#all this to say: it is not the children's responsibility to reach out and reconcile with their parents. stop trying to make chim feel bad f

[redbleedingrose]

that baby girl Lucy thing could be a drabble or headcanon or whatever ur comfortable with btw 😁 or you don’t have to do anything at all with it if u don’t want! just wanted to mention it bc GIRL DAD ERIS

GIRL DAD!ERIS AND LUCIEN RECONCILLING PART 2

A/N: OKAY YES I AM SO SORRY I GOT BUSY WITH MED SCHOOL, HAD A SHELF EXAM TO TAKE AND THEN I GOT LAZY BUT IT IS HERE!

Edit: So I started writing and realized this is getting a bit long, like I am not done with this part and I am already 2.2k word in, so this will likely be a 3 or 4 part mini-series giving y'all girl dad!Eris lore! I hope you enjoy and I am sorry I had to split it up, but it seems like I had more to this story I wanted to share!

part 1

Your first letter remains unopened, buried beneath legal documents and trade deals in a locked drawer of Lucien's desk. Each week, another one of your letters is added to the ever growing pile that Lucien can't bring himself to open.

Part of him wants to rip all your attempts of communication to shreds, throw it into the fire place and forget that you and Eris exist.

The other part of him, the one that he tries to bury deep within himself, is curious, anxious really, to know what it is you have to say to him. What is it that you continue to reach out to him?

Is it a part your duty as high lady of autumn? Are you looking to start relations between Autumn and Day? Are you trying to keep your relationship to your brother in law as professional as possible? What if you are trying to get to know him? Would that be the worst thing in the world, to get to know his sister in law? He has always wanted a sister.

What if you are writing out of need? For help? What if you need asylum from his brother? Gods, he hopes not. What if Eris turned out to be the exactly like his father, cruel and abusive in his marriage to you? What if he, like Beron, was ruining Autumn court with outrageous regulations and taxes too high that  most of the autumn population were left in poverty?

What if you were writing to him to brag about how well Eris has done without him, that this is the only way he will receive any updates on Eris, and to not expect anything more?

What if you are lovely and kind? What are you like? Are you good to Eris? Is he good to you? Do you make his oldest brother happy? Does he make you happy? What is Eris like now? Has he changed or is he the same paranoid male who plots conspiracies?

The lack of response from your brother in law does little to defer your efforts. You continue to write to Lucien, without skipping a beat, sending a letter to him every week, giving him updates on his brother, updates on your pregnancy, even updates on the pups Eris is raising to protect your babes in the coming months. You share with him your feelings about Eris, the story of how you met, how your mating bond had snapped abruptly and without notice, how he fought against your relationship for years until he couldn't hold back anymore, how when he finally gave in, he had made you the promise of a safer home, a safer land, a place in which his father could never lay a hand on you.

You confide in him your concerns over his brother, your fears that his duties as high lord will consume him, that Eris has anxieties about being a good father, and you are scared it will paralyze him. You tell him about the things you notice about Eris, things you think Eris doesn't know about himself. That, sometimes, Er will get a distant look in his eyes when he sees young children playing together, especially when one looks older than the other. That, sometimes, Er mumbles in his sleep, how often his name comes up while he is asleep, how Er wakes up from those same dreams gasping and clutching at his chest, how it takes hours for you to calm him after. How when Eris struggles to sleep, he stares at the family portrait, with his eyes fixated on Lucien before he comes back to bed with you at your urging.

You write to him as if he is your best friend, as if he is sitting across from you and you are just talking to him. You write to him as if you have known him for centuries.

With all of Eris' stories about his beloved brother, you feel as though you have known him for centuries. 

It takes a long time for Lucien to muster the courage to open your letters. After weeks of receiving letters and storing them away without a second glance, after weeks of forcing any thoughts of the letters away, after weeks of catching himself thinking about Eris, thinking about you and Autumn court, does he finally force himself sit down to read the letters. To be done and over with it. To read the letters, and never think of you or his brother again. To give closure to that horrific chapter of his life. To have this as his final goodbye.

It takes him several minutes to unlock the drawer after he slumps into his chair by the desk. It takes him a couple of minutes to open the drawer before staring at all the papers on top of the letters. It takes him 20 minutes to pluck the letters out from beneath and toss them onto his desk. Another 30 minutes is spent of him grabbing the letters and setting it onto the side table near his hearth, pacing around his office, biting at his nails, wringing his hands, running his fingers through his long auburn hair to sit in his cozy leather chair with the letters at an arms-length. An hour is spent staring blankly into the near extinguished fire, the pops and crackles from the desperate surviving flames being the only times he blinks. Another 10 minutes of delay, spent with breathing exercises while pouring himself a two, maybe three, fingers of night court imported whiskey and taking several bated sips of the hard liquor.

After almost two hours of delay, does Lucien use the letter opener the night court general gifted him during a visiting trip, to slowly and carefully, with shaking hands, tear the seal open. Deep breathing does little to stop his pittering heart as he opens the first letter, glazed eyes racing over each sentence, each word multiple times, nearly seizing as you break the news of your pregnancy. Tears he didn’t even know were leaking down his cheeks, meeting at his chin to drip down his neck began to stream. Choked sobs with a hand clutched at his chest, your letter delicately being placed to the side as his emotions crash into him.

Weeks of pent up feelings become unrelenting waves that makes it near impossible for him to catch his breath. All of grief for the time he has missed with you and his brother, all of happiness at your pride and clear love and devotion for your mate, his brother, all of sorrow and concern for what Eris turned out to be after years of torment and unrelenting abuse, all of quiet hope for the future relationship he may have with you, with his future nieces or nephews, with his older brother, all of that is almost unbearably overwhelming. The only source of respite, coming from your gentle handwriting.

“Lucien, I implore you to take all the time you need. I will patiently be waiting for a response, whether it takes weeks or months, years or even centuries. I want a relationship with you. As does your brother. And I want our children to have a relationship with their uncle. So I will wait. And if you decide that having a relationship with us is just too impossibly painful for you, then with the deepest regret and with the most profound love, will we accept that fate as well.” 

It is your own hope that pushes Lucien to read all of your other letters, whiskey set aside and forgotten. Letters that have his bereaved sobs turning into silent tears of joy. Letters that have him bubbling with laughter as you express your loving annoyance at Eris’ puttering about the nursery and his great insistence that your future babes will need 15 chicks, and at least 6 baby cows to grow up with.

Letters that have him smiling softly, reminiscing in the good memories of his childhood Eris whispered to you in the dark recesses of night. Letters that have him pondering if what you say is really the truth, because you give a convincing argument that his older brother may actually miss him, may have actually loved him… still loves him. Letters that give him insight into all the years he missed, that he now almost feels a part of, like he was actually there to witness all of the events surrounding your relationship and Eris’ ascension to the autumn throne. Lucien spends hours, even as the fire in the office gives way to death and the only remaining source of light becomes Lucien’s own magic pulsating through the room, reading your letters. Over and over, in the order it was sent in and in backwards order. And by the end of it, he is speechless. 

No words come to mind that can describe how he feels. He cannot come up with what to say. The only thing he knows is that he is appreciative for the time and patience that you have given him, the grace that you have shown, the honesty of the hardships that you and Eris went through, of the relationship you have formed with his brother, and of all the changes Er has gone through and has brought to Autumn Court since his escape. So, Lucien folds your letters following the exact lines you used, making sure not even a slight crease is created, before carefully placing back into the envelopes you sent them in, holding them to his chest as he walks to his room and retires for the night. Sleep, however, the trickster it is, plays the most exhausting game and evades him most of the night. His usual tossing and turning is replaced with his ember eyes focused on the letters, hands clasped tightly together resting on his chest because his fingers kept twitching with want to reach back for your messages to reread them. Lucien’s thoughts are wildly free of the endless possibilities of what might come in the future… a happy future. 

Days were spent rereading your letters. Days were spent stressing out over what to do, he never had a choice when it came to his family. All things were inevitably decided for him. He was brought up to be competitive with his brothers, it was decided that he would have to fight his brothers for the autumn throne, a throne he had no desire of having. It was decided what kind of training he got, despite his lack of interest in violence. He didn’t choose to leave Autumn, he barely escaped with his life. He didn’t choose this. Having a choice… it was a delicacy he hadn’t been offered before.

Lucien knew though. Deep down inside, he knew what he wanted to choose. Going back and forth with his options inevitably landed on one outcome. He wants to try. He wants to get to know you, a sister he always wanted and now, finally has. He wants to get to know his future nieces or nephews. He wants to be a part of their lives; he wants to be the best uncle he can be. And he so achingly wants to know his older brother, wants to know his side of the story, wants to know if he was wrong to blame him for everything. It is alarming. The prospect of it all. It’s… fully… wholly… thoroughly and completely terrifying. 

What if he was wrong about it all? What if he spent decades… centuries hating his own brother… someone who should’ve been blameless? Would Eris forgive him for it? What if he comes to the conclusion Eris didn’t try hard enough? Could he forgive Eris, a crimeless, unwilling accomplice in the murder of Jes? What if Eris is uninterested after a near lifetime of rejection? How will they build their relationship, beyond what it ever was? What if, even after all of that, he ends up alone? Was it worth it?

Was the hurt, the fear, the hope… was it worth it?

It took another month of Lucien’s contemplation to come up with a response, not for lack of trying. He had so many thoughts, so many feelings and emotions regarding his brother, his past, his future, you as his new sister in law, the fact that he is going to be an uncle, to work through, that he is still working through. He is afraid, afraid of what he has missed with Eris, afraid of what or who Eris has become. But one thing about the Vanserra brothers is that they have a burning courage within them. So despite the fear, he wants more. He wants to try. Every time he sits down to muster an acknowledgement to your letters, though, he chokes up. 

A ball of anxiety runs rampant through his stomach, a knot in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow, that he can't seem to clear even with a rough rub at his neck. His hands quake as he readjusts the pen in his hands, over and over, feeling pins and needles at the tips of his fingers as he tries to figure out the words to respond with. Your letters had so much thought, so much effort and sentiment and zest poured into them. And all of the thoughts and feelings he had during the time he took, it seemed… inadequate. A simple letter… it wouldn’t be enough. Not with all the things Lucien wants to say to you and eventually… to Eris as well. Finally, after staring at the blank sheet placed in front of him, sweaty hands rubbing furiously up and down his thighs, does he figure it out. 

So… with a shaky inhale, he brings his pen to the page. 

Hello dear sister,

I apologize for my delay in responding. If I am being honest, I spent a lot of time, quite a lot indeed, thinking of your letters. Thinking of you. Thinking of my brother Eris the Autumn High Lord. Thinking of the past. Thinking of the future. One letter to tell you all of my thoughts in response to your attempts of communication feel woefully insufficient. 

If you are ever so inclined, would you be open to meeting with me? I understand that your pregnancy condition may make it difficult upon you to travel to Day. I’m happy to I am set to be in Spring Court for two weeks from now for a week. Would you be willing able to meet at the border in three weeks time? 

with warm wishes,

regards, 

Lucien Vanserra

[itsnothingofinterest]

The mental deterioration of villains in the final arc seems like a really cheap way of rendering the villains into like, children who are really easy to save, without actually addressing any of their points. It's like what if saving Toya is as easy now as just cooling him down with ice quirks, and he doesn't get to say "You all neglected me, forgot about me, and side with my dad over me."

