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Nanny kid has been so aggressive this week that her parents were considering taking her to the ER to try and treat her for excitatory catatonia. I think I’m gonna shake things up and ask if they’ve considered that maybe she’s attacking me bc she’s homophobic and mad that it’s pride month.

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(trying to find a new way to get mad about sabrina carpenter) that's not even how you walk a dog. you hold their leash. not a big handful of their fur

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"these researchers published a paper on something that literally any of us could have told you 🙄" ok well my supervisors wont let me write something in my thesis unless I can back it up with a citation so maybe it's a good thing that they're amplifying your voice to the scientific community in a way that prevents people from writing off your experiences as annecdotal evidence

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maybe the single funniest twitter comment I've ever seen

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ppb

some little pieces here and there of and ot3 which is practically canon because osc, noted homophobe, hilariously writes the GAYEST characters

peter: nerdy academic and kinda president of the free world, petra: angry commander-in-chief whose competitive streak is so strong it's pathological, bean: big, big, big man with a sword hanging over him at every moment who is just now discovering that he is not incapable of love. now that's how to do a real co-parenting situation

---

In Araraquara, after the little pauper’s service they had for Achilles, who did not deserve it except that Bean insisted, Peter called them four times in the first week.

“Petra,” called Bean, as she was in the kitchen shredding ginger root with a spoon for tea. Poking his head into the room, hair still wet from a shower, Bean held out the phone and said, “Ender’s brother wants to speak to you.”

Even though the phone was not at either of their ears, they both still audibly heard Peter say, “Ouch.” Petra sighed and took the call, tucking it between her shoulder and cheek. “He must be really mad,” Peter continued, without skipping a beat. “I didn’t interrupt you in bed, did I?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Petra replied, dropping ginger into a pot of water. “What do you want Peter?”

“I’m sorry Petra, is it a bad time? Hold on, I’ll hang up and call the spiritual leader of a billion people directly - it’s really just the fate of the free world on ours hands-”

“What do you want, Peter?”

What he wanted, evidently, was for her to return his banter. There had been a strangeness to Peter’s tone lately, an odd falseness that she and Bean spoke about sometimes at night when discussing the fate of the Hegemony, and indeed, the fate of the free world, but which they could not quite place. It was sharper, yes, but more familiar. 

“Bean,” Petra had said, late at night, when he laid his head against her belly, imagining he could hear a heartbeat, “you don’t think Peter thinks we’re his friends, do you?” She sounded half-horrified at the thought.

Bean did not reply right away. “I don’t know,” he said. “You don’t think he’s earned it?”

“How? By being an idiot?”

“He stayed in the compound with me that night, Petra. Me and Peter against Achilles and half an army.”

“Yes, but he didn’t do anything.”

“Well, he stayed.”

Petra didn’t say anything in response to this. Troubled, she ran her fingers through Bean’s hair, where wiry curls had begun to grow now that Petra no longer shaved his head weekly. They were not soldiers anymore, after all.

She asked, “Does he ever remind you of Ender?”

“No,” said Bean. “Never.”

Petra made a face. “Me neither. I wish he did. I think that would make this easier.”

“Make what easier?”

“Being his friend.”

Bean laughed, and he kissed her belly, traveling up past her collarbone to her lips. “I’m not sure he’s ever had a friend in his life,” he told her. When he held her, his hands felt so big against her body, his palm splayed out across the width of her ribs. “I can sympathize.”

“Mm. As someone else who never had a friend in his life. Not to this day.”

“Not once.”

She kissed him. “He has his parents.”

Bean wanted to say, “I hope you never say that of our children,” but he couldn’t, partly because he did not know if he would live long enough to be a friend to his child, and partly because he couldn’t yet bring himself to say the word children. Child, yes, the one growing inside of Petra. But the others, for his sanity, for the moment, he could not yet begin to hope.

In the kitchen in Araraquara, waiting for the tea to boil, Peter had moved on to whatever qualified as business in his own mind. “I don’t suppose you could get in touch with Dink Meeker, could you? Our odds at reaching Alai are better with every member of the jeesh we can get in touch with, and he’s being a bit of a pain to reach at the moment. Is it true that you and he used to be-?”

“If Dink doesn’t want to be found, leave him alone.”

“But Alai-”

“You’ll get to Alai sooner or later. Dink never liked playing the game, so leave him out of this.”

