, I will not write those three words down in this letter. I'd rather tell you in person. So I can see your face when I do. I’m a fair lady - if you wanted me to wait to tell you until you are home, I’m waiting till you come home.

So much of our relationship started backwards. A first kiss before the first date, an extended sleepover before the first touch. We made a promise to each other, not already realizing we had already broken it.

So, sir, if you think the second I see your face, I'm not going to try to jump you, drag you home and lock Sadie out of my bedroom, you can kiss this idea of going slow out the window. Life's too short to go slow when... well, you'll find out soon enough.

And I know you think Sadie doesn’t want to see you again. That's she's still mad at you and will be forever mad for what happened. But I know for a fact the second she sees you, she will jump into your arms. You’re her uncle - you count more than you’ll ever know. 

And while sleep deprivation is my remaining side effect from dealing with the grief I’ve shouldered, I know part of it involves counting down the days for when I can fall asleep with you next to me.

And maybe even doing something else ;)

Your darlin' Elizabeth

P.S. Sadie wanted to send some Polaroids - I promise you, she doesn't hate you, but I know you're still going to think otherwise until you come home. We went on a hike, so there are probably some bug-themed ones in there... I'm sorry for what you see... so if you have anyone lurking over your shoulder, you might want to be careful. They aren't for everyone.

You were right about one thing: he was still so sure Sadie had it out for him. The day she had cornered him at the beach haunted his thoughts. The look and level of disappointment she had on her face would forever remain imprinted in his head.

Yet, he still wiped at his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest. He reached into the envelope and grabbed at the small stack.

The first few were from the hike you mentioned; Sadie chose one of you, sitting on the same rock she had done last year. He still had the photo he took on his phone. There were some ones with bugs, no question about it. But they weren't random ones, either.

There was one of Sadie surrounded by what looked like to be monarchs. Jake had never seen her look so happy, her smile wide and beautiful, and he couldn't help the grin on his face looking down at the image.

But when Jake went to slide the image of Sadie behind the others, he did a double take, quickly hiding the following polaroid from view.

You wouldn't have, he thought. There was no way.

Jake glanced around the hall, turning the collection of pictures down to face the table in his hands, wondering if anyone had seen what he had seen. But next to Bradley, who was too engrossed in his own letter even to lift his head, the hall had cleared itself out, leaving the two of them practically alone.

Hesitantly lifting his hands, Jake slid Sadie's photo over, carefully peering down at the image of you.

You. On your bed. Half naked.

You seemed carefree, leaning back on your bed, damp tendrils of your hair half clinging to your face, half covering the sharp lines of your neck. Oh, how many times he had kissed that neck, and now, seeing it on display, only for him - Jake had to draw in a sharp breath.

And his dog tags hanging between your half-bare breasts, framed by the silk of your robe, glinting in the soft, warm sunlight from your bedroom window. And written along the bottom... Come home and take them back ;)

You cheeky... Jake could feel the heat rush to his face: surprise, desire, and pure pride. He was thousands of miles away, and you found yet another way to remind him of what awaited him when he got home.

The Mona Lisa smile, as you had so deemed, spread wide across his face as he whispered to himself in one ragged breath, "Damn, Liz."

He felt himself getting hard just looking at you.

He'd send you a message when they were closer to American soil, hoping you and Sadie would be there to greet him. But more importantly, if you'd make plans for Penny to take Sadie that night. Cause fuck the lock on your bedroom door. He wanted to find out all the ways he could make you scream for him, all the sounds you had yet to make for him.

Until then, Jake climbed into his bunk that night, reading your letter over and over, staring at the photo you had gifted him, wondering and coming up with all the ways the two of you would celebrate his homecoming. Because lying on that narrow bunk, he couldn't stop his rampant thoughts.

He could almost feel the silk of your robe against his fingertips, the wet strands of your hair brushing against his palms, and the warmth of your skin. And those fucking dog tags he gave you, nestled between the soft curves of your breasts - everything made a fierce heat coil in the lower half of his stomach.

Jake shifted uncomfortably, the rough sheets tangling around his legs, the damp are doing little to soothe his fevered skin. He rolled over into his pillow, trying to summon any other thought but that photo - anything to take his mind off the overwhelming feeling of pure want that consumed him.

You were there, in every corner he turned to, beckoning him with both those innocent and mischievous glint in your eyes, making him crave the day he finally came home. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm against the lust you had ignited within him.

But falling asleep, his dreams were only filled with you. And all the ways he'd finally have you cumming on his cock.

...

Jake jolted awake to the sound of a high-pitched beeping in his ears, almost hitting the bunk above his. His stomach felt uneasy, like it had been flipped upside down, and every sense was screaming at him something was wrong. He was off balance, unable to ground himself to a solid point.

He hated not being in control.

Rooster shouted from the bunk above, and Jake pressed himself against the tiny wall as he felt himself tilted hard to the side, masked by a shutter that shook their entire room.

Bradley wasn't as lucky, rolling straight out of his bed and landing hard on the ground with a massive thunk. Jake wanted to laugh, but even he couldn't stop the grimace as he heard the sound.

Bradley groaned a long, pitful sound, lifting himself to rest on his hands. "What the hell is going on?!"

"What do you think, Bradshaw? You've never been stuck in a storm on a deployment before?"

He knew he shouldn't be so snarky with Bradley, but this morning had left him in a sour mood. Not to mention, the storm was but another obstacle in his path stopping him from getting home sooner.

It was going to be a long night.

Bradley sat up, about to reply with a remark just as snarky, when the PA system blared above their heads.

All currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance. I repeat all currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance.

Jake tore out of bed, and Bradley stood sharply, both reaching for their fight suits, putting them on in a rush. As Bradley laced his boots, Jake reached for your letter and picture on his bed, quickly shoving them inside the packet he had in his chest pocket with the other Polaroids.

He didn't know if and when he'd be back here.

As the pair emerged from their room, they had to dodge multiple people flying past in a mass panic, trying to get to their respective stations. The added struggle of not knowing what the carrier was going to throw at them next also didn't help. All Jake and Bradley knew was that, given a storm, let alone even in a hurricane, they needed to be down at the lower docks, reinforcing the restraints on the Jets.

The ship groaned, then shook, the floor vibrating beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Bradley shouted, his voice strained with concern. Jake struggled to steady himself, gripping a nearby railing. His Texian accent was strong as he shouted his reply, "It doesn't matter. Let's just get to the hanger bay!"