(in response to this. This follow-up addition may also be relevant.)

Yes, you get it.

Deteriorating Dabi’s mind may make him easier to talk at, but it shouldn't really solve much in the end if Dabi's not participating, challenging their reconciliation so they can better address his feelings. And if the manga tries to pass off their talking at him as resolution anyway, it'd be pretty disappointing.

Heck, you can't even say the Todorokis are dealing with his 'inner child' really; He's getting 'child-like' but even at his most unstable Touya never talked like this at the points of his life we saw. (You can actually see this in how Enji's imagination of Touya talks more coherently than the real one.)

So anything they try to reconcile with is just brain damage. Like I said in my original post; Touya's heart and mind are not factoring in anymore.

The idea of making villains easier to save is one I’ve seen a lot before (usually just in theories up to this point though) and I’ve always found them frustrating. I've said similar things when discussing Deku scapgoating all of Tenko's issues and/or opposition to heroes on to AFO and his abuse; it's all shortcuts I don’t think heroes should be taking when they could be tackling the villains’ complaints head on. Put the effort in guys; Plus Ultra, right?

Honestly, Part-2 hopeful that I am, I kind of hope this supposed to be hurdle to Shoto & the Todorokis saving Touya right now, rather than a shortcut to it. Like, Shoto can save Dabi from exploding; but he will outright not be able to save his heart because it's not listening. Which is convenient because I kinda don't think Shoto would be ready to even if Dabi could hear him. Kinda like how Shoji couldn't save or do anything for Spinner, in part because he was also too out of it. They might leave some lasting effect on their villains; but actual final reconciliation must come later because it's actually impossible now.

(Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I feel it's better to be hopeful than to be disappointed while the series is still ongoing.)

[ofstoriesandstardust]

day 11 - i’m dreaming of a white christmas - bradley “rooster” bradshaw

a/n: i call this “kylie takes a plot of a christmas movie and does whatever she damn well pleases with it”. this has been a many weeks labor of love and is probably one of my top 3 pieces from ficmas so i truly hope you enjoy!! :)

summary: (white christmas!au) Years after the legendary Tom “Iceman” Kazansky retired from the Navy after a truly horrible accident, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw finds himself following his recently reconciled godfather, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell to the far remote corners of Vermont to visit an old friend.

He doesn’t anticipate meeting the notorious Iceman, whose legacies still stretch far and wide throughout the Navy, nor Iceman’s equally captivating civilian daughter. 

What begins as a trip to continue to mend and repair his relationship with his once estranged godfather turns into a scheme to push his godfather towards happiness while maybe finding some of his own along the way. 

-

In other words, the White Christmas!au no one but me asked for.

12 days of ficmas | main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: swearing, kissing, fluffy fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, did i mention there’s fluff, mentions of depression, mentions of cancer, a dash of angst like the way all things in life should be, misunderstandings, minor Icemav, no mentions of Sarah Kazansky or Penny Benjamin, Bradley’s Bronco is invincible atp, kylie writes slider for the first time in her life, i stole the iconic dialogue, fuck if i know anything about the Navy 

word count: 9,751

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know, where the treetops glisten and children listen, to hear sleigh bells in the snow

The sound of Bing Crosby’s voice crooning floats through the old truck. Bradley reaches out to turn the radio down, muting the man, as Maverick turns on to an old dirt road, turning off from the paved road they’d been following for miles. 

“Where exactly are we going Uncle Mav?”

A faraway look appears in Maverick’s eyes, the same one that had appeared when he’d approached Bradley about going on this trip with him Thanksgiving morning. With the two having extended leave following their less-than-ideal crash landings and return from the dead, he’d had little better to do. 

And Phoenix thought it would be a good idea, to get back on solid feet and mend his relationship with his godfather. So he’d agreed and packed up, getting into the Bronco to travel cross-country to Vermont. 

“I told you kid, we’re going to see an old friend of mine.”

Maverick offers little more information for the rest of the ride as they travel along the road. Eventually, just when Bradley thinks his bladder might burst, they make another turn and pull up in front of a large home. 

Bradley eyes the sign outside. “A ski resort Mav?” His godfather hums in response, turning the ignition off.

“Not so much as a ski resort as an inn for skiers.” 

“But neither of us ski.” He pauses, looking around the property. “And there’s no snow.” Maverick says nothing, pulling off his seatbelt and slipping out of the car. He sighs, having no choice but to do the same, walking around the truck to follow his godfather up towards the house. 

There’s a girl leaving the front door, a box in her hands. She notices them and sets the box down on a bench on the wrap-around porch, offering a bright smile. “Well, I was just about starting to think that the legendary Pete Mitchell my Dad talks so much about wasn’t real.”

Maverick laughs, pulling the girl into a hug. “Haven’t seen you since you were young kid. How have you been?” 

You pull away, still smiling. “Good. Been quiet the past couple of years. Dad’s happy to have you here.” 

Maverick steps back, putting his hands on Bradley’s shoulders. “This is my godson, Bradley Bradshaw.” 

You offer him a smile, reaching out to shake his hand as you introduce yourself. He returns the gesture, grasp firm as he takes you in. “Why don’t you guys come on inside? Dad’s just in the lobby here.” You say, picking the box back up. You shoulder the door open and he reaches out, holding it open for you as you pass over the threshold. You give him a small smile. “Thanks.” He follows you inside, door shutting behind him as he stops, seeing the old man leaned over the front desk. 

There’s no way-

“Well well well Pete Mitchell. I was starting to think you ran off on me.” The man smiles, moving out from behind the counter. 

Mav lets out a light laugh, moving to hug the man. “And leave my wingman? No way.” The two embrace for a moment and then pull away, still holding on to each other. “Quiet business you’ve got here.”

He sighs. “I know, been a quiet couple of seasons. Not much snow-” 

“Because of global warming.” You say and Bradley turns, watching you disappear back out the front door, box in hands. The man huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he and Maverick watch you leave once more. “What am I going to do with her?” 

It’s then that Maverick catches sight of him, remembering his presence, and waves him over. “Brad, this is-”

“Iceman.” He breathes out, the man lining up to the pictures in every base, everywhere he’s ever been stationed. 

Maybe just with more grey hair.

Before a forced retirement after an accident that left him unable to fly, Iceman had been the stuff legends are made of. The type of pilot you only hear about in a blue moon. The type of pilot like Mav. 

He offers a sad smile. “I haven’t been Iceman in a long time kid. Just Tom Kazansky these days.” 

“Sorry-” 

Tom waves a hand. “No matter. It’s good to see you Baby Goose.” He straightens at the nickname, only ever having heard Mav use it. “Haven’t seen you since Nick’s-” He swallows, clearing his throat. “Haven’t seen you since you were a kid.” He smiles sadly at him. “God, you look just like him.” He whispers. He clears his throat once more. “Well, why don’t we get you both settled in? Bet it was a long trip. Pete’s crazy ass over here saying you’ll drive all the way out.” 

-

“Dad’s happy to have you and your Dad here.” 

He looks up, seeing you offering him a steaming mug as he sits on one of the chairs. He can hear his godfather’s laughter echo from the other room. “Not my Dad.” He says, accepting the mug from you. You shrug, setting your own mug down on the coffee table as you sit next to his feet placed up on the ottoman. 

“I know, but from the way Dad tells it, it’s close enough.” He can’t bring himself to say anything, heart aching at the thought of all the years he lost out on over misplaced anger. “Anyways, I’m happy to have you both here as well. It’s been lonely up here, especially with the quiet seasons.” 

“Take it you guys don’t see much business.” 

“We used to, but with no snow, it means no travelers, which means no money. Dad started this place up on his retirement and pension from the Navy but he’s been thinking of shutting the doors.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?” 

You sigh, nodding your head as you tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I think the only reason he keeps this place open is for me. It’s all I've ever known. This place is much as it is his as it is mine. I mean, after the accident, after Mom left, this was something that was ours, you know? Maybe it’s stupid to not want to let that go.” 

He thinks about the planes he’d been fixing up with Mav in the days after their mission, how he always wanted help Mav out with his motorcycle growing up. How he just wanted to share in something with his godfather. “Not stupid at all.” He whispers. 

You take a deep breath and look back up to him. “Sorry, this is probably too deep for a stranger. Just wanted to say that we’re both glad to have you out here.” 

He takes a sip of his drink, noting the sweet hot chocolate in the cup. “We’re happy to be here.” He says softly. 

You look down to his lap, where his book is sitting. “Whatcha reading?” 

He shifts, showing you the cover. “A Christmas Carol.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a person who reads the classics.” 

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not, but my friend Bob sent it with me when we left. Said I should read it since the holidays were coming up.”

Bob had also said it would help keep his mind off the ejections and crash-landings that had plagued him since he’d returned to the aircraft carrier very much alive, but he didn’t need to bother you with that.

“Well, it’s a good story. One of my favorites. Anyways, I’ll stop bothering you and let you get back to your reading. Just wanted to give that to you.” You say, nodding your head to the cup he’s holding as you pat his leg. You go to stand and he finds himself shifting, moving his legs off the ottoman. 

“Wait, you don’t have to- We could- We could read it together, if you wanted.” You pause, looking at him. He scoots over, patting the spot next to him. “Here, there’s plenty of room next to me.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to intrude on your time-” He shakes his head. 

“Please.” You nod, slotting yourself down next to him. It’s a tight fit, but not an uncomfortable one as he shifts, setting his cup down on the table next to him and allowing his arm to wrap around your shoulder. He passes the book to you. “Here, you read it to me. I bet you do good voices.” 

-

He sighs once more, clicking the phone off. So much for staying in touch with his team. 

“Something wrong?” Tom calls out from his walk around the property with Mav. He waves him off. 

“No, just didn’t realize we wouldn’t have any service this far out.” 

“Sorry Brad, the only way to communicate with anyone is by carrier pigeon.” Tom calls back. 

“Besides, you don’t need to be texting or Facechatting anyone while you’re here. You’re supposed to be taking a break, remember?” 

He almost sighs at his godfather’s lack of awareness with technology. They let him fly the multi-million dollar planes but he can’t figure out his way around an iPhone. “FaceTime, Uncle Mav. It’s FaceTime.” 

His godfather waves him off, turning back around to take another lap with his friend as they continue to talk. He sighs, turning to go back inside. You’re leaned up against the front desk, sorting through some papers. 

“Can I have a carrier pigeon?” 

You look up, a smile forming on your face. “Come again?”

“Carrier pigeon. Your Dad told me it’s the only way to reach civilization. Although I suppose I could write a letter like in the olden days. Can I have some pen and paper in that case?” 

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “He used that joke on you? No, reception out here is shit but you’re more than welcome to use the landline.” You say, using the pen you're holding to point to the phone hanging on the wall behind you. It’s blue, just like the walls in the lobby. “About the only phone that picks up service out here.” 

He nods, sticking his hands in his pockets as he watches you. “No worries, I can do it later. Just wanted to call my friend Nat. Let her know how the trip was going. What’re you up to?” 