Peter didn’t like this answer, which he indicated by hesitating before he spoke once more. “It might not matter anyway. We’re already at critical mass, if I can count you and Bean.”

“What do you mean, if you can count me and Bean?”

“Well, you two are away honeymooning-”

There was a bang as Petra nearly broke the tea cups she was pulling out of the cabinet. At that moment Bean entered the kitchen, half-dressed, and kissed her on the cheek. “What was it this time?” he asked. “Barefoot and pregnant or housewife?”

Petra held the phone out to him, which he took dutifully. On the other end, Peter said, “Just honeymoon. Is that so bad? You are honeymooning, aren’t you?”

“Sure,” answered Bean, getting to work on a mango at the kitchen table. “If you consider regrouping after an execution and investigating leads on our stolen genetic material a honeymoon.”

“Stolen genetic material,” Petra echoed, pouring the tea. “So romantic.”

To Bean, Peter said, “You have got to get her to stop calling those embryos children, Bean - I know Sister Carlotta was Catholic, but come on.”

Bean thought it should bother him more that Peter had the nerve to evoke Carlotta’s name to him, but for some reason it came gently, more of a touch than a blow. “What do you need, Peter?”

“I was hoping your wife could get me in touch with a certain Dutch Battle School graduate.”

“I’m Greek.”

“No, the other one.”

“Peter, we just killed him, remember?”

“I’m talking about Dink Meeker, smartass. And Achilles was Belgian.”

Bean did not know Dink well, except as the boy who held Petra when she cried after the final battle. But he trusted Petra’s judgment. “You heard what the lady said.”

“Sure. Hey,” he began, “when are you two going to come back? You know you have access to all of my resources here, and the IF’s.”

Bean highly doubted this. Peter wildly underestimated the Fleet’s capabilities. “We’re in touch with Ferreira. Once we turn up a lead, we’ll be back within reach of your grasping ambition. Promise.”

Annoyed, Peter asked, “What are you even doing out there? Eating papayas with the locals?”

“Papayas,” said Bean, cocking his head. “And other things.”

If Peter caught the innuendo, which Bean was not confident he did given the fact that Peter had very clearly never known the touch of a woman in his sad little life, he ignored it. “Well, hurry up and come back to where you can be useful.”

“Peter,” said Bean. Something about this amused him, and good-naturedly, he asked, “Sweetheart, you’re not getting lonely, are you?”

To which Peter let out a frustrated sigh, and hung up the phone.

---

“I’m not saying I need her to like me,” said Peter, pointedly buttering a roll. “All I’m looking for is some kind of mutual respect. No, not respect. Just acknowledgement. If the two of you would give me just a touch of the benefit of the doubt, I promise I’ll be a good boy and won’t throw it back in your faces.”

Bean was not hungry; he had been grazing all day, as he did more and more as he kept growing, up and out. Peter had not eaten since coffee that morning, and so whenever he stopped by the Arkanian-Delphiki household on the Hegemony compound, he helped himself to the contents of their fridge.

“She likes you,” said Bean.

Mouth full, Peter let out a bark of laughter. “She barely puts up with me.”

“She likes you,” Bean said again, firmly. “She grew up in Battle School, remember? The only way she knows how to show affection is through bullying.”

Skeptically, Peter asked, “Oh, is that the only way? So that’s what the baby in her belly is, you call that bullying?”

Bean grinned at him. “Yes, actually. I didn’t want my genes to continue on to the next generation. She’s the one who wore me down.”

Peter ate his bread. Well, Bean’s bread. “So romantic, getting a turkey baster stuffed up inside of you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Despite himself, in the very childish way that told Bean that Peter had both grown up privileged, and grown up with siblings - no matter how he treated them - Peter tore an edge off his bread roll and tossed it at Bean. “Gross.”

“Petra was always like that,” Bean continued. “She didn’t like me when we first met. I was a snot-nosed kid, not many people did.”

“I didn’t,” offered Peter helpfully.

“By the time I met you I at least looked like a normal-sized child,” Bean said. “Imagine waking up in Battle School and finding a walking, talking infant talking back to you.”

“Frankly, I can’t believe you survived and other boys didn’t.”

“Just the one other boy,” said Bean.

“Two,” corrected Peter. He waved his hand, as if to say, Well of course you don’t know. “The other was before your time.”