It was pure chaos the second they arrived. Bright flashing red emergency lights, crew members scrambling in every direction. Next to the high-pitched alarm going off every other second, the ship continued to creak and groan, rocking enough that Jake and Bradley had to steady themselves.

"Get the damn secondary restraints on the F-18s!" A senior official shouted as they passed. Jake and Bradley's 'Yes, sir' only seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The pair raced towards the first jet, stopping momentarily to assist what they needed to do. Jake's voice was barely audible above the chaos. "We need to get the secondary straps down and make sure the wheel jacks are in place!"

Bradley shot him a disdainful look. "Thanks for stating the obvious. I was about to suggest a picnic."

Jake gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back. "Not now, Bradshaw."

Bradley only rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

As they began to secure the planes, the ground started to tilt enough to throw them off balance if they weren't careful. Jake and Bradley tried to brace themselves as one adjusted the straps while the other secured the wheel jacks.

A cry for help managed to break through the alarms and shouts, and both turned towards the sound. Bradley was closest, shouting out, "I got it!" before running off, not bothering to hear Jake's reply.

The sound of a wire recoiling, snapping hard like a whip through the air, startled Jake, making him turn sharply. A wooden crate, the height of his chest, had broken loose from its net, sliding directly towards him.

Bracing himself, Jake charged forward, holding out his hands to stop it from crashing into the jet behind him. He grunted hard as the wood slammed into his palms. Jake used as much strength as he could gather, baring his teeth and straining his muscles, to push the crate back towards where it came from.

Jake's mechanic from before suddenly appeared next to him, helping him push the crate back into the relative safety of the net.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jake shouted over the alarm system. The mechanic continued to work as he replied, "Everything! The whole ship is going to hell! We've got engine failure. Some of the airlock doors won't seal properly on the lowest deck, and to fucking top it off, one of the ballast tanks is compromised! In a fucking hurricane!"

That would explain the rocking, Jake thought, as the ship titled back, allowing for the create to easily slide back into its original spot with no more effort. The mechanic knotted the net through a few metal loops on the ground while Jake rested his hands on his knees, bent over and panting hard.

The second he finished, the mechanic left Jake standing there as he was called off towards another task.

Jake straightened, looking around to see where he was needed next, his eyes instantly landing on Rooster, who was dealing with his own crate. He ran towards him, using his weight to help Bradley push the crate back and away into its designated spot.

The two managed to secure it, and struggling to catch his breath, Bradley glared at Jake. "Didn't need your help."

"Of course, you didn't," Jake retorted, frustration evident.

"I had it handled."

"Right," Jake panted.

"Always gotta be the hero, don't you, Hangman?" Rooster grumbled.

Whatever had encouraged him to reach an olive branch earlier was long gone. Whether it was Rooster's words or the situation, Jake simply had enough.

He hit Bradley square in his chest with both hands, sending him backwards a few steps. "Okay, what's your damn problem with me, Bradshaw?!"

"Now?!" Bradley shouted, ready to fight it out. "You want to do this now?"

"Good as time as any!" Jake remarked, throwing his hands to the side in open invitation. He was tired of Rooster's animosity, of the constant back and forth, but damn if he wasn't ready for the confrontation.

"What is it? My call-sign? What I did to earn it!?" Jake cocked his head, stepping to the side, causing the two pilots to circle each other. "Or is it what I said about your old man two years ago?! You didn't even let me finish, so I couldn't have said anything that truly pissed you off. And you know what, not that it matters, but I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings."

The floor shook beneath their feet, but neither man seemed phased. Bradley only fisted his hands tighter with each remark that passed Jake's lips.

"Or is it Liz? Sadie? The fact they welcomed me in with open arms, loved me, and there wasn't a hell of a thing you could have to stop it?"

The surrounding chaos only seemed to amplify Bradley's longstanding irritation with Jake. Bradley stalked forward, slamming his hands to Jake's chest and returning the favour.

"It's everything! Everything you stand for!" he shouted, his nostrils flaring hard. "Don't you dare say Sadie's name, not when I know you are going to leave that little girl out to dry. I won't have it, Hangman!

Recognition flashed in Jake's eyes, and he knew, he understood right then, amongst all the chaos and panic, the lengths any one of the Daggers would go to make sure their bug was loved and protected above all else.

It had never been about you. It had always, always been about Sadie.

"Sadie?!" he shouted. "That's the reason?"

Jake clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "You think I would ever abandon Sadie? Or Liz? You've seen me, day in and day out, fighting for them, fighting fucking Tyler, fighting to get back to them. I would die before they were hurt. Before any one of you were hurt."

"But you did! The second your brother asked you to." Bradley's voice hardened. "Answer me this: in the heat of the moment, when you're faced with a choice, can you honestly tell me you'd put them first?"

Tyler and everything he had wrought flashed in Bradlely's mind, but he pressed on.

"Not your pride, not your ego, but them? Or any of us. Unasked or not on the job! Cause I know you wouldn't!"

Jake reeled back, Bradley's words hitting him hard. But Bradley didn't falter. His face was still lit up with all the pent-up anger and frustration he held for Jake since the day he got his call sign.

"I see the man behind the show, the guy who thinks he's invincible. But you're not." Bradley pointed his finger. "Until you prove otherwise, I won't trust you with them. Not with Sadie. Not with Liz. Not with any of us."

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the officer who gave them orders before interrupted him.

"You two, Top Gun! Quit standing around and go to the communications office and see where we are at with our navigation systems!"

Bradley stomped past Jake without another word, leaving him to silently fume for a few seconds before following him out of the hanger.

In the dimly lit, claustrophobic corridors of the carrier, the metallic walls groaned, strained by the might of the storm. Water or steam, they weren't sure which, was starting to pool in patches along the floor. With each wave and rock the ship encountered, the intermittent jolts sent the two pilots grasping for whatever was nearest to stay upright as they tried to make it to the communications office.

Following Bradley, Jake felt a spike of irritation. 'Why's he got to make everything so damn personal?' Jake thought bitterly. Bradley, meanwhile, was a simmering pot of anger.

"Why do you always have to be right in the middle of everything, Hangman?" Bradley shot over his shoulder, clearly irritated. "Can't you just once follow orders without making it about you?"

Jake gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a retort. "Look, can we just get to the comms and figure this out? We can bicker like an old married couple later."

Bradley's face twisted in a smirk, his pace never faltering. "Don't flatter yourself. I have standards."