You collect the papers, moving them from his sight. “Nothing, just some finance stuff.” 

He nods, getting a sinking feeling finance stuff couldn’t be good. “Well, uh, you wanna show me around? Didn’t get the full tour last night.” 

You nod, extending an arm. “Come Bradshaw, welcome to my humble abode.” 

-

there’s always tomorrow, for dreams to come true, believe in your dreams come what may 

Your voice is soft as you sleepily sing along to the movie playing. He smiles softly at you as the screen flickers, the characters singing. After the tour around the house and property, you’d asked him if he wanted to watch a Christmas movie with you, the holiday fast approaching. He hadn’t really wanted to, but you’d been so excited to start watching the films from your childhood that he’d said yes before he even realized what he was doing. 

He can’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the holidays this much, the last time he’d really felt the cheer Christmas was supposed to be all about. It had to have been before Mom passed. 

You shift, yawning as you move to tuck your feet up on the couch. He reaches out for you, tugging you into his side. “So you can have a pillow if you fall asleep.” He whispers. He can’t tell for sure in the dark room, Rudolph being the only source of light, but he’s pretty sure you blush at the movement. He does too, but he hopes you don’t notice either. 

The movie continues as his arm subconsciously reaches down, resting on your shoulder as his thumb rubs soft circles into your skin. You hum at the movement as you snuggle closer into his side. His heart flutters at the movement and he struggles to pull his eyes from where they’re admiring you, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, and back to the movie on the screen. 

He’s near sleep when you speak again. “Your stomach is grumbling.” You comment. He has to blink a few times to bring himself back into the present, eyes adjusting to the light as the roar of the abominable snow monster echoes through the room. 

“What?” 

You lean up, hand pressing into his chest. “Your stomach is grumbling. It’s like, speaking its own language its so loud. It woke me up.” You move off of him and he feels cold at the loss of your touch. 

“I’m sorry?” You shrug, rubbing your eyes as the blanket falls around your waist. 

“It’s okay. I’m kind of hungry too. How do you feel about Christmas cookies? Unless Dad ate the entire tray I made today, we should have some in the kitchen.” 

“Don’t think it’s your Dad you have to worry about, it’s Mav.” 

Your raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh?” 

“Mav could eat anyone out of house and home and still be hungry.” You smile, shaking your head as the movie comes to an end. You watch the closing scene as you stretch. He’s too busy watching you to watch the toys jump from Santa’s sleigh, admiring the light reflecting off your face as your hair falls over your shoulder. 

“Mmm, okay, let’s go.” You say, but not before you fold the blanket and return it to it’s home in the basket next to the couch. 

“Would’ve just thrown it over the back of the couch.” He comments, sticking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants that he’d changed into before the two of you had started watching Rudolph. 

You shrug, walking towards the kitchen as he follows you. “Yeah, but with business being so low, I’m the one cleaning this place, so I’d like to keep it as tidy as possible.” 

He nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You wave a hand. “No worries, it’s really not-” You pause as you flick on the light-switch, flickering to life overhead. He pauses behind you, looking over your shoulder to where you’re looking at the now-empty glass tray. “They did eat all my cookies!”

He chuckles. “Guess the elderly folk couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.” You snort, shaking your head. 

“Well, I could make more? It’s easy, really, and I think I still have some crushed up graham cracker leftover from earlier.” 

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t be opposed. What are they anyways?” He asks, leaning up against the kitchen counter as you begin to move around the small space. 

You pull the coconut out from the cabinets. “They’re really cookie bars, but they were a recipe from Dad’s Mom before she passed, so he always likes it when I make them. Makes him nostalgic. Can you go in the pantry and grab me the sweetened condensed milk?” He nods, pushing himself off the counter to grab said item. “And the chocolate chips?” You call and he looks up, grabbing the bag and bringing the items back into the kitchen. 

You make quick work of making the cookies as he stands back to watch you move through the kitchen. Finally, when the tray is slid into the oven, it’s then that you finally pause, washing your hands. He walks closer to you as you dry your hands on a towel. He offers a hand and you glance at it, looking back up to him. 

“Dance with me.” He whispers. 

You look at him, slowly setting the towel on the counter. “But there’s no music.” You whisper back, even as the smile on your face grows. 

“Don’t need it.” 

You take his hand, allowing him to lead the way. The steps are practiced, comfortable, as the two of you move through the kitchen, the light coming from the dim kitchen light and the blue of the moon outside. 

“You’re pretty good at this.” 

He shrugs. “My Mom taught me before she passed.” 

You smile. “My Dad actually used to teach me growing up too. At the end of the ski seasons, when the place was empty but there was still snow out. He used to teach me in the big ballroom out there that we use as the dining space. Probably some of my favorite memories.” It falls silent in the kitchen as the two of you settle into a comfortable swaying. 

Too soon, the timer rings and he finds you pulling away as you move to pull the tray out of the oven. “They’ll have to cool for a moment and then we can put them on to a tray and go sit out in the ballroom, how about that?” He nods as you pull two cups down from one of the cabinets. 

“What’re you doing?”

You toss him a smile over your shoulder as you pull the milk from the fridge. “Well, you can’t have cookies without a glass of milk, can you?” You pause. “Wait, you’re not allergic or anything? Probably should have asked...”

He shakes his head, smiling at the sheepish look on your face. “No, no allergies. The only food allergy I’ve ever had is when I tried to convince my Mom carrots made me deathly ill when I was six.” 

You raise an eyebrow, unscrewing the top to the milk and pouring it out into the cups. “Oh? Did she buy it?” 

He laughs, shaking his head. “Not a chance. She was too smart for that, although Uncle Mav got a kick out of it.” 

You laugh alongside him as you move back to the cookies, moving the tray onto a cooling rack. “Here, will you take the glasses? We can just take the tray and eat from there.” He nods, grabbing the cups from your outstretched hands as you pick up the pan, careful not to touch the hot glass. 

The two of you walk towards the ballroom when you hear the voices of your Dad’s. Turning the corner, he spots Uncle Mav sitting by the fire, head close to Tom’s as they laugh softly together. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Uncle Mav look so happy. 

You nudge him, nodding towards the side door. “C’mon, let's not bother them. Why don’t we go sit outside?” He nods, grabbing a blanket in the entry way as the two of you quietly slip outside the door, trying not to disturb the men. You set the tray down between the two of you as he sets the glasses on the ground, offering the blanket to you. You look up at him as you sit down on the bench. “You sure?” 

He nods, wrapping it around your shoulders. You smile gratefully at him as he takes the knife, cutting a small piece from the tray. “So talk to me more about your childhood. Sounds like you had a good time growing up.” 

You nod. “Yeah, I was young when the accident happened. Five or six, maybe? Can’t remember. Dad fell into a depression after he was forced to retire and Mom couldn’t take it, leaving maybe a year later, if that. He took his money from the retirement and pension the Navy gave him and moved us up here, opened this place up. I remember growing up, fixing this place up, and turning it into what it is now. I honestly couldn’t imagine growing up any differently.”

He shifts on the bench. “You know, I’m surprised your Dad ended up all the way out here. People in the Navy still talk about him.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?” 

He hums in confirmation, cutting himself another piece from the tray. “Yeah, your Dad is what we consider legendary.” 

You cock your head. “Interesting.” He glances up at you. 

“Why?” 

You sigh, settling back against the bench. “A few years ago now, my Dad reached out to the Navy. Wanted to get back in, wanted to do administration work. If you ask me, I think once the thrill of starting the business wore off, he needed something else to keep him preoccupied. To keep him from falling back into his depression, and, uh, the Navy told him they had moved on without him. Didn't need him anymore. Those are my words, but the letter wasn’t much kinder. Then, not too long after, he got sick, and that was the end of that.” 

A pit of dread settles in his stomach as he turns to glance back at the men he knows are just inside. “Got sick?” He asks quietly. 

Were they here because Tom was dying?

He shakes the thought from his head, turning his attention back to you. 

No, no Uncle Mav wouldn’t do that to him. Not after he watched his Mom die. 

“Throat cancer. It... It wasn’t good.” You say softly, turning to look at him. “He’s in remission now, and fingers crossed it stays that way, but it did a real number on my Dad. Physically and mentally. The bills drained the savings and he became depressed again, really badly. Kept saying he lost his purpose in life and couldn’t go on.” 

He watches you talk, an urge to help the old man inside arising within him. Tom had no idea of the power he still held over the Navy, of the legacy he’d left behind. “Wow, that sounds... really tough. I’m sorry.” 

“My Dad was invincible growing up, nothing could hurt him. But to see the illness take so much of him away, to make him so lost, it was... I don’t ever want to live with that again.” 

He swallows, remembering watching Mav’s plane go down, no sight of a chute. A man he thought would live forever... gone. 

He remembers watching him Mom wither away in front of him, nothing left than a shell of the bright women she used to be. 

“I... can’t even imagine what that was like.” He thinks that maybe he could, but any other words are failing him as he listens to you. 

You sigh, shrugging. “He’s slowly gotten better but the business has taken a hit and it’s been hard on his mental health and our finances. Pretty certain that this will be our last season open.” 

He falls back on to the behind, crossing his arms. “Damn, really? I’m- wow.”

You nod, confirming. “He’s talking about moving to Canada now. Anyways, I’m sorry, this is probably a lot and you didn’t really ask-”

“No, not at all. Is there any way me or Uncle Mav can help?” 

You sigh. “Unless you can make it snow and get us a house full of guests, no. Although you and Pete being here is really good for him. You guys coming out here for the holidays is more than enough. Less lonely, for the both of us.” 

He sighs. “Alright, well if anything changes, let me know, okay? We’ll help in any way we can.”

You smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

He squeezes your hand back, returning the smile. 

He knows you said there was nothing he could do but... Mav would know. Mav would know how to help. 

They have to.

-

You shiver, pulling your jacket around you tighter as your feet crunch over another pile of leaves. Your Dad lets out a light laugh. “Cold there, kid?” 

You nod. “’S chilly today. Chillier then it has been. Maybe we’ll finally get snow.” 

Your Dad snorts. “That’s wishful thinking.” 

You nudge him. “Hey, maybe it’ll be a Christmas miracle.”

He shakes his head, a sign he’s going to ignore what you’ve just said. “Well, maybe we need to go inside and have Brad warm you up.” 

Your cheeks warm at the suggestion. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he feigns an innocent look. “Nothing at all, just that you’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.” 

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else to hang out with up here!” You exclaim. He scoffs. 

“I’m not fun to be around anymore?” He asks, clutching a hand over his heart. You roll your eyes, moving to wrap your arm around your Dad’s, linking them together. 

“Never, you know I always want to hang out with you.” He hums, knocking his shoulder against yours. 

“If you’re tired of your old man, you can just say so.” 

You return his gesture, knocking his shoulder with your own. “Shut up.” 

He laughs softly as a silence falls between the two of you. You continue your walk when another breeze goes through, causing him to shiver this time. “Cold, Dad?” He shakes his head, a smile on his face as the two of you turn back to the house. “You know, maybe we should go inside and get Pete to warm you up.” You say, a teasing lilt to your voice. 

“What are you talking about?” 