Bean didn’t ask what happened to whoever the other one was. He could imagine. “Petra likes you,” he repeated, with some finality. “Anyway, she has a record of warming up to sad little boys who only have about one redeeming trait, so you’re in good company.”

“You think I have a redeeming trait? Why, Bean, I’m charmed.”

“That trait being, of course, that you kind of resemble your brother in the right light.”

“Boo,” said Peter. “You can do better than that.”

“You’re right, I can do better. Your one redeeming trait is that you’re so small and frail that you make me look especially good in the bedroom.”

“That’s all you, Bean. If the growth is, ah, proportional, you certainly don’t need my help.”

Fair enough. And a compliment to boot. Peter was getting better at this. 

---

Petra was one of precisely six girls at Battle School. She was never shy about using the toilet or changing into her battle suit with the other. If she felt the need to run for some privacy every time they geared up for battle, Bonzo would’ve beat the shit out of her, and she wouldn’t have had it in her to beat him back like Ender did. She got her first period when she bled onto a seat in class, and had to walk with a teacher to the nurse’s - the blood on her pants she could’ve dealt with, but no one ever let her live down being accompanied by a teacher. 

Phoenix Army was the first time she’d ever had quarters to herself, and she had found it uncomfortable. But it was a sign of a frightened commander to sleep in the barracks with the rest of the army, and she had only been in Dink’s room for twenty minutes after lights out before they went and got her.

The point was, she wasn’t shy about her privates. When the nurses asked if she wanted anyone in the room with her, her response was to point out that she was much more concerned, at the moment, with getting this creature in her belly out of her, and her mother, who was just behind the door, burst into tears when she heard Petra call the baby a creature.

It was both mothers in the end, Petra’s and Bean’s. They tried to hold her hands, but she kept pulling her hands away; she found it patronizing, somehow, even as she screamed on that hospital bed.

But the screaming didn’t last long. Labor barely lasted two hours, and the baby cried when he was born, lungs tiny but fully-formed. Before they took him to the NICU - only for monitoring, as he seemed otherwise healthy - they let Petra hold him.

Peter was the first to visit. He held balloons and flowers, but immediately disabused her of the notion that he was being thoughtful by saying, “My mother told me to give you these.”

“Ah,” said Petra. “She didn’t want to give them herself?”

“She says women who just gave birth should have as few visitors as possible until the first time they pee. She says it’s less intimidating to deal with guests once you know everything still works down there.”

“You get your charm from her,” said Petra, as Peter placed the flowers and balloons on a table by the bed. 

“Definitely not from my father,” Peter agreed. He went to her bedside, leaning slightly over her, looking at the baby. “Wow,” he murmured. “He’s tiny.”

Petra brushed her thumb across the baby’s little face. She did not want to think about his size, and what that meant about his life. “He’s beautiful.”

“He takes after Bean.” Petra glanced up at him severely, and he quickly amended, “Look, I meant he’s got his father’s nose. And so much hair, huh?”

“That’s an Armenian thing,” Petra confirmed. “And his nose is just squashed because he just squeezed his way through my pelvis. Give him a week to decompress and we’ll see what he actually looks like.”

Peter looked down at the baby. “Hello,” he said, his voice softer than Petra was accustomed to. “Hello, baby. God, he’s little.”

Petra watched Peter looking. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Absolutely not,” said Peter. “He’s like an hour old, Petra, give him time to breathe.”

The baby nuzzled against her chest, and she pulled out a breast to feed him. Peter didn’t even blink. “When is Julian getting in?” she asked.

“Oh, he’s still half a day away. You popped this little guy out way too fast.”

“Did he tell you we’re going to baptize him?”

“Yes,” answered Peter. “He said Catholic. Aren’t both of you Orthodox?”

“Sister Carlotta was Catholic,” said Petra.

“Yes,” said Peter, again. “But ethnically, you two are Orthodox.”

“We’re barely anything. But it’s a boy, so we can’t name him after her, so this is the best we can do.”

“If you were really committed, you’d name him Carlos.”

Petra chuckled, looking down at her baby. “We already picked a name.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You can pick the next one I give birth to,” said Petra.

“Ha-ha,” said Peter grimly, but the next time she asked if he wanted to hold Ender, he said yes.

---

Next to Bean, Petra and Peter both felt small. The difference between the two of them - an inch or two, at that - was nothing compared to the full head he towered above them both. When he kissed Petra, Bean would lean down, hunching over. When he kissed Peter, he made Peter get up on his tiptoes and come to him.