A loud klaxon sounded, the eerie wail echoing through the narrow halls of the carrier. Jake and Bradley covered their ears, falling into the walls.

The second they managed to pull themselves up onto their feet, the PA system blared out another warning.

Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. I repeat, Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. All personnel should be on the upper decks in five minutes.

Jake turned to Bradley, his face filled with urgency. "We need to go! Now!"

Bradley snarled. He had no idea whether it was out of frustration with the current situation or Jake barking orders at him. But Jake was having none of it, grabbing Bradley hard by the collar of his suit and tugging him hard.

Jake's eyes were hard and furious as he remarked, "I'm not dying today, and neither should you."

Something flashed in Bradley's eyes that Jake could not name. But it was enough to give Bradley pause, water droplets running down his face as the anger and tension decided to leave him from earlier.

"We need to get home! For the girls," Jake roughed out. "For Liz and Sadie! Whatever hate you have towards me, we need to get out for them. Now!"

Another name came to Bradley's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, even now. Instead, Bradley could only sallow and nod. He couldn't deny Jake was right.

It was damn near impossible to sink an aircraft carrier. Jake and Bradley knew this. The things were built to withstand the roughest seas, hurricanes included. They were the most balanced and sturdiest things that ever graced any body of water on this planet. They had to be if aviators were literally landing planes on them.

But as water continued to breach the carrier, and as the pair raced through the ship to get to a proper stairwell that would get them to the relief point on the upper decks, they both wondered about the series of unfortunate events that led them to this point. The mechanics in the hangar bay had said everything was going wrong.

Bradley was on the verge of saying sabotage, wondering if they had a spy amongst their ranks. The mission had gone so much better than they had thought. But in their line of work, if something suspicious didn't happen, then their job wasn't over.

Jake just wanted to get both of them out of there.

They finally reached one of the escape hatches, a stairwell that led directly to the upper deck. Bradley was the one to turn the wheel on the door first, Jake joining in shortly after once he realized the sheer force Rooster was putting into opening the door.

A pressure vale released, and the second the two managed to open the door, Jake surged forward, followed by Bradley, who made their way into the narrow stairwell, hoping all had not been lost.

Jake paused on the small landing, looking up at the flights guided by the emergency light. There were a few fires scattering the walls, but it was climbable, and if both of them hurried, they wouldn't have any issues.

Bradley's hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Dude, we have to book it."

Jake turned his head, ready with a cocky reply of something resembling a 'you don't think I know that' until he took in Bradley's panicked face, staring at the stairs below. Following Bradley's eyes, Jake reeled, noticing the rising water levels.

Grabbing Rooster by the back of his suit, Jake pulled Bradley in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, urging him forward and shouting, Go!

The two tried not to look up as they climbed, picturing their destination in their minds. Ignoring the sound of the alarm and the rushing water, Jake and Bradley counted their steps as they tried to reach the top. And they were close. Even as the rest of the ship creaked and groaned, they still fought to reach the top, unaware if help was waiting for them on the other side.

Then something blew up on one of the upper levels, the sound, the vibration, causing Jake and Bradley to slam themselves into the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The lights flickered once, twice, then completely out, before a rotating red emergency light dimly lit the narrow stairwell. Metal crunched above their heads, snapping like twigs, and Jake didn't dare look up for fear of what might happen to either of them.

They felt it before they saw it, thin metal snapping out from underneath their feet. Feeling himself lurching forward, Jake immediately reached out for anything to hold on to. His fingers met a railing untouched by damage, and he latched on, suddenly opening his eyes to pull himself up and towards the relative safety of the remnants of the broken landing.

Bradley hadn't been so lucky.

Because the falling debris favoured his side of the stairs, the section he'd been crouching against completely crumpled under the impact, leaving only an empty space where thick, rushing water roiled menacingly below. There was nothing Bradley could have clung to, nothing that would have saved him from falling towards those black depths or allowed him to reach the warped edges of that landing.

Till his hand slapped onto a piece of a broken railing, Bradley struggled to find a grip tight enough to counteract the sweat on his palms. A panicked noise escaped his mouth as he slid down the newly indented piece of metal, finally stopping just before the end, muscles taunt and ridged as he forced breath into his body.

Jake had managed to pull himself up onto the landing as Bradley had fallen, instantly rolling himself up onto his chest to look down for the pilot.

He was within reach, and Jake extended his hand, on the verge of falling off the flimsy piece of metal. Bradley was hanging on, barely, looking between Jake's hand and the beam, the metal becoming looser and looser by the second.

And yet, Bradley still wouldn't take his hand.

"For godsakes, Bradshaw, just take my fucking hand!"

Jake purposely tried to jolt his arm forward in emphasis, hoping Bradley would finally take the leap and let go. But Bradley bowed his head, trying to force air into his lungs through his mouth as he looked down. With each pulse of red light, the water appeared to be getting higher and higher with each second.

He let out a panicked noise, trying to adjust his slipping grip. The movement caused the metal beam to drop slightly further, accompanied by a jarring clang. Bradley cried out, trying to reach for the broken edge of the landing.

Jake could feel himself slipping, sliding forward until he caught his boot on the railing, locking his body tight as he hung over the edge. Sharp, broken pieces of metal bit into his stomach as he swayed, trying to reach once again.

"Bradley! Just take my hand!" he shouted over the alarms, not any less urgent than before. "Please!"

Jake had never begged a day in his life, let alone to someone like Rooster. But there was no way he wasn't going home without him. You would never forgive him, and Sadie would never recover. He knew that for a fact.

Metal snapped, and Bradley dropped another inch, thinking this was it. That the railing was no longer attached to whatever had been holding it in place, baring his entire weight. Bradley threw his arm up towards Jake's in a desperate move.

Jake grabbed his wrist at the last possible second, a pained shout escaping his lips as he completely absorbed his weight, metal grating bending underneath him. But the grip he had on the railing with his foot held, and Jake bowed his head in relief, taking a few seconds with Bradley hanging dangerously off his arm to ground himself, trying not to think about what might have happened had he not caught him.

Jake grunted hard as he pulled Rooster up, his other hand finding a grip on the fabric of his flight suit along his back, hoping the railing from where he grounded himself would hold long enough to support them both. Bradley did the same with Jake's, using it as leverage to hoist himself up over the edge, only to roll onto his back, breathing hard.

Jake twisted his body away from the edge, laying on his back next to Rooster, staring up at what remained of the remaining flights of stairs. With the water still rushing below them and red lights spinning above them, the two dagger pilots took a few seconds to recuperate in the middle of the danger.