You offer him a grin. “You know Daddy, if you like him...” 

“He’s just an old friend!” Your Dad protests, even thought the blush coloring his cheeks say differently. 

“Sure, you’re both old but doesn’t he just make you feel youthful, like love’s supposed to?” You tease to which he rolls his eyes. You squeeze his forearm, causing him to look down at you. “You haven’t dated anyone since Mom.” You say softly, looking at him honestly.

He sighs. “Because I had you sweetheart-”

“And I was your priority. And I love you so very much for that Dad. But I’m all grown up now. And I want you to have someone to grow old with. Or- grow older with. What is Pete, like 60?” 

“I’m 62.” He responds indignantly. You roll your eyes. 

“Whatever, you’re missing my point.”

“Wha- How do you even know I like men?”

You roll your eyes once more. “You’re not subtle. You make eyes at him.”

“I do not!” He protests. 

“Yes, you do. And even if you didn’t, you only talk about your Navy days if you’re talking about Pete, and you talk like he hung the moon and the stars for you. I’m not stupid Dad, I am your daughter after all.”  

He sighs as the two of you near the house. “Even if there was something—and I’m not saying there is—Pete and I- we had our chance and he wouldn’t- it’s complicated, sweetheart. He’s still married to the Navy and with the cancer, it wouldn’t be easy.” He whispers. 

“I just want you to be happy, Dad.” You say as the two of you walk up the front steps to the house. 

“I know, kid.” He says as you reach out to push the front door open, unlinking your arm from his. The two of you pause, watching Pete and Bradley fight over the phone, each speaking over the other. 

Bradley sees you first, kicking Pete’s shin and wrestling the phone away from his godfather as Pete winces. “We’ll call you back.” Bradley says abruptly, clearly cutting off whoever’s on the other end, hanging up the phone as the two of them turn to you and your Dad, guilty smiles on their faces. 

“Uh oh, that smile usually means you’ve gotten yourself in trouble with another admiral.” Your Dad says, walking closer to Pete. “Dare I ask what you’ve done now Pete?”

“Nothing!” He defends, voice two octaves too high and he clears his throat, a blush crawling up his neck. Bradley nudges him as both you and your Dad raise  an eyebrow. “Really, it’s nothing Tom, just stuff with my pilots back home.” Your Dad nods, clearly not believing him. “Here, come to the kitchen, I was just going to change the light in there so it doesn’t flicker as much.” Pete says, turning on his heel and beginning the walk down the hallway.

Your Dad sighs, still following the man to the kitchen even as he protests. “You don’t have to do that Pete-”

“No, it’s the least I can do to help you out, since you refuse to let me pay you for letting me and Brad stay here-”

“I can’t charge family-” The conversation disappears down the hallway, falling silent as the kitchen door shuts behind them. Bradley watches them go while you remain standing by the front door, still eyeing him warily. 

“So we agree those two are...” He trails off as he looks back to you. “What?”

“What were you guys doing?” You ask. 

He offers you sheepish look, rocking back and forth back on his heels. “Nothing.” 

“So you and your uncle just fight over a landline phone like that all the time?” He sighs, throwing a glance back toward the kitchen. 

“Well, I- I can’t tell you. It’s nothing.” 

You walk towards him a few paces. “So it’s nothing, but you can’t tell me?” He bites his lip, saying nothing more. You sigh, knowing you won’t get any more out of him. “Alright, well I’m going to go change.” You say, turning on your heel and towards the staircase. You hear him sigh again, catching the way he was leaned up against the wall, head resting next to the landline. 

Yeah, they were definitely up to something.

-

The sound of the piano keys floats through the hall as you pad down the stairs. You bypass the kitchen, originally planning on going in there to get more water, but you head towards the noise instead. 

You half expect to find Pete, because according to your Dad, he could do just about anything, including walk on water. 

Instead, you find Bradley, pajama-clad, playing a few keys. Somehow, he manages to make red-and-black checkered pants and a grey sweatshirt look good. 

You quietly approach the bench, creaky floor announcing your presence. He half-turns, eyes softening at the sight of you. 

“Hey.” He whispers. “Nice slippers.”

You look down, seeing the fuzzy reindeer slippers you had grabbed before leaving your room. “Shut up.” You say, a whiny hint to your voice. “The floor gets cold in the winter. And Dad gave them to me. As a Christmas present. We have matching ones.” 

He shakes his head, laughing silently to himself. “What’re you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You answer, sliding down on the bench. He scoots over, letting you join him, knees knocking together as you do. 

“Me neither.” He whispers. “It’s cold here. Freezing my ass off.” 

You snort. “There’s not even any snow on the ground, Bradshaw.” 

He knocks your shoulder as you laugh quietly. “Shut up, ‘m from San Diego.” 

You smile, scooting ever so closer to him. “Didn’t know you played piano.” 

He smiles bashfully, ducking his head. “Yeah, uh, learned when I was a kid. Mom got me lessons. Makes me feel close to my Dad.” 

You hum. “I’d love to learn to play but this old thing has always been just for decoration. Me and Dad don’t play. Uncle Sli probably has videos of me banging on the keys as a kid.” 

Bradley raises an eyebrow. “Slider? Like Ron “Slider” Kerner?”

You nod your head. “He’s my godfather. Why?” 

Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “I knew Slider growing up. He was pretty close with Mav. They still are, I think. Slider was there when my Dad died.” 

You tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear. “He was the only one that came ‘round after Dad had his accident and we moved up here.” You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Frankly, I don’t think Dad told anybody else where he was for a few years and then just figured no one wanted to hear from him. But he’s a good man and I... I don’t see as much of him as I would like. Him and Dad had a fight, something real bad, quite a few years ago now. He still sends me Christmas cards but we haven't seen him since. Doesn't call much either.” 

“What’d they fight about?” 

You shrug. “I guess Uncle Sli found out that Dad called in a few favors leftover from his Navy days. Helped someone pull... something. Had to do with the Navy, which I’ll admit I don’t know too much about, mostly cause Dad doesn’t even talk about his Navy days.” 

Recognition flickers across Bradley’s face as you talk, followed by a look of disappointment. He shakes his head before you can say anything, the look passing as quickly as it came. “Well, do you want me to teach you how to play?”

You shrug. “I’d probably be pretty bad at it.” 

“Can’t be too terrible. Maybe all that banging as a kid was just hidden potential.” You snicker, ducking your head. Your eyes flicker up to his, realizing how close the two of you have gotten over the course of the conversation. His hand gently creeps on to your thigh, testing the waters. Your foreheads brush as his eyes flicker over your shoulder. “We have an audience.” He whispers. You sigh, tossing a glance over your shoulder. 

Sure enough, there are your Dad’s, giving the two of you all-knowing grins. You groan, leaning your head to rest on Bradley’s shoulder. “Why are they so nosy?”

He snorts, shrugging. “Not a clue.”  

“Oh, don't stop on account of us.” Pete calls out, smirking. You shake your head, standing up from the piano bench. 

“Goodnight Bradley.” You say, cheeks warm under the watchful gaze of the men behind you. He smiles at you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Dad, Pete.” You say as you pass them. 

“Night kid.” Your Dad calls as Pete snickers. 

They were going to be the death of you.

-

“Why’d you fight with Uncle Slider?” 

Your Dad glances up from the chess game he’s playing outside with Pete as you stroll towards the pair. Your Dad exchanges an uneasy glance with Pete. “Kid-”

“No, I wanna know why I don’t get to see my godfather anymore.” 

Your Dad sighs, rubbing his temple, but Pete beats him to the punch. “I pulled Bradley’s papers to the Naval Academy.” He hesitates, eyes flickering to your father. “Your Dad... he helped me.” 

You blink once, and then twice. “Why would you do that?”

“That was Sli’s question.” Your Dad says, looking to Pete. “Always said we should’ve let Brad figure it out on his own. Maybe we should have. Maybe he was right.”

Your eyes flicker between the two men, dizzy with the force it takes to follow them as they uncover a decades-long buried secret. “What’re you talking about?” 

Your Dad sighs. “Nick, Goose, Bradley’s Dad, was killed in an accident while we were at Top Gun. It was our jetwash, Sli and I, that they got caught in. Bradley was only four.”

You shake your head. “I’m still not following.” 

Pete picks up where your Dad leaves off. “Carole, Bradley’s mother, when she died of cancer, asked me to ensure Bradley didn’t make it into the Navy. She didn’t want the same thing to happen to him. I agreed and pulled his application to the Naval Academy. It set him back four years.” 

Everything feels off-kilter, realizing you haven’t seen your godfather in years because of some bullshit Navy business?

Your godfather didn’t come around anymore, didn’t call really ever, because of some decades-long disagreement over someone else’s kid? 

“Sli was angry with me for not letting Brad make his own choices. Asked me if I would’ve done the same thing if you came to me wanting to join the Navy.” 

Your eyes flicker to your Dad. “And would you have?”

Your Dad hesitates, and then sighs, shoulders drooping. “I... Probably. If not because of what happened to Goose, because of what happened to me.” 

Your father, an ever firm man, says the words in a voice so soft and quiet, you almost feel your confusion and frustration dissipate. 

Almost. 

You splutter, suddenly angry over a hypothetical situation that had never occurred. You had no interest in joining the Navy, never had and never would, and you both knew it. 

You stare at the two for a moment, searching for the words, before you decide you don’t have them and turn on your heel, stalking back up to the house. You push the front door open, finding Bradley excitedly chatting into the phone. “No, no, Mav’s gonna love it.” There’s a pause. “Yeah no, Mav heard back from Slider this morning. He’s coming too.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the mention of Slider. Of the godfather you hadn’t seen since you were sixteen. 

What the fuck were they up to?

“No, it’s gonna be awesome. I’m so excited to have you all up here.” He pauses again, listening to the other person on the phone. “Yeah? Well, tell Bagman he better believe it. It’s the Iceman.” 

Suddenly, you recall how Bradley had told you that people still regarded your Dad as a legend. 

Suddenly, you recalled the conversation from a few days ago, Pete pretending they weren’t up to anything. 

God, that- that had to be one of Bradley’s teammates on the phone. 

Bradley turns his head, catching sight of you. “I gotta go. We’ll talk later. Bye.” He says hurriedly, hanging the phone up on the wall. He offers you a sheepish look, putting his hands in his pockets. 

You wave a hand, not moving from your spot. “Oh, well you don’t have to hang up the phone just cause I’m here.”

He glances back at the phone on the wall. “No, just my friend Nat from home.” 

You hum, crossing his arms. “Mmm, and just what did this Nat have to say?” 

His eyes narrow at you. “Did I do something?”

You shrug. “Depends. What are you and your godfather up to?” 

“N- Nothing. Nothing.” He stutters out, darting out of the room before the words are even fully out of his mouth. 

You sigh, taking a step farther into the lobby. 

What the hell were they doing? Who was coming out here? If this Nat person, his teammate, was involved, you could certainly suspect others in the Navy knew about their plan. 

The Iceman? Were they setting your Dad up to be some kind of show pony for failed Navy pilots or something? 

That thought is enough to make you dart down the hall, barely making it in time to empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. 