Pressed between them, Peter felt his heart pounding so hard in his chest it was a wonder they couldn’t hear it. One of Bean’s hands held Petra’s, her fingers tiny between his, and the other hand was splayed across Peter’s ribs. If he didn’t find it so insanely hot, he might have found the hugeness of Bean’s hand and the power in his arms almost frightening.

“Look at this,” breathed Peter, rocking back slightly into Petra. “My parents would be horrified.”

“Oh, please,” Petra said. “They forgave Ender for killing a boy, Peter, they can forgive you for kissing one.”

“They’re religious, Petra, not medieval.” Bean’s hand went from Peter’s ribs to the small of his back, pulling him in, and for half a second he felt faint. “Kissing a man? Fine. Kissing a married man?” Over his shoulder, a smile on their lips, Bean and Petra kissed. “I’m going to hell,” breathed Peter.

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ender wiggin would start a twitch gaming channel for whatever game he's hyperfixated on at the moment but then become scarily good at each one scarily fast. everyone thinks he's hacking and it makes him sad because he just wanted to have fun playing video games online. he ends up getting extremely famous but also controversial (because of the hacking allegations) and eventually he collabs with petra (who plays combat games exclusively but is an incredible shot), alai (who specializes in rpgs but branches out occasionally) and bean (who actually just hacks but it's his coding skills he shows off not his gameplay). they end up starting the most batshit insane minecraft smp in the history of the universe.

peter and valentine are still highly popular anonymous political influencers in this universe btw

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There is a passage from one of the Ender’s Game sequels that lives rent free in my mind every time I enter a public restroom of like… Bean thinking very hard about which stall to select because appropriately masculine men never select the first stall, if you take the last stall you’re trying too hard, but you can’t take a stall next to a stall next to one that’s already occupied…

Orson Scott Card is having a Real Normal One Over Here, I Guess.

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My nanny kid and I have been reading ender’s game, which I LOOOOVE, and I’ve been so into it I started rereading the parallel novel ender’s shadow, and we finished it yesterday & I asked if she liked it & she said she rlly liked it and wanted to read all the enderverse books which means I am nobly restarting ender’s shadow with her even tho I was already like 7 hours into the audiobook 💔💔💔

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Forgive me Father I'm Langdon posting and maybe I'm wearing slightly rose tinted glasses

I've seen a lot of different suggestions going around about Langdon not caring / not being empathetic as a doctor and I kinda go back and forth on that because in a way yes but not like in totality?

Like yes he doesn't recognize why its important for Robby to spend so much time with the family of the OD kid, really the second a patient dies he is flippant about their existence which sir 🤧 (call me if there's a resurrection like omg what is wrong with you)

BUT I think his lack of care demonstrated in that personal way, doesn't mean he doesn't care about his patients -- I think he's cognizant of how many people need help, how much of a difference it can make if they're seen early, and so he's trying to be as efficient as possible (you'll notice a lot of his frustrations over the season is related to things that could delay care or compromise caring for more people). There isn't as solid evidence for this but I think he's also very aware of the cost of healthcare and procedures to people and doesn't want to over burden that unnecessarily.

He's kind of the opposite of Mohan in this way, she's incredibly empathetic and thorough, but if all of them were like her the ER would not function. There's a middle ground between them that is the right balance (cough collins cough)

More examples below

I think it's really easy to look at how he interacts with Terrance and write it off as him being unempathetic, and he in this moment doesn't recognize how cognitive differences need different approaches to care. From his POV there's this patient with probably a pretty simple diagnosis and treatment, someone he's seeing to clear a bed, who is questioning him at every turn that makes progress really hard. But he notices the difference Mel's approach makes, and chooses to take that as a learning opportunity for himself and asks her about it so he can do better !! He then has a nice convo with Terrance as he's discharging him -- he doesn't think nothing of him, he just was frustrated by the obstacle of their initial interaction.

Langdon does not go out of his way to converse with patients like Mohan, he's very professional and likes to focus on the medicine, but he isn't dismissive of the patients when they talk (with a caveat that he'll entertain it when he needs to stay in the patient room but doesn't need to ask them anything). He engaged with the pacemaker guy as he talks about his experience with the Freedom House, he chats with Crosby's dad about his dog etc.