"You had to wait till the last second, didn't you?" Jake roughed out, panting hard. Bradley took three deep breaths before managing to gasp out, "I had to keep it interesting, right?"

Jake slammed his eyes shut, rocking his head to the side in slight annoyance. Bringing himself to a stand, Jake held out his hand again to help Bradley up. This time, Rooster didn't refuse it, instantly throwing his arm out to grasp the back of Jake's elbow, hoisting himself up.

Jake went to let go the minute he was up, but Bradley's grip remained firm.

"This is the second time you've saved me," he said, trying to make out Jake's face in the red light and dropping water. "You could have left me this time, for everything I've done, said..."

"What would be the point?" Jake interrupted him. "If I'd left you, I'd be no better than the person you thought I was. Besides," Jake added, smirking, "who else would I have to constantly prove wrong if you weren't around?"

Bradley scoffed, a tint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Asshole."

Jake shrugged. "It's in my nature. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

Bradley nodded, releasing Jake's elbow. In a dramatic fashion, he gestured for Jake to lead the way, looking up towards the rest of their journey to escape. But Bradley's eyes widened in horror as he saw the chunk of ceiling, metal, and wiring breaking loose directly above Jake.

"Jake, move!" Bradley bellowed, his voice echoing with urgency as he dropped to the ground, trying to drag Jake with him.

But in the chaos of falling water, blinking lights and cacophony of alarms, Jake was a split second too late to comprehend the warning fully. Just as he turned to see the descending danger, the heavy debris crashed down, the force of the impact throwing him off balance, rocking whatever remained of the grating they were standing on.

A metallic clang resonated sharply, followed by the splash of water as Jake was sent reeling backwards. The last thing Bradley saw, huddled against the wall, was the look of shock and realization in Jake's eyes, his silhouette disappearing beneath the surging tide of murky water, quickly consuming any trace of him.

Bradley, mouth agape, crawled over to the edge, Jake's call-sign a cry masked by the high-pitched alarms.

"Hangman!"

Bradley couldn't see him anywhere. Water continued to rush into the space, and Bradley, kneeling against the metal grating, tried to spot any area where Jake could manage to resurface. But with the power out and the pulsing red emergency lights, he couldn't see beyond the water's black surface.

Last call, I repeat, last call for evacuation and bail-out procedures.

Rooster pulled himself to stand, weighing his options.

He could jump and look for Jake. Despite the precarious situation they found themselves in, the water was still slow to fill the narrow stairwell. Bradley estimated he had minutes before the water became too much for him to handle.

Or he could leave, save himself. Say he did everything he could. That Jake was lost, the situation was too dire.

That Jake died a hero, trying to save him once again.

But it wasn't even a choice; the decision had already been made. It had been made the second your face appeared in front of his, and how it changed into a faded memory of his mom, collapsing to the ground at the news of his father's death. And Bradley, watching it all from behind the corner of a wall, forever feeling small.

But then it wasn't him as a child, but Sadie, the same look on her face the day the two of you walked up the driveway of your sister's place. The same look he found on her face the day she ran into your backyard, pulling at grass.

Jake would be another person for the both of you to mourn. He couldn't let that happen.

Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and jumped, diving under the water.

All he could see was black.

I had to cliffhanger you guys one last time with this one 😂 Please forgive me....

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@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

Part 21 - My Fair Lady Coming Soon 👀

-Wickett ;)

[mantidbasil]

I have been thinking nonstop about how tf2 mercs and markiplier egos would interact now 😭

-------

Heavy, squinting down at Dr. Iplier: tiny.... tiny little doctor...? (mark is only taller than engie, maybe the same height as pyro)

------- Medic: Hey if you want I could heal your ey- The Host: NO. Medic: :( why not The Host: It's complicated Medic: Please don't tell me your eye sockets are haunted too... ------- Google: (minding his own buisiness) Engineer, visibly twitching: Hey there. (slowly pulls out screwdriver. casually approaches). Mind if I ask how you were made? ------- Spy has no interest in interacting with anyone until he finds Dark sitting in a corner drinking wine. He sits down next to them, pours himself a glass, and they just silently exchange looks. -------

PYRO AND WILFORD PYRO AND WILFORD OMG Pyro: (drawing rainbows) Wilford: Ha ha! I'm wearing rainbow suspenders!

Pyro: (burning down buildings, setting people on fire) Wilford: This is fine because death isn't real! (shoots someone)

Pyro: Mmph Mmph! Wilford: Unfortunately your subtitles haven't been translated, so ol' Warfstache here doesn't know what you're saying :(

------- Bing and Scout do skateboard tricks together. Both of them attempt a very simple trick and fail it, falling down and scraping their knees. Both insist they are the better skater, the world's best skater even.

-------

Heist Mark pulls out his bombs and his 16th Century flintlock pistol likely used by pirates for boarding actionsTM and Demoman is mildly interested. Heist Mark then proves that he has strangely extensive knowledge about medieval weaponry and Demo is much more interested. Demo pulls out Eyelander and Captain Magnum joins their little group where they all start talking about weapons and bombs.

-------

Engineer: (disappointed after having failed to get permission to take Google apart and put him back together) Head Engineer Mark: Hi there! I heard you're an engineer? I'm an engineer! Engineer: Do you. Build guns. Or robot arms. Head Engineer Mark: I mean I have the Asteroid Defense System turrets..... but actually I build a spaceship and sort of maybe a time travel universe breaking machine? Engineer: So a dangerous device that can destroy the world.... can I see the schematics?

------- I know in my SOUL Ed Edgar and Sniper hate each other but I can't elaborate. Illinois and Sniper have a very casual truce going on but ultimately Sniper does not really wanna hang out with anyone. This of course means the Jims spot him standing off to the side and think he's the perfect intervewee and at least three, maybe four Jims swarm Sniper and shove cameras and microphones inches from his face and he has a terrible time.

-------

Yandere somehow completely enchants Medic's doves and I can't elaborate on this either. Heavy is bemused. As long as Archimedes chooses Medic over Yan he's going to pretend he isn't jealous about the attention his doves are giving her. Scout goes "AWOOGA GIRL?!" and gets stabbed by Yan. Heavy is reminded of his younger sisters and is delighted.

-------

Eric Derekson is terrified of Soldier. The main two off the top of my head who are not put off by Soldier's shouting are King of the Squirrels and Yancy. Soldier corners King and is like "what are you king of?! not america. WHAT COUNTRY IS SQUIRRELS" Scout hears Yancy speak, hears the accent, and immediately throws hands.