Pete and Bradley were bringing out all these people from the Navy, Slider included, all just to mock your Dad. Mock him for having to close what had been his life-long passion after flying had been taken from him. Mock him for what his life had become. 

God, you don’t think you’ve ever met people more cruel. 

-

It’s another week as Christmas approaches and you’ve gone out of your way to avoid both Bradley and Pete. You’re fuming at what they’re up to and you have half a mind to tell your Dad. 

And yet, every time you go to tell him, you walk into a room where they’re together. Seeing them together, seeing your Dad so content and happy, it makes the words get caught in your throat. 

It’s only on Christmas Eve, when the four of you are supposed to be getting ready to have a nice Christmas Eve dinner, that you make the resolve to tell him. 

It’s bad timing, probably, but both Pete and Bradley had grown antsy last night, disappearing to their rooms early, and you’ll be damned if you sit by while they humiliate your father. 

You stride across the house, black boots clicking against the floor as you leave the kitchen. You’d just pulled the turkey from the oven, having gotten changed into the nice dress that always sat at the back of your closet for occasions like this one. 

It was velvety, soft to the touch, red. It paired well with black tights and the boots shoved at the top of your closet. It was a Christmas-only dress and Pete had convinced both you and your Dad to dress up. 

You had half a mind to find Pete and bitch him out yourself, but you knew your Dad would do enough of that once he found out about what his “friend” had been up to. Once he found out about what he had done. 

You’re envisioning the ensuing argument that ended the same way it had with Slider when you slow, spotting half a dozen people standing in your lobby. 

“Can I help you?” You call. They turn, all dressed in dress blues. 

You only recognize them as such because your Dad’s are tucked away in the back of his closet. Every once in a while, he’ll look at them longingly and then sigh, shutting his closet door. 

The tall blonde responds first, smirking as he does. “Well, pretty lady, you can help me any time.” He’s answered with a smack upside his head from the lanky man with glasses as the female nudges him. 

“We’re looking for Bradley Bradshaw.” The female responds. 

You raise an eyebrow, realizing this must be who Pete and Bradley have been in cahoots with. You don’t get a chance to answer though as they spot him over your shoulder. 

“Rooster!” The female exclaims and Bradley side-steps you to offer the girl a tight hug. Your brain is still processing the Rooster nickname when the blond sees someone he recognizes behind you. 

“Hey Pops.” The blond says and you turn to see Pete. 

“Hey kids, good to see you all.” Pete clasping your shoulder gently. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. I need your help with something.” 

“Why the hell would I help you?” The words are hot on your tongue, tumbling out before you can stop them. 

Pete flinches, hand leaving your shoulder. “What-”

“Is that Pete Mitchell I hear? Short as ever I see.” 

You go cold as the entire group turns, recognizing the voice of the man who’d given you piggy back rides and helped measure your height every time he visited appeared in your line of vision. 

“Ron Kerner, still just as annoying as ever, I see.” 

The two share a good-natured laugh, followed by a hug. “Good to see you alive and well Mitchell. Figured you’d end up at Tom’s.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pete squawks, punching Slider’s shoulder. He smirks, taking a step away from Pete.

“Oh, you know exactly what-” He falters, eyes locking on to you. He clears his throat, pulling himself up to his full height. “Well, how about that? My favorite goddaughter all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to help us out.” 

Had you not suddenly been so angry again, you probably would’ve reminded him you were his only goddaughter. 

So instead you say:

“Go fuck yourself.” 

The words are once again pouring out of you before you can stop them, and you turn, headed straight for your Dad’s room. Someone’s reaching out for your arm and you recognize the callused hands as Bradley’s as he pulls you back to the group. 

“Please don’t do that, you don’t know how hard it was to arrange for everyone to be here.” 

You scoff, pulling your arm from his grip. “Good, I hope it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done, setting up an old man who’s already down and out about his life to be humiliated.” 

“What’re you talking-”

“And you,” eyes flying to Pete and Slider. “-you are supposed to be his friends.” 

Slider is staring at you with a dumbfounded look, but Pete walks forward carefully, testing the waters. “What exactly do you think we’re doing here?” 

You wave a hand, gesturing to the group of Navy folk that have gathered around you. “You brought all these Navy folk out here to make a fool of him for what’s happened to him, as if he hasn’t already been through enough.”

The front door opens again, revealing a couple of men you might be able to place from old Navy photos that are tucked away in a shoebox in the basement. 

“Well, Pete Mitchell, never thought we’d see you again.” 

One of them with similiar stature to that of Slider’s, grins at the sight of you. “And if it isn’t ol’ Iceman’s daughter.” 

The blond has a predatory smile on his face as he looks at you. “Well, even better, Iceman’s daughter.” 

Nat, you’re pretty sure, smacks him upside the head, following with a hissed “Shut up Bagman.” 

You shoot Pete a withering look as he cringes. “My point. And I’m not letting you do this to him, I’m going to tell him, I’m-” 

Pete cuts you off, taking ahold of your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. “They’re here because I asked them to be. I wanted Tom to be reminded that there’s people out there who still care for Tom “Iceman” Kazansky. That his life didn’t end the day he crashed that plane.” 

You go cold at the words, heart hammering your chest. “What?” 

He chuckles. “Brad’s idea, actually. Wanted to help the two of you out. Figured we could get some business in here and remind your Dad just how many people care about his sorry ass. So I really hope you won’t ruin the surprise.” 

You sigh, deflating. “I-”

Pete waves his hand, dismissing the fact that you don’t have words to explain your misunderstanding. “This is where you come in.”

-

You knock on the door, pausing to hear your Dad’s rough “Come in.” You gently push the door open, slipping inside. He glances up at you from where he’s sitting on his bed, a smile breaking out across his face. “Well don’t you look nice?” 

You smile, rocking back and forth on your heels. “Well, Pete did insist we dress up...” 

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Why did we let him convince us to do that? My damn house and he expects me to dress up?” 

“I take it you haven’t picked out what you’re wearing yet?” 

He sighs. “No, I’ve decided I’m just gonna go in what I’m already wearing.” You glance at the grey sweatpants he’s wearing, a Vermont sweatshirt thrown on top. His reindeer slippers, matching with your own pair, adorn his feet. “It’s just the four of us.”

You frown, knowing he can’t, under any circumstances go downstairs wearing that. “Well... Oh, I know! How about you wear your dress blues?” You say, clasping your hands together. “Oh, would you please? Bradley and Pete are wearing theirs!” 

He scoffs, shaking his head and standing up from the bed. “Of course Pete is.” He grumbles, walking towards the bathroom. You follow him, appearing over his shoulder. 

“Please? For me?” You ask, pouting your lips and making your eyes wide. “I’ve never seen you wear them.” 

He eyes you for a minute before shaking his head. “That look doesn’t work on me anymore kid.” 

You sigh, shoulders deflating. “Fine.” You mumble. 

He sighs. “Besides, I’m not that man anymore. I’m not a hero.” 

You glance up at your father, taking a small step to stand next to him. You take his arm, squeezing it. “That’s not true.” 

“Kid-”

“No, it isn’t. Your life isn’t defined by that accident, Dad. It doesn’t negate all the amazing things you did before it happened. It doesn’t change the fact that you were a legend and everything Pete and Bradley and Uncle Sli have told me confirm that. And not only that, but you raised me by yourself-”

“Slider helped-”

“By. Your. Self.” You say, stressing each word, making direct eye contact with him through the mirror. “You beat cancer, Dad. If nothing else, you should be proud of that.” 

He sighs, turning to look at you. “I did good with you kid, didn’t I?” 

You smile softly, looking up at him. “You’re my hero, Dad. You may not think anyone else still sees you as one or doubt you’ve ever been one, but you always have been. You will always be my hero, Dad.” 

There’s a sparkle in his eyes, shimmering with unshed tears. “I love you, kid.” He pauses for a moment, reaching his hands to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you, before pulling you into a hug. “Guess maybe I should wear them huh?” His voice is thick with tears as you wrap your arms around him, squeezing him in return. “Alright, give me twenty minutes to get changed and then I’ll go down with you.” 

You pull away, beaming. “I’ll be just outside.” 

You slip out of the room, shutting the door behind you. Bradley’s at the bottom of the steps, waiting anxiously. He looks up, a silent question hanging in the air. You give a smile and two thumbs up, causing him to smile and dart towards the main room where you know Pete and the others are waiting. 

Your Dad’s good to his word, appearing from his door twenty minutes later, on the dot. You smile at him, adjusting one of his medals as he stands at a attention. “You’re the only person I’d do this for, you know?” He says as you pull away. 

You roll your eyes, taking his arm that’s held out for you and begin to move down the stairs. “Oh that’s not true, a little part of you is doing this for Pete.” 

“Am not!” 

You snort, reaching the bottom step. “Sure.” You turn, entering the main room, knowing what’s coming next. 

“Ten-hut!” Pete calls, the entire room standing to attention, saluting your father. Your father freezes next to you as you step back, letting him have his moment. The spouses of those military personnel who have joined you erupt into applause. Your Dad walks into the room, taking in Bradley and his teammates, friends of his from his Top Gun program, and others who’ve served under his instruction or alongside him. He finally turns back to Pete as the applause dies down. 

“At ease soldier.” He pauses, swallowing. “What’s all this then Pete?” He asks, a certain sense of awe present in his voice. 

Pete smiles, standing at attention, probably the best he ever has. “Just wanted to give a legendary general a legendary Christmas, sir.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Your Dad says, fondness coloring his tone. 

Pete beams up at him. “Only for my wingman.” 

“You can be my wingman anytime, Pete.” He whispers. 

“Bullshit, you can be mine.”

Your Dad pulls Pete into a tight hug as your eyes flicker over to Bradley. He gives you a soft smile and a short nod as your Dad lets Pete go. He turns to you, eyeing you as you walk forward. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” 

“Only just barely.” 

“And that’s why you did all of this?” He says, gesturing to his attire. You shrug. 

“Yeah, but I meant what I said, that you’re my hero.” You say, taking his arm. Pete chuckles, shaking his head. 

Your Dad’s voice is once again thick with emotion as he turns back to his wingman. “So truly Pete, what is all of this?” 

Pete sighs, taking your Dad’s other arm. “I wanted you to see how far your legacy has gone. That there are so many people, mostly pilots but not all, that have been impacted by you in some way. I wanted you to see how they still are impacted by you.” Pete adds at the end, nodding his head towards Bradley’s team. 

Your Dad eyes Pete for a minute and then blows out a breath. “Whatever in the world did I do to deserve you Pete Mitchell?”

-

You walk around the kitchen, drying the dishes with a towel when a figure appears in the doorway. You glance up, catching the tall frame of Bradley as he leans against the doorjamb. “Hey.”

“You disappeared.” He says, crossing his arms. You shrug, looking away from as you pick up another plate from the soapy water. 

“All the Navy folks and military personnel... not my scene. Figured I’d make good use of myself and tidy up the kitchen.” 

He hums, lifting himself off the doorway. “Not your scene, huh?”

“No, no it’s one thing to know your Dad’s a legend and another to be surrounded by legends, knowing you’re just a glorified innkeeper from Vermont- hey!” Bradley’s taken the bowl you’re holding and dishtowel from your hands, setting them on the counter. You pull yourself up, placing your hands on your hip. “What’d you have to go and do that for?” 