He also isn't callous/flippant to his patients, just when talking about them with his coworkers which is...not the best! But like with the burn victim that he knows is going to die, he doesn't exhibit that to the wife, he gives her hope, and tells Whitaker to get Kiara.

He makes a Captain Scurvy joke to Mel (would not be appropriate in front of the patient) but he is also considering how he can keep that guy from returning to the ER with a cheap supplement that's effective enough.

Somewhat tangential he is immediately concerned with seeing Beto in the ER and chats with him to see if he's okay before asking Dana about it.

In that same sequence he's asked for a sandwich from their frequent flyer and he has the preferences memorized!! Like he does give a fuck about these people!!!!

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Listening to my boss on the phone to Medicaid trying to keep the government funding that pays me to care for their daughter meanwhile I’m in their basement online shopping spending their Medicaid check on new bikinis

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mel keeps a spreadsheet of information she knows about all her coworkers just because that kind of stuff can slip her mind and it’s useful to know things like trinity likes grape flavor and samira is allergic to almonds and usually it’s just incidental, if something comes up in conversation, but for some reason she really likes updating langdon’s spreadsheet so she’s asking him stuff like how tall are you exactly and does cilantro taste like soap to you and what type of cologne do you wear. and he doesn’t really think anything of it until he mentions that an aunt of his has a pacemaker and mel brings out her phone to update her spreadsheet (frank langdon -> medical information -> has family history of heart disease)

and then he gets all curious so he has to see what else she knows and it’s all this weird shit like she’s got a picture of his drivers license in there somehow and there’s a physical section that says surprisingly hirsute: attached image: [langdon stretching and exposing his happy trail]. eye color #64c1ff. dick size (?) need to ask.

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leia organa truly has one of the best bait-and-switch character introductions of all time because when you meet her she's this brave, stoic picture of elegance and justice and always knows just what to say to vader and tarkin and is clad in white like an angel and is this perfect two-dimensional archetype of pureness of heart. and then approximately half an hour later into the film she meets luke and han and she IMMEDIATELY shows her true colors as a sarcastic, bitchy control freak with a massive impulsive streak and a deep mine of hyperspecific insults. 10/10 character design i'm obsessed with her

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I think I just enjoy the idea of Jack Abbot being equally horrifying to and horrified by the day crew

“What’s got everybody so antsy today?” Jack asks, leaning up against the Hub desk. “I saw Mohan earlier, she was like a cat that’s got bubble wrap stuck to its feet.”

Dana snorts. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just Collins and Robby at it again.” She catches Jack’s expression — his niece calls it a D-face — and snorts again. “Not like that, perv. They’re fighting.”

“That’s like foreplay for the two of them,” Jack argues, still making the face. It’s been over two years since Collins started falling for Robby’s various and sundry bullshit, and honestly he’d expected better of her. “You remember the time they did it in South 14? That was after Robby’s yelled at her about some appendicitis kid.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that one,” Dana says. “Anyway, no, this one was a real knock-down drag-out. And you know how the kids get nervy when Mom and Dad fight.” She gestures with her chin and the kids in question: Shamsi's kid, King, the reboa lunatic, and the scrawny kid whose name he still can't fucking remember, who has to be close to the end of his rotation and looks like he might not make it. They see him, make a variety of eep noises, and scurry away toward the changing room — except for Reboa Lunatic, who gives him a salute and about a half-second later realizes that Dr. Abbot is probably not the best recipient for that gesture, scrunches up her face in mortification, and dodges in after her buddies. They're adorable. Jack wants bobbleheads made of all of them.

He turns back to Dana. “Hold up — I thought you and Robby were Mom and Dad.”

“Sometimes,” she shrugs. “Sometimes it’s you and Robby. Sometimes it’s Gloria and Robby, or—”

“Wait, me and Robby?” Jack does some quick mental calculations. “So which one’s the Mom?”

“Uh, Robby,” Dana scoffs, “obviously, kid, but that’s because he’s always the mom. You think when it’s Robby and me being Mom and Dad that it’s Robby who's the fuckin' Dad?”

Which is an excellent point as always.

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night practice

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waving my freak flag at half mast to indicate there has been a pervert tragedy

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Genuinely hilarious how The Pitt fans, apparently, if you go by Ao3 popularity, all looked at Mel and Langdon and went "these two need to go a 10k+ slow burn where they get closer and closer and eventually become each other's most important person in the world" and looked at Abbot and Mohan and went "these two need to FUCK HARD"