-------

I am yap-o-clock-ing in your ask box but I needed to give you the brainrot that you've given me

OH MY GOD IM DRAWING SOME OF THESE I PROMISE YOU . I DONT KNOW WHEN ILL DRAW THEM BUT I BET YOUR ASS THEYLL BE DRAWN. KEEP YAPPING IN MY INBOX.

PLEASE. PLEASE KEEP TALKING.

TF2 x MARK EGOS BRAINROT !!!!!!!!!

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

My initial thoughts on Murderbot episode 1

This is just a quick post about my thoughts on a single viewing - not a deep, analytical review. Spoiler-free summary: it was okay. Not great. Not awful. It had things I liked and things I didn't. It definitely didn't live up to the books, but it was enjoyable enough that I'm going to keep watching.

More detailed thoughts below.

Things I liked:

The general vibe of the Pres Aux team and the way they interacted with each other. There were nice little details like the way that painted the habitat or the comment about Ratthi making his own jewellery. I liked that Gurathin doesn't quite fit with their whole deal - like worrying about whether the paint will wash off. While I wasn't sure about the whole group humming moment in general, I did love that Gurathin initially stayed out of it and the sing-song, "Gurathin get in here. Yeah, there we go," bit. It really sells the idea that Gurathin wasn't brought up in Pres Aux's whole environment. He knows how Corporation Rim works and he's there mentally going, "Please stop embarrassing me in front of the company people."

Ratthi in particular seems spot on.

There's a moment in the opening credits where Murderbot is surrounded and it looks like the people around him are all coming in for a group hug and then in the next shot, Murderbot is running away. That made me chuckle.

I liked that they made a point to show Murderbot's ken doll situation.

We see Murderbot copy from its shows. There's a line in Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon where the captain is reassuring the crew, and Murderbot copies that line when it needs to calm down Arada. It's good that we see it using its shows as scripts for how to interact with people because it doesn't have any of its own experience to draw from.

Things I didn't like:

Murderbot seemed too human. Both in terms of behaviour but also movement when its out of armour. There is a whole thing in one of the books about it needing to adjust the way it moves to not come across as a bot - making its walk and stance and body movements less rigid and controlled so it seems more natural and will pass more easily as human. From watching the scene where it comes out in the crew uniform, it was clear that this version of Murderbot wouldn't need anything of the sort. It was acting too human in stance and posture and the way it was interacting with the other characters - like an awkward and autistic human, maybe, but human. Likewise, it didn't look bot-like enough when we see it out of armour. It had a tiny, barely noticeable port in the back of its neck, and I didn't enough really spot the gun ports in its arm. There should have been more signs of the machine parts. In my head, Murderbot should look more like Neo when he comes out of the Matrix - with ports and mechanical bits and places for wires and tubes to connect all over its body.

The bit where it was thinking about its name - nope. Didn't like that. Especially since its implied that it thought up the name before it started remembering the incident at RaviHyral, whereas I always thought it came up with that name for itself because of the deaths at RaviHyral.

I didn't like it picturing killing all of the PresAux team. I think it would have been better if it had imagined killing the assholes at the other location and we'd seen it decide not to because it wouldn't have anywhere to go but having that scene with the Pres Aux team didn't work for me.

It doesn't disparage the Company enough. Throughout the books, but especially the first one, the commentary is constant about how the Company over-charges for shoddy equipment, how the training materials given to SecUnits are rubbish, etc. We get basically none of that from Murderbot.

The "speech, speech!" moment. I was amused by Murderbot being unsure whether it would rather by destroyed in acid or give a speech - and the fact it was clearly a close call - but I then had to skip a few seconds forward because the second-hand embarrassment was too painful.

Murderbot's inner monologue has lost a lot of the sarcastic bite that makes it so fantastic in the book. We get goofy jokes instead of cynical sarcasm.

Maybe it'll come later, but there's no mention of the numerous polyamorous relationships that the book showcase. When Murderbot is talking about Mensah's family, it mentions having loads of kids, but fails to mention that Mensah had multiple spouses. These poly relationships are treated as perfectly normal and accepted in the universe of the books, so its weird that it's not even mentioned here. Again, maybe this will be explored more later in the show and they wanted to give it time so that it could be properly presented to the audience, but if not, that will be massively disappointing.

Where are Murderbot's drones? The use of drones is key in later parts of the story, and in the books, it has drones flying around constantly and it uses them for extra cameras to see what's going on. Where the hell are they?

Things that are different from my head but not necessarily bad:

The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon is very different from how I picture it in my head, but I can go with it. The visual distinction with the costumes and lighting and over-the-top hairstyles makes it stand out from the rest of the show and I can go with that. It works in a very visual medium to show that this is not reality.

A couple of the names are pronounced differently in the show from how they sound inside my head.

There seems to be only one hopper instead of two. Not sure why this change but, you know, it's fine. Doesn't really effect things.

Overall: Most of my issues with the show are with how Murderbot acts, which is obviously a problem given that Murderbot is the central character of the whole show. A lot of the stuff around the rest of the characters, I like, but that gets a bit overshadowed by the central character not really working for me.

I will still watch the rest of it, but it definitely doesn't live up to the vision in my head. I may just have to read the books for the tenth time to make up for it.

[clumsiestgiantess]

My first piece for the @gtgotcha4gaza fundraiser! This one was donated by @biggnansmol with the prompt Overhead; enjoy!

My body presses close to the ground as I watch the traffic rush by in a cacophony of tremorous footsteps and raucous voices.  I hunch down near the street corner of a building who knows how many thousands of times my size, looking intently out over the giants walking past.  They travel without a single downward glance at the tiny man just barely taller than their palms.

Many, if not most, of my kind avoid anywhere near this kind of foot traffic.  As a borrower, you can only withstand so much noise and movement constantly around you before your instincts tell you to run.  What separates me from the rest is that my instincts can guide me through the crowd of gigantic beings, to other places entirely.  I can make it to stores all the way on a different street if I really want to.  I haven’t, but I can.

Cracked Concrete Colony — my home — lies halfway between the giants’ colony above, and the giants’ watery wasteland below.  You’d think the giants — humans, they call themselves — would try pitching in to help us ever since they found out we exist.  They didn’t.  In fact, they now have the audacity to label us as pests; vermin.  No wonder we decided to stay away from them.  