He sighs, taking your hands. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a lot more than glorified innkeeper from Vermont.” 

“Well-” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “You’re a legend in your own right. Don’t gotta be a top Navy pilot to prove it to me.”

You stare at him as you find yourself leaning into his touch, getting lost in his hazel eyes. “I-” 

“Let’s go for a walk.” 

“Okay.” You whisper, letting him take one of your hands, intertwining his fingers with your own. 

You follow him out of the kitchen, past the main room where Slider is regaling Bradley’s friends with a tale from his days as your Dad’s RI. The man who recognized you as Iceman’s daughter earlier (Hollywood as you’ve learned his name is) adds a few snippets here and there. Bradley’s commanding officer, Cyclone, hangs on to Slider’s every words. It’s not hard to feel the deep admiration everyone in the room has for your Dad. 

Bradley pauses, grabbing his coat from the rack. 

“Oh, but you have your dress blues on and I-”

“I know, this is for you.” He says, flipping the coat on and slipping it around your shoulders. “Don’t want you getting cold.” He says as you slip your arms into the coat. 

Bradley pushes the front door open, keeping his hand in yours as the two of you walk down the front steps. It’s quiet as the two of you walk around the property, the night air blowing right through you. “Thank you for doing this for my Dad.” You say quietly. “He- You don’t know how much I appreciate it. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you and Pete.” 

“You don’t have to repay us. Mav and I- we wanted to do it for him. An old Navy pal and all that.” 

“Well, it was still very nice of you.” You say, feet crunching over fallen leaves. “So when are you and Pete headed out of here? I can't imagine Cyclone’s wanting to sacrifice you and Pete for much longer.” 

“Well, about that-” He pauses as you tear your gaze from the ground to the sight in front of you. 

Your Dad grabs Pete by the edges of his dress blues, pulling him in close and kissing him. “Well, would you look at that?” You whisper. “They finally did something about it.” 

He huffs out a laugh as the two break apart. “Only took ‘em 30 years.” 

Pete claps his hands against your Dad’s chest, grinning and looking around as your Dad slips his hands into his pockets. Pete freezes, catching the sight of you and Bradley. 

“Oh, don’t stop on account of us.” Bradley calls as you giggle, leaning closer into Bradley. “C’mon.” He whispers. “Let’s let them have their moment.” You nod as you and Bradley turn, walking in the other direction. “Well, it looks like we might be sticking around for a while then huh?” 

You laugh, squeezing Bradley’s hand. “I don’t hate the sound of that.” 

“For the company, right?” 

You give a look, rolling your eyes. “Sure, just for the company.” You pause, feeling another breeze run through as you step closer to him. “Is Pete tying you down out here? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you went back without him.” 

He sighs. “Ah... no, I would rather be out here with him in all honesty. We didn’t talk for over a decade and I think it’s high time I start mending things with my godfather. You know, I think Tom got something right, when he decided to move out here.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, looking up at him. 

He shrugs one shoulder. “Before we came out here, Uncle Mav and I flew a mission we didn’t expect to come back from. We were lucky to walk away alive after all we had been through. And up here, where it’s quiet and slow, not so fast-paced and life or death, it’s maybe something us Navy pilots could use more of. Something I could use more of.” 

You smile. “Well, we got plenty of it up here.” 

“And, well, maybe I could just use a bit more of you.” 

You pause your walk, turning to him. You go to respond when the first flake settles in Bradley’s hair. You blink, wondering if you imagined it when the second settles on your nose. You scrunch your nose at the cold bite of the snow. Bradley smiles, looking at you in child-like wonder as he places his hands on your waist. 

“Well, what do you know, it’s snow.” He whispers as you look around at the snow falling around you. “Never seen it before.” 

“Really?” You ask, eyes snapping back to his. He nods, confirming it, eyes moving over your face. “Well, we should get your friends out here, they should see it too-”

He stops you from moving, grip tightening around your waist. “Honey just- give a moment, will ya? Been trying to do this for weeks.”

“Do what? Oh.” You whisper as Bradley pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm, soft, against yours as the snow falls around the two of you. 

“Yeah, could use a lot more of you.” He whispers, pulling away. You smile, finding your hands coming up to curl in his brown locks, admiring the way the curls framing his face mix with the falling of the snow. He snorts, bowing his head as you stand there. 

“What?” You murmur, still in awe of the man in front of you. He shakes his head, smiling at you as his forehead comes to rest against yours. 

“Just finally got a white Christmas.”

[deusexlachina]

Cheeseaged Exocolonist Year 19 2/2: Cement my power by letting people fuck

The finale to my perfect life, in which I reconcile Tangent and Dys, civilization and nature, human and Gardener. And rule over all of it with an iron fist.

CW for discussion of ecofascism. The villains are pretty foul.

My first act as governor is to immediately fire Seeq for attempting to bribe themselves. I install Marzipan in their place. She jokes that she intends to be leader of the opposition, which is funny, because this is a one-party state.

She is actually not joking; the ending confirms that she leads the opposition. I can only assume that her insincere levity is to make herself look nonthreatening; the last politician to oppose me, Lum, was last seen dragged off by soldiers. He is never mentioned again in this visual novel.

On my inauguration, the council advised that I spend individual time with everyone. Naturally, I do this in the form of barista therapy, because Tangent needs it and so does Dys. I warn Dys about the dangers of drugs, which he dismisses, presumably because I am telling him this while giving him drugs. Just because I'm a hypocrite doesn't mean it's not good advice.

In between these sessions, Instance comes in to vent about Tangent facing too much pressure, perhaps because she is queen-consort of the most powerful human on this planet. I tell her not to push Tangent too hard. This reduces Helped Tangent even more. This has no mechanical effect, because Tangent doesn't even have enough time to be a supervillain. But it's still sweet to see Instance realize the error of her ways and stop pushing Tangent too hard. Before she kills all non-terrestrial life on the planet.

Having narrowly achieved 90 Friendship with Vace, he texts me that he's going to go to therapy and apologize to Rex for bullying him for being a furry, redeeming himself a literal month before the end of the game.

At the end of the year, the Gardeners amass a vast army of animals and genetically-engineered monsters, with the intent of wiping out humanity if we cannot reach an accord. A responsible leader would prepare either for war or for negotiation. However, I am drunk on my own power, so I decide to spend the final month of the game reconciling my wife and brother-in-law.

They share that they've missed each other and felt terrible. Tangent recommends an antidepressant implant. Dys refuses, because I have taught him well and he says no to drugs. Then he sips his second cocktail of the night.

Having reconciled a decade-long grudge by plying each party with drugs until they are intoxicated enough to talk about their feelings, I am now in a good headspace to negotiate on behalf of humanity. The negotiations go smoothly until Nocticulent demands that we stop fucking.

I know my people will not stand for this. How will Tammy engage in her favourite pasttime of being pregnant? How will Rex be able to sire a wave of children like a furry Ghengis Khan? As leader, I step forward and renegotiate. This requires a social, mental and physical check, each of which I complete effortlessly because I have a fidget spinner and am stimming constantly, unnerving Nocticulent, who must be unsure if this is some kind of alien sorcery.

Nocticulent is impressed with me, because I have learned a lot "in ten years." I do not correct him that I am trapped in a timeloop, with the combined knowledge of countless lifetimes. He cites my learning as a sign of human potential and thus cause for peace. He does not say whether this decision was informed by my godlike powers or by my wife being a supervillain who can turn his own plagues against him to destroy him at the genetic level. You decide.

Grateful that I have ended the war, and, more importantly, preserved the right to fuck, my people rejoice, and bow to me as I rule this planet for my long life. I have it all: power, women, fulfillment.

And my mom is finally proud of me.

[whitehotharlots]

I fear we're all already dead

Just a few years ago, human decency--a concept that was admittedly always nebulous and contextual--became radically redefined. Whatever it used to be was inadequate. Now, decency is defined by one's willingness to perform obedience rituals regarding interpersonal comportment. You don't add the letter X to random words because you like it or because it changes anything; you do it because you just do it, because that's what it takes to be a decent fucking person.

Like most other social malignancies, this one started in academe and slowly slithered its way into white collar spaces before becoming mandated elsewhere. As recently as a decade ago, the more pointless and onerous of precepts such as this would either eventually die out or take a very long time before reaching the mainstream in some tempered form. The internet has hastened to speed of the spread. Today's bit of niche retardation is tomorrow's unbreakable mandate, and you will be punished if you refuse to obey. And why shouldn't you be? Are we as a society supposed to just sit there and tolerate behaviors that are as indecent as using naughty words or not posting a Black square on your instagram feed?

The left either celebrates developments such as this or, in their edgier and more honest moments, attempt to downplay them. Yes, a large majority of Hispanic people refuse the term Latinx and many of them find it actively offensive. But so what. It ain't hurting anybody. J-just go through the motions, keep your head down, obey in public and snicker about it when no one's watching.

But I fear we've lost something. Something essential. At heart, this is a social project meant to inculcate all Decent people into a form of didactic manicheanism. As nearly everyone acknowledges, none of this really changes anything. It's a social sorting mechanism, something that gives us all an excuse to automatically hate those who fall into the wrong side of performance.

The need to judge everyone, at all times and as harshly as possible, has stripped the concept of morality of all human traits. Assessments become more superficial at scale. Tasked with sorting every person, every thought, every action and utterance into Good and Bad piles means we don't really have the time or capacity to dig deep, no room to consider whether our judgments are reflective of anything more meaningful than our desire to judge.

The news was rough last week. It started with two separate incidents in which left-wing activists were murdered by strangers: one in his home, another on the street. Each did exactly what they were instructed to do in the wake of the Daniel Penny incident. They had been trained to ignore their basic survival instincts, that both flight and fight are problematic responses to encountering deranged and visibly angry men. What does it say about your privilege, if you confront or distance yourself from a man simply because he's verbally threatening to kill you? Are you some sort of Republican? Or are one of the Good ones, willing to reach out and attempt to provide deranged vagrants with the validation society has so cruelly denied them?

The right responded to these murders with unbridled glee. Everyone is sharing the same screen, after all... just looking it from one of two opposed angles. The men had supported what they thought were more humane policies in regards to crime and housing, and so that means their deaths were cause for celebration. Everyone is still either Good or Bad. They are labels, not humans.

And then, over the weekend, Hamas launched the largest offensive against Israel that's happened in my lifetime. Here we were treated to the ripest fruits of intersectionality: unironic racists allying with leftie keyboard revolutionaries to celebrate the victory of based hyper-religious trads over the heathen children of an EMD festival, august professors of Decolonization Studies attempting to reconcile their nagging support of violent revolution with videos of young women being raped and murdered. Context was secondary. The need to sort prevailed above all else. We need to determine who is Good here, and who is Bad, so that we can either cheer or cry. There is no human reality beyond my screen. There is no human reality beyond my judgment.

[luminalightsverse]

Okay what the hell happened while I was asleep?

I just read the message from the Ahsoka Mun giving me back my account because she doesn't want to play her anymore because we are "way to fucked up" for her and "no one understands her and her jokes or what she writes."