As a seasoned package-runner, my job is to deliver supplies from our place to other smaller groups above, and sometimes bring supplies back again.  Oh, and myself.  I bring myself back every time.  Not everyone does.

The worst shape I’ve come out of running is a sprained wrist, but there are some who’ve broken bones, lost limbs, and even died on the exact routes I take.  I’m not too worried, though.  My instincts are better than theirs, I’m sure.  No one in the history of my colony — that people know of — has survived as long as me.  I’m the best there is.  Sure, I’ve come a mere arm’s length away from the sole of a shoe multiple times, but that’s normal for my line of work.  Defying certain death is my average Tuesday.

So, once I see a break in the crowd, I make my move.

My brain and eyes work in tandem to spot every potential danger coming at me.  Thankfully it’s mostly coming from the same side.  The first few pairs of feet I dodge with ease — weaving in and out between the giants’ legs with perfect timing to their methodic gait.  

However, one giant hurriedly stumbles through the crowd in the wrong direction.  I have just enough time to brace myself before their foot rushes up to meet me.  For a brief moment, I believe they’ll dash by right overhead, but the idea is short-lived.  

The tip of a gigantic shoe digs into my stomach, catching on my side and kicking me across the rugged surface of the cement walkway.  I cry out in pain as skin tears off my bare arms in shreds and I land in the ditch between the walkway and the awful road of machines.  Rule number one of package-running: never go into the road.  Ever.  Everyone knows it’s certain death.

Agony spreads through my body, but I grit my teeth and bare it.  I have to get back up onto that walkway.  After a few minutes of desperate struggling — getting blown down and dragged backwards by the sheer force of the machines’ speed — I realize it’s pointless.  It’s hard enough just hauling myself up with my scratched arms.  Even without the machines, I don’t think I’d make it.

Just as I break out in a cold sweat, a shadow descends over me.  A giant’s hand grabs me from above — fingers coiling around my midsection.  Shrieking in both fright and pain, I claw at the human’s hand and get this close to biting them, when I’m flipped over and tucked much more securely against their palm.

Only briefly do I stop struggling to wonder why their grip is so cautious before trying to escape it again.  “Hey, no no; it’s ok!  I’ve got you little guy, you’ll be alright.”  I… what?  The giant slides their hand up against me to keep me from squirming out of their grasp.  Their palm settles against my chest and my heart skips a beat.  “Let me just find a safe spot to put you down.”

Fear still spikes through me like lightning at the way their fingers wrap around my torso to keep me still.  My mind screams at me to keep fighting them because they’ll hurt me for sure if I don’t.  However, there’s something about the way they’re handling me — as much as I hate the fact that they are handling me — that deters me from wanting to escape.  

Then there’s the way they spoke… they immediately wanted to assure me that I’d be alright.  The only things I’ve been told by giants are “Get out of here!” and “Oh eww, what the heck are you?!” so it’s quite the unexpected upgrade.

Suddenly, the hands around me slide away and I’m deposited gently in a small alleyway.  I peer hesitantly up at the giant, kneeling down over me.  Their worried expression softens slightly when I do.  “There you go, safely away from the road and people.  Don’t go back there anymore, ok?”  My mouth drops open, utterly shocked.  “Th - Thank.. you?” I say in awed confusion.  How am I not dead?  Were they helping me get out of the road?

With a small smile, they stand back up and walk off into the crowd of other giants.  I was left standing only a storefront or two up from where I began.  In a few minutes it’s as if none of it had happened at all.

Briefly, I think about trying to go after the giant — ask them why they did that for me.  Then, I take a step and my entire body tenses in pain — dragging me out of my stupor.  Actually.. I think I’ll just head back and get healed up.  I’d tested my luck enough for one day.  Even without the giant’s help, I’m still lucky I hadn’t been stepped on, only kicked.

Maybe I’d dodge past my unlikely hero on the walkway sometime again and ask them then.  I’m just lucky that the strangely benevolent giant had given me another chance to keep surviving.  Hauling myself to the street corner once again, I dash off into the crowd, making it home in only a little less time than usual.

[humbledragon669]

S1E5 – The Doomsday Option Write Up P2 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "the wiggle on" to "He was waving"

Alright, so now we have the seed of hope planted for an Aziraphale/Crowly reunion, this episode moves, pretty swiftly, through a number of plot threads that now all need to be brought together to serve as the climax for the season.

Thread number one: Madame Tracy and Shadwell, and their purpose in the storyline.

I don’t have a great deal to say about this scene, only one tiny question. Why is that Julia makes no move to hand over a “donation” to Madame Tracy?

Both Mrs. Ormerod and Mr. Scroggie (brilliant names by the way) are clearly well-prepared to be handing their money over, but not so young Julia. I don’t think it’s important, just one of those little things I wondered about when I was watching the scene back.

Thread number two: bringing the Four Horsemen together.

Couple of things to point out in the next montage sequence, including an Easter egg or two. Firstly, the immigration official has clearly become disillusioned with her job in the short time that she granted Anathema into the country.

It’s a very different interaction than the one she had with Anathema where she was actually paying attention. Even Famine seems puzzled at her lack of interest. Next up I just want to say that I really didn’t have the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse down for being tea-drinkers. Don’t get me wrong, I’m British. Tea is the foundation of civilised society as far as I’m concerned. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? These four characters are about to, quite happily, undo all of civilisation. Always time for a cup of tea I suppose though. And now for an Easter egg! Feels like it’s been a minute since I’ve pointed one of those out. The top scores on the arcade game next to the one that Death is playing on are all allocated to D.EATH, except for the #1 spot, which goes to T. PRATCHETT.

There is another Easter egg here for the eagle-eyed, this one of the apple variety – one of the questions on the quiz machine asks what year Apple Computers was founded in.

And the last thing about the quiz machine: the machine that displays the “GAME OVER” sign is actually not the machine that Death has been playing on:

As a little side note, once we realise that it’s Death playing on the quiz machine, we can appreciate that he has in fact been there from the beginning of the scene. I wouldn’t swear to it given the camera angles that are used, but I don’t think his bike is in the car park when War arrives. You could argue that it’s out of shot, but I’m still pretty sure she would have recognised it for what it was and known that he was already inside. Famine and Pollution too. So why aren’t they aware of his presence from the outset? Again, probably not important, and the little quiz machine interaction provides some much-needed light comedy.