I mean yeah I had a few discussions with her too because of the way she treated Oona like she's completely incompetent and stupid. At least I felt that way.

But now it's all of us who are against her and I'm so confused because I had the feeling all of you welcomed her very well in our group just like you did with me and all those post I have seen didn't seemed to be a problem except that one post with Vader that went a bit to far in my opinion... But this was again more on her side. She was the one provoking him while he tried to reconcile and to get out of this situation.

I can understand that the way we are doing our rp with so many people, so many different timelines and somewhat of AU versions of the characters can be confusing and overwelming for some. Sometimes it's also confusing for me when for example I see Vader is suddenly no longer the big bad but good and helpful (no offense I find this idea really interesting), but that wasn't the biggest problem for Mun. Apparently we were all incredibly mean to her, have conspired against her and everyone only complains to her about how and what she writes.

She even delted her tumblr account with which she reached out to me to join us.... Or she bloged me idk.

I know it's none of my business what you wrote with her but I kinda feel responsible here because this was formerly my account and I brought her into the group giving the role and the account to her. I'm just really confused because this is coming so suddenly. So I guess something big happened last night while I was asleep or something idk.

Well whatever happened I really don't want to lose Ahsoka in our RP so I will continue the blog. I will figure something out how to manage all those accounts. I found about the tip that if I use multiple browsers like chrome, firefox etc. and the incognito mode of them I can be online with multiple characters at once so switching will be easier for me.

Still it would be awesome if we find someone else who writes as Ahsoka because I always feel so strange writing with myself and Ahsoka is one of Oona's best friends. They grew up together and see each other as sisters, they talk and do much stuff together so yeah....

I have no idea what else to say. Except I'm really sorry for the trouble and drama again. It feels like this week I'm just causing problems here even if I know nothing of this is really my fault let alone was in my power to control it at all...

I also kinda have this feeling, what ever happened, it was mostly her fault because of the way she always reacted when I told her to stop treating Oona like that. She was always immediately offended and went into attack mode telling me she would treat Oona like everyone else although it definitely wasn't the same.

Like yeah it's okay for me to treat Oona like a child and to try to keep her out of danger etc. as long as people don't forget she's still a jedi learner and not completely helpless even if she's clumsy. But not the way Ahsoka's Mun did. Oona isn't stupid. She's just naive and quickly confused who often underestimates herself. Same with Calico who also isn't stupid just way to impulsive and too convinced of her abilities. Both are children who are tyring to understand the world and what's happening around them on their own way while they're also trying to learn to control all those feelings they have.

(@jiabeewrites @kaijusplotch @ct3113official @striker-reckoning @emperor-sheev-palpatine @its-cody-not-kote @commanderwolffekoon @smolbendyhorn @aesira-of-orion @oldmanwithashield)

[crimechannels]

By • Olalekan Fagbade Ohaneze moves to end killinngs, insecurity in the South-East, appeals to Federal Government for support The Ohaneze Ndigbo Worldwide, has vowed to use non-kinetic approach to resolve security challenge in the South East region by appealing to people causing bloodshed to embrace peace. The President-General of Ohaneze Ndigbo Worldwide, Chief Emmanuel Iwuanyanwu, disclosed this during a World Conference it organised to announce the programme for Sept. 29 Igbo Day Celebration on Saturday in Enugu. Iwuanyanwu, who described the killings and bloodshed in the southeast as ‘strange’, said as a father, “I am tired of the death of my children and they have given me the responsibility to lead them”. According to him, each time I hear anybody killed, I feel sad because most of them are doing what they are doing because of hunger and unemployment. “I am not saying that hunger and unemployment will make one to be a criminal but not everyone has capacity to endure hunger”. The president-general maintained that security of every place in Nigeria was the collective responsibility of everyone pointing out that the Federal Government alone could not handle it. He said that during the Igbo Day Celebration he would announce the non-kinetic approach to end insecurity in the zone. “As a father, I will call and appeal to everybody to embrace peace and the non-kinetic approach requires everybody’s support both state and the federal government for us to have peace in southeast. “Whatever sacrifice to bring non-kinetic approach to bring an end to bloodshed and killing in Igboland, I will do it. “I am going to reach these people by any means to beg them or even given my life if they want it; I will surrender it to ensure peace reigns in the region,” the Igbo leader said. He said he would send a delegation to Finland and other places to beg those causing bloodshed in the southeast. “We are not going to arrest or kill them. I don’t want to kill any of our children; we are going to appeal to them to tell us what they want us to do. “Those who are hungry, we will find them something to do to keep them happier but letting of bloodshed and killing should stop. “It is not easy to stop a hungry person who has found means of getting livelihood through guns but as a father, I will go and cry to them and I am praying God that these my approach work out well,” he said. He added that he would also resolve all the political crisis among the political leaders in the zone by reconciling them to move the region forward. The Igbo Leader appealed to the federal government to assist the zone with the reconstruction of railways, creation of seaports and more international airports to ease their businesses. “The issue of sharing rice as palliative does not have any meaning to any Igbo man but what you can do for him is to give him opportunity to make a living for himself,” he said. (NAN) #OhanezemovestoendinsecurityinSouthEast

[dirtyskirtyyy]

Square Peg in a Charmed Circle Claire B High maintenance season 1, ep 16 “genghis” sept 1, 2016 Ben sinclair katja blichfeld Character: evan waxman

I feel like a huge secret in my family. Growing up, my parents were married, monogamous, and heterosexual– a classic nuclear family. The social norms of my family seemed to represent what was “normal” and “good” outside my home. It wasn’t until my father started making homophobic jokes and using slurs around me that I realized that there was an alternative to this that the people in my circle of “normal” vehemently rejected. Of course, raised by this, you would think I would have adopted some of the same beliefs and attitudes of my family– except I had a different normal. Reconciling my own sexuality with the connotations of that sexuality that I was learning at home while also learning how to solve for x and balance a chemical equation? Quite the busy schedule for a high-schooler. I alternated between rejecting any real sense of my identity because I was a “good kid raised right” and accepting myself for who I was along with the shame and guilt that came with. The connection between morality and these labels relating to sexuality is strong, with clear distinctions of what is socially acceptable and what is deviant. In 1984, Gayle Rubin, an American cultural anthropologist, detailed the distinction between the two as a divide into the “charmed circle”and everything else (considered deviant.) The charmed circle includes my family, and outside the charmed circle, a large number of victims from Law and Order SVU, the gay parents in Modern Family, and Frank N. Furter hang out. The article was written around the time of the AIDS crisis, when people, ever our own government, downplayed and outright refused to acknowledge the scope of the epidemic due to the belief that this was a “gay disease.” Homophobia became inextricably linked to conversations about the virus, and many who were diagnosed went so far as to mask their illness - more afraid to be on the receiving end of this hatred than stare down the death sentence that was HIV/AIDS. 

I recently watched an episode of High Maintenance (i've linked a couple streaming platforms on which you can watch,) which is a clever collection of vignettes. One episode centers on a teaching fellow named Evan Waxman. He is asexual, and this is a really important part of his identity and his day-to-day life. At his office job, he would sit and look at pictures of naked women and pornographic scenes, as if to combat his asexuality, to no avail. When he starts teaching, it seems as if he is extremely passionate about the subjects he teaches, and abandons his high-paying job to reach kids in underserved communities. His ambition turns to regret, however, when he brings in parts of his own personality to try to connect with the students. One student initially calls him gay, which he rebukes in what seems to be a rehearsed response - suggesting he’s heard this all too many times before. He explains that he is asexual– not attracted to the same sex, but rather free from sexual attraction entirely. To these kids, anything that deviates from heterosexuality falls under the umbrella of “gay.” The kids use this term to put him down, not so much referring to an affection for other men, but rather trying to other Evan and make him feel that his natural state is anything but natural. The response from the children probably doesn’t serve as much of a shock to anyone that went to middle school and navigated the rough seas of adolescent boys, struggling to fit into what they’re taught is right and making sure to call out anyone that strays from this norm out of fear the finger could be turned towards them. It’s tough to place any blame on the students, however, because the school is located in a low income neighborhood in Brooklyn, where exposure to these different identities is limited. The children clearly do not understand aspects of Evan’s identity, and things we don’t understand can be scary (i.e. 10th grade chemistry…). Beyond ridiculing him with homophobic slurs, they call him “dickless,” perhaps the strongest insult a 16-year old boy can hurl. Evan responds that his identity isn’t a disability, but even still, he’s more than ready to call it quits. He’s lost the respect of the children and feels his chance to be the teacher he always wished he had is gone for good. The lack of exposure to these identities fuels the very behavior that forces Evan out the door, just reinforcing the trend that enables this disconnect to exist. Returning to the “Charmed Circle,” it’s clear that in 1984, Evan’s identity would fall firmly outside of the circle, but does that distinction justify the hate-speech he is forced to endure as a result? He doesn’t date, so he isn’t monogamous - strike one. If he doesn’t have sex, how can we say if it’s vanilla or more S&M-style, and he’s not going to procreate anytime soon. We can’t even put him on the scale. None of the criteria even applies. Much like his place on the circle, Evan doesn’t feel like he has a place in this school, or any other. He quits without thinking twice, and just because he didn’t feel fear in being himself. We tell kids to always be themselves, and that if people don’t accept them - it’s their fault not ours. But what would you do if everyone around you wouldn’t understand or accept you? In my case, I’m still holding onto my secret.

[eureka-roleplay]

I learned that there’s beauty I can’t keep.

NURA SAYED-WILSON

Age: 32 Gender and pronouns: Female, She/Her Occupation: Psychologist Neighbourhood: Bayview

BIOGRAPHY

Born in New York to two people who had barely taken a moment to consider the implications of their marriage, let alone parenthood, it was hardly surprising that Nura’s childhood was uneven. Her mother’s pregnancy had come as an unplanned and unexpected surprise that her parents struggled to adjust to. Although they assured anyone who’d listen that the baby was far from unwanted but there was no denying that children hadn’t been on their radar. At least not when they were still within their first few months of marriage after being swept up in a whirlwind affair, children barely even featuring in their talks of the future. The couple had expected to enjoy a few years together before having to alter their dynamic to include a child - if they even wanted to change it at all. But they did change, out of necessity if not choice, and her mother adapted seemingly flawlessly to the role of mother and wife. Her father was a different story, struggling to adjust to the restrictions and changes to his life that being both a husband and a father meant. The pair settled in London to be closer to her father’s parents and the financial stability that they offered, as well as their ability to care for Nura and offer her the routine that her parents failed to provide. Neither parent seemed to wanted to take any responsibility in her upbringing and despite their attempts to focus on their marriage, the distance between them only grew. Her mother got tired of her husband neglecting her as well as his wandering eye and filed for divorce just before Nura’s third birthday.