Back to thread number one. I found little of interest in this scene prior to Aziraphale’s arrival from the spirit world, aside from the vapid personality of Mrs. Ormerod and the obvious dig at the validity of psychic mediums whilst using the delightfully oblivious Mr. Scroggie. What I do really enjoy about this scene is the sound editing (I know, you’re all shocked I’m picking up on sound cues…). We know that something is about to happen when a low rumble begins, enforced by some lightly flickering candles in a room with no breeze, but the real joy here is the sequence of noises, animal, human, and object, that issues from Madame Tracy’s mouth as Aziraphale takes up residence in her body. Miranda Richardson does a pretty stella job here too – this was either really fun to shoot or incredibly embarrassing. I’d lean towards the former, given she’s largely a comic actress, but managing to keep a straight face throughout the whole thing must have taken an incredible degree of self-control. I’d be quite interested to know how much free reign she was given with this, how much of it was improvised, and if she knew there was going to be extra noises added in post-production. Here’s a list of the noises that I could pick up in the sequence that takes place during Aziraphale’s possession:

Rumbling noise before Madame Tracy starts vocalising.

Madame Tracy making a low rumbling noise.

Elephant trumpeting.

The noise of something ramping up, like a turbine engine but not. No idea what this noise actually is!

Thunder (from outside the house – accompanied by lightning).

Madame Tracy’s short shout followed by very high and musical almost-screams.

Another one of those weird ramping up noises but shorter and sharper.

Panting.

Madame Tracy blowing a raspberry.

Loud singing (enforced in the soundtrack) of the William Tell overture.

Madame Tracy belching.

A little quacking noise made by Madame Tracy.

A fart (no way was I leaving this off the list), which puts a definitive stop to any other noises that are ongoing.

Pretty impressive. Those sound editors aren’t done yet though, because aside from another chaotic sound sequence for Ron’s possession, there’s still a load of work to do with the voices coming out of Madame Tracy’s mouth. I love the way they shift between her voice and Aziraphale’s during the following sequence, starting from the very first sentence that she says after the possession has completed – she starts out as Madame Tracy and finishes as Aziraphale (in German, which we were led to believe that he couldn’t speak back in 1941). There are times in this scene where both voices come out of her mouth at the same time and there are other times where Madame Tracy speaks in her own voice but in a deeper tone, and times where it’s one or the other speaking, and it’s all so seamlessly stitched together. Not to mention the fact that it never once looks like it’s not Miranda Richardson speaking – her lip movements match the words exactly. She even adapts some of Aziraphale’s mannerisms when she’s speaking as him.  It’s a really brilliantly put together scene. The sound sequences for Ron’s possession (played by none other than Johnny Vegas) are more difficult to pick out because the surrounding scene is very noisy (not that Shadwell would know anything about that, sound asleep in the unaffected boudoir) but I did manage to pick out:

Another raspberry.

A short squeal.

A line from “Moonlight Becomes You” (by Johnny Mathis, I couldn’t see any immediate Easter eggs or references from the lyrics).

A prolonged shout.

More thunder.

What sounds like a piano string or strings (from low down the keyboard) being struck.

A retching noise like someone’s about to hurl.

Something bubbling.

Howling.

Lightning.

Fireworks, used in the same way as the fart in the first sequence – to cut off all the other noises.

It feels like quite a jolt moving from all that cacophony into Madame Tracy’s peaceful kitchen. There’s one little thing that really makes me giggle in this scene:

She seems pretty blasé about the fact that there’s a blonde, slightly transparent, male figure staring back at her from the mirror. It’s only when he actually waves back at her that she reacts at all, and even then it’s pretty muted. I think most of us would have taken off screaming at that point, or pass out, but not Madame Tracy, she’s way too worldly-wise for that dramatic nonsense.

I was a little puzzled at the choice of soundtrack for Crowley’s battle against the traffic in the next scene, but then I wondered whether it was a reference to the M25 being another one of Crowley’s plans that started out so well and then ending up foundering “on the rocks on iniquity”, which appears to be a bit of a running theme throughout the show – first the misplacing of the Antichrist, again in his desperate pleas to Aziraphale for them to run away together, and in his failed rescue of the angel. This particular instance of Crowley’s well-intentioned failings would suggest that it’s a characteristic he has been prone to for a long while, and that the foundering of his plans can take anything from seconds to decades. And just for a bit of fun, a tried to get screenshots of the M25 before and after Crowley’s interference:

I also noticed that the projector Crowley uses is marked as belonging to Room 11:

Having fallen foul of my neglect in consulting Strong’s Concordance with numbers in my write ups before, I did actually remember to look this one up. According to my scant research, 11 in Strong’s Concordance represents a place of destruction or ruin. Whether this is a reference to Crowley’s original intentions for the M25, the eventual fate and purpose of the M25 in the show, or a tongue-in-cheek remark to the experience of actually driving on the M25 in real life isn’t clear. Maybe it’s a bit of all three. Or maybe it’s just a random number. Unlikely I think.

Now that Shadwell’s had a nice little snooze, he also seems to have had some sort of personality transplant. That’s the only real explanation for the impassioned attempt at protecting Madame Tracy’s dignity, right? I think we as the audience all know better, but he clearly forgets himself in the heat of his jealous moment. Interestingly, the mirror no longer appears to show Aziraphale’s reflection:

I think this might just have been a case of budgetary or time restraints rather than an intent to convey anything specific. Whatever the reason, Aziraphale doesn’t seem too upset at Shadwell for discorporating him. One question though – how does the angel know that Shadwell has referred to him as “the Southern pansy” before? As far as I can remember, he never uses that name to his face, which only really leaves the possibility that he has obtained the information from Madame Tracy, who has heard him refer to Aziraphale in that way at least once before. I find it unlikely she would have told the angel the offensive name that had been allocated to him, which suggests he has obtained the news from her own thoughts. Obviously at this point Madame Tracy is sharing the residence of her body, but it does raise an interesting question for later when Aziraphale and Crowley perform the body switch – would they be able to read the thoughts of the other without the sentience of that other being present concurrently?

Whilst we are on the topic of how people know things that they do, how does Crowley know the M25 has just combusted into a ring of infernal flames? I know we’ve had the whole “Crowley turned the M25 into a hellhole” scenario written out for us already, but that was to do with the eternal traffic jams he caused, not some sort of hidden boobie trap that would cause it to spontaneously combust. Presumably this is one of those things his demon-sense tells him has simply happened, like when Adam welcomed the Hellhound into his life.

I find the next scene with the cold caller provides an interesting overview of the way nuisance callers have evolved across the years. The basis for the call in the original book was double glazing, but we’ve moved on to ambulance chasers in the show. As a society I think it’s likely we’ve moved on even further now, from using actual real people to individually make these calls to automated recordings, but Hastur wouldn’t be able to eat them all in that case, thus denying the audience the satisfaction of the sick justice he unwittingly wreaks on the call centre staff. Got ourselves a little Easter egg here too – the message that Lisa types out on her screen (to a colleague or as a note on a casefile isn’t clear) is the title of a Queen song:

This happens to be the very song that Crowley was listening to in the Bentley on the M25. She also types that up right before she arrives his own casefile (titled “Anthony Cowwley”, which differs from the book’s “A J Cowlley”).

Shifting back to Crouch End now (this episode really does jump around a lot doesn’t it?!), can we just take a moment to gape at Aziraphale adamantly declaring that the Antichrist must be killed. The Antichrist who is a child. It really wasn’t that long ago that he was vehemently stating that he himself could never do such a thing, nor could he endorse it without suggesting that it would be for the good of Heaven’s reputation. Now though, he’s very happy to encourage a human, for whom the consequences of killing an innocent child would be dire in Heaven’s eyes, and even worse for killing the Antichrist as far as Hell is concerned, to do the deed, but this time the motivation is nothing to do with his employer; it revolves around the fate of the World. It feels like something of an oxymoron – his siding with humanity driving an incredibly inhumane act. In fairness, Shadwell follows it up with an oxymoron of his own:

So, as far as Shadwell’s concerned: witches? Kill without question. The Antichrist? Not so sure. Even if he’s going to bring about the end of the world. Sounds like he’s all good with the plan when Aziraphale tells him that he has traits associated with witches though. Good morals Shadwell, well done. Perhaps not quite as terrifying as Aziraphale’s declaration of triumph when the sergeant suggests they can use a massive antique gun to fire lumps of building materials to assassinate the Antichrist. Again I’ll point out that Adam is a child, but perhaps it wasn’t clear enough earlier on that Aziraphale also knows he’s a child.

I don’t know whether what I’m about to say describes a typically British behaviour when caught in traffic jams or not, but here goes. Anybody else find it suspect that other people aren’t either already driving down the hard shoulder or that Crowley doesn’t have a giant tail of cars following him? I’ve been in my fair share of motorway gridlocks, enough to know that once some entitled prick starts driving down the hard shoulder in attempt to assert their own self-importance over the rest of the people caught in the chaos, anybody else with delusions of grandeur will follow suit very quickly. Not for Crowley though, he’s just pottering down the escape lane under his own steam. And is it just me, or does it feel like a bit of a violation when Hastur removes Crowley’s glasses? Looks to me like Crowley feels like that as well to be fair.

He manages to get over his surprise quickly enough though, characteristically engaging his brain into full gear to try and find a solution, which he does with an interesting choice of music:

I find it interesting because it deviates from what we have come to believe is his usual taste in music. Mozart would actually seem to be more Aziraphale’s taste than Crowley’s. It’s also a pretty sedate underscore for what he’s about to do. As a side note, this piece not only doesn’t actually start from the beginning when it starts playing in the Bentley, but is also used in another one of my favourite shows – Our Flag Means Death. In that show, it’s used as background music in the final episode when Prince Ricky is strolling down the street his victory over the pirates with another naval officer. The Mozart doesn’t stick around for long though, morphing into Queen’s “I’m In Love With My Car” (no need to point out the reference with this one) as Hastur starts to lose his calm. For those who haven’t read the book, or just don’t remember this detail, there is mention of this phenomenon in the original text – the apparently common mystery that every tape or CD left in a car is doomed to become a Queen album eventually, but this little detail is left out in the show, with the audience instead being led to believe that the CD player plays mood-appropriate music instead.

The speech we get from Crowley here goes a long way to showing us how much he has come to love both humanity and modernity – he’s actually quite complimentary about humans and their ability to invent new things.

Lovely clever people, inventing cars and motorways and windscreen wipers.

He also, in a very dismissive way, puts a clear distinction between himself and Hastur with his marking of the difference between his feelings towards the 14th century and what he believes the Duke of Hell would have thought. That simple little line actually says a lot to me about how he believes he distanced himself from the other beings in Hell – it’s a clear declaration of “we are not the same”. I also find myself wondering if Crowley had little to no contact with Aziraphale during the 14th century, contributing to his dislike of the time period. We certainly never see anything of the sort – the meetings we bear witness to have a large gap between 537 and 1601, though the book and script book tells us that there was definitely a meeting in 1020, and the script would suggest that there were several (dozens of them in fact) meetings between that and the 1601 meeting.

It's interesting to hear that Hastur is concerned that he’s going to be discorporated as it confirms he’s been issued with a human body, just like Crowley, even though he doesn’t reside on Earth. I’d be interested to know if the body was issued to him in that state or whether it looks pretty run down because of Hastur’s lack of appropriate care (which would in turn suggest that both Aziraphale and Crowley have had to work towards maintaining the appearance of their own corporal beings). And whilst we’re on the subject of bodily appearances, I love the little detail that the snake component of Crowley’s eyes now fill his entire eyeball as he maniacally drives through the flames.

I have a suspicion that the size of the snake “irises” (for want of a better word) is reliant on his emotional state, but I don’t feel like I have the patience to go through the show and test the theory. And I don’t know if those little horizontal lines on Crowley’s nose were intentional here or whether that’s just a natural crease in David’s face, but they certainly strengthen the snake resemblance. As a final comment on this scene, we actually hear God telling us that Crowley really is fundamentally different from his peers – he has an imagination. Which is not so different from the idea that Aziraphale is different from his peers because he has free will, a theme that has been presenting itself, with increasing clarity, throughout the series.

Final little note for this section, and it’s about this snippet of epic:

Apparently the most amazing thing about this, according to the local bobby, isn’t the fact that the car is on fire, or that it’s just driven through a wall of fire, or that it’s still moving forward, or even that the person inside it is not only alive, but unharmed and still capable of driving. No, the most amazing thing is that the driver is waving. Gotta love the way us Brits have a way of stating simple facts to display complete amazement.

Right, this section went on for way longer than I thought it was going to so I’m going to cut it short. I was hoping to get as far as the defection of The Them from Adam, but as soon as I started watching that scene I realised I had more to say about it than I thought, so I’m going to let you go for now. As always, questions, comments, discussion – always welcome! See you next time 😊