From their her childhood was a patchwork of weekends split unevenly between her parents and staying with her grandparents on weeknights. Her parents schedules varied and Nura never really knew if she was coming or going. As soon as she was old enough her grandparents decided to send her to boarding school and it was there that she found some semblance of normality and stability. After that point most of her holidays were spent with her grandparents, her relationship with her parents reduced to phone calls, letters and gifts that they thought would make up for their absence. Unable to control her dynamic with her parents, Nura instead focused on her schoolwork and vowed to be nothing like them. She turned being selfless into an art, always the first to check in on her friends and schoolmates. A shoulder to cry on or the friend with the best advice to give. During her time at boarding school her mother found love again, getting married and moving to Eureka to seemingly start over with a new husband and step children. A short time later she reached out to Nura, intending to repair the fractured relationship with her daughter. At the time Nura wasn’t sure if it was guilt that motivated her or perhaps the encouragement of her new husband but she cautiously chose not to overanalyse it. Instead she let them reconcile, just glad to have her mother back in her life. Although her mother offered to move her out to Eureka too, Nura instead chose to remain at school in the UK and spend summers with her mother instead.

While her relationship with her mother began to improve her father remained distant. His political ambitions and goals didn’t leave much room for anyone else, least of all his daughter. But as she earned her place at her chosen university his calls started getting a little more frequent, his renewed interest in her conveniently coinciding with his run for parliament. After giving her mother the benefit of the doubt, Nura felt as though she had to extend the same courtesy to him and tentatively allowed him back into her life. The visits were still infrequent and on his terms but she couldn’t help but feel hopeful that he really was turning over a new leaf. Along with this fresh start with her father came an even bigger new chapter for her - university. A little daunted at first, she soon settled into her degree having chosen to study psychology out of both interest and encouragement from her friends. Things were much helped by the friends she made there, among them a medical student from a neighbouring flat. After meeting during freshers and spending a whole night talking, Nura and Jacob became fast friends and it would be a lie to say that she hadn’t felt more for him at that point. But with her so determined not to be reckless and follow in her parents footsteps, she was reluctant to rush into anything.

It wasn’t until her second year that they finally started dating and from there everything slowly began slipping into place. They talked about their futures, both prepared and committed to building a life together. Their relationship was full of support, encouragement and understanding with both of them only wanting the other to succeed and be happy. She had always quietly believed in herself but with Jacob’s belief in her she felt as though there was very little she couldn’t do. So with his support she took a year abroad in her third year, choosing San Francisco for the chance to be nearer to her mother. It didn’t take her long to make friends with the flatmates she’d found, feeling as though she’d made friends for life. The year flew by and before long she was headed back to London, vowing to keep up with the friends who’d become more like her family. Once back she fell back into the plan that she and Jacob had set on, the pair of them moving in together once she’d graduated. From there she continued in academics, gaining her Masters in psychology and her engagement came a month after that.

She had every intention of completing her PhD in London, staying with Jacob as he finished up his training, but as a safety net she’d applied to San Francisco again. Of course, she didn’t need it and got into her school of choice but after her father found himself embroiled in a scandal Nura wanted to be anywhere but London. It was only a brief time that she was implicated in it ( some journalist misinterpreting information and suggesting that she had known about it ) but it was long enough for her to feel uncomfortable in the city that had always been her home. For the first time in her life she felt like doing something selfish - to just up and leave to avoid the scrutiny that she was currently under. So without consulting her fiancé, she took the place in San Francisco, choosing to do her PhD half a world away from all their carefully laid plans. Nothing he said changed her mind and although her choice didn’t mean the immediate end of their relationship - they’d made long distance work before why couldn’t they do it again? - Nura made the decision for the both of them. Two weeks after arriving in San Francisco she ended the relationship, not knowing when she would return and it feeling unfair to keep Jacob holding on to something that might never happen.

Throwing herself into research, Nura sought comfort from her friends and family, filling her time anyway she could to distract from the decision that she’d made. After years of hard work she succeeded in earning her PhD and from there it was only a matter of time before she got her license. For a brief time she thought about returning to London but feeling as though there wasn’t anything still there for her years later and instead she opted for Eureka after finding an opening at a clinic there. She was closer to her family ( the parts that mattered ) and there was the added bonus of one of her closest friends also choosing to live there. A new life was built for herself, different from the one she imagined but no less fulfilling. Her spare time is spent between the array of plants that populate her home and Mad River Ranch, doing what she can to help the programme there.

NURA SAYED-WILSON has the face claim of AIYSHA HART and is played by JEN

[shortpplfedup]

It was just burning my brain. Clown theory below the cut. Let's agree to never mention this again if it doesn't happen, because I will delete it so fast...lol.

For Pat and Pran to ever be together, Ming has to atone and Dissaya has to forgive, and there has to be reconciliation between the two families. Those themes of atonement, forgiveness and reconciliation also resonate for me around the character of Wai.

The outing, the shooting, Wai's crush on Paa and Wai's newfound friendship with Korn have all struck me as plot threads that felt out of place in the story, and that don't feel like they were satisfactorily dealt with. And that's why I think Wai will be instrumental in bringing Pat and Pran back together, and THAT will be his true redemption, not the red herring of the CCTV.

Let's look at motive, means, and opportunity.

Motive: Pran is his best friend and Pat defended his ass and got shot and nearly arrested for his trouble. And he's the one who outed them, starting the cascade that ended in their breaking up. And he has not really atoned (we've all noted that Wai never apologised for outing them), although he has been forgiven and there has been reconciliation. He has known Pran longer than anybody except Pat, Paa and Ink, and most importantly he is the only one who knows what Pran was like in boarding school, after the transfer, and can attest to how much happier Pran is with Pat in his life. We've also seen that Wai is aware that Pran's family is 'complicated'.

Means: We've been told that Dissaya knows, likes and trusts Wai. She lets Wai in the house, invites him to dinner, nobody else is allowed but him. Wai has also interacted with Paa because of his crush, and she knows who he is and how close he is to Pran. Paa is the connection to Ming, is someone who can make him feel shame, and is holding the long-held card that Pran SAVED HER LIFE when they were just children. Thirdly, with Pat and Pran broken up, Korn becomes Wai's connection to Pat/Paa rather than Pran.

Opportunity: We see in the preview that Pran tells his friends that the relationship is over. Maybe he will even say that it's because of an unresolvable feud between their parents. And here comes an opportunity for Wai to redeem himself. So idk how it would go exactly, what exactly would prompt him or whether it would unfold in the present or in the future, but I imagine it going a little something like this:

Pat transfers (it would have to be him this time, right?)

Pat and Pran are changed, sadder.

Wai reaches out to Paa via Korn. Maybe it's a hail mary, but maybe she could talk to her parents and Wai could talk to Pran's?

Paa finally tells her parents about Pran saving her life.

Wai tells Pran's parents about the shape Pran was in after the transfer and how much he's changed being with Pat, and the things Pat has done for Pran.

Ming is finally compelled by Paa's revelation to realise that Dissaya's actions were a response to his, but she still saved his face despite what he did to her, she never told what he did until it threatened her relationship with her son. He apologises to Dissaya and to atone he will allow Pat to be with Pran, if she will allow Pran to be with Pat.

Dissaya is compelled to forgive Ming, for the sake of her son's happiness. She only ever wanted to protect Pran, but she now knows she doesn't have to protect him from Pat.

They reconcile enough to be cordial, for the sake of their children.

The friends orchestrate a reunion. If it's in the short term/present, I can see something like a redux of the opening of episode 1, with a 'fight'. and them seeing each other again after a separation. If it's in the long term/future, Ink would be the one to make sure Pat and Pran are both at the high school reunion.

The future scenes in the preview are either time-skipping over their separation, or a fakeout/epilogue.

Basically, after everything Pat and Pran did for their friends and family, and after the toxic environment the friends and family created being what eventually led to them having to give up their relationship, I want their friends and family to be the ones to sacrifice and do something for THEM this time.

[ladykinrannoch]

The Sparkles

General Reading of the Situation.

13 Feb 2022

All is not well in this marriage. 10 cups Rx in the immediate past. They have been miserable for ages.

Current situation Kn cups Rx. Shattered dreams, rewards did not materialize, the honeymoon is over, one or both are looking for new romance, lots of blaming each other, neither one wants to take responsibility for the current Mount Shitshow that is the drama of their life. If parliament really is digging into the provenance of the children it really has caused a lot drama. Its almost as if they want to manipulate their way out of this.

Crossing the situation is 5 cups Rx. Usually this is loss and sadness but in reverse it is one of only two cards when reversed have a more positive meaning. (The other is The Devil). So what the card is saying is that they really have reached their lowest point in a downward spiral. It suggests they must face reality. And start picking up the pieces.

In the immediate home context we have the 3am card 9 swords Rx. Anxiety is constant.. but it also denotes guilt, despair and not seeing a way out of the mess they created. Its also about being powerless in the current situation.

In the goal position we have Kn swords Rx... oh dear... I see this as PC cutting them loose... it is the stress and truth coming to light card. I get the feeling that over in Montecito there is lots of drama, everything is getting blown out of proportion and they are desperate to keep the truth hidden.

What happens next is King swords Rx. This is oppression and being forced to give answers. It is also mind games and they will do anything to win in this situation. Expect some dirty tricks from them to avoid the consequences.

In the broader social context, they are going to have to finally do some real work. There is not enough money so a career change or a new job is necessary. It is also feeling tired and defeated. Extra energy is required to navigate the current situation. I am not sure they have it in them.

In others views we have the inheritance card. Or support from family. But it is also the sharing card. I.e you can't just keep expecting financial support at some point you have to give back. So I think the time has come where the BRF are expecting something back from them. That they have been given more than enough. Could be that they are being asked to produce the evidence regarding the children's births... we gave you what you asked for. Now give us what we want.

In hopes and fears we have The Star. It is the first major card. So this will be a lot more public. This is hopes for guidance and a change of luck after a torrid time. They are hoping that some project (grift) is going to pay off, but there is also a fear that they are never going to big 🌟 ⭐ 💫 in the US.

The outcome is Temperance. This is a volatile situation and there is a need to hold onto tempers and find balance. It is also about not resisting what is coming, being prepared to compromise. The angel has one foot in the water and one foot on land and is pouring water from one chalice into another. So balancing their resources is required. It is time to reconcile with the fact that this marriage and the move to the US has not worked out for them like they hoped.

Conclusion.

I see this as a very unhappy and toxic relationship, they are running out of money, they are going to have to pay back some favors and they are not sure how they will do this. The honeymoon is over. I get the sense there is a lot of arguments and a growing realization that it is just not working... no matter what they try. I am not hopeful that they will stay together. JH may come back to the UK. I think there will be a house move, a separation, two homes. It could end in divorce but I think that will take a long time. She will hang on as long as possible. I am not sure how it will be explained that they will be living separately maybe even in two different countries....

Pendulum.... confirms that they will separate... it is neither permanent or temporary separation at this point. It seems there will be no co parenting. JH will not bring the children with him. The children exist but were adopted. They are not his.

[miekasa]

the babysitter’s club (1)

+ pairing: levi ackerman + (fem) reader, featuring bright-eyed but very easily intimidated interns and part-time babysitters eren and armin who are trying their best

+ genres and warnings: modern au, parents au, fluff, yes the dog’s name is captain and he’s tiny what about it

+ summary: eren and armin are good subordinates, who happen to be pretty good babysitter, too. usually. 

+ word count: 2.7k

+ notes: this was just something fun i edited and reworked again, also to provide some more insight about dad levi and my oc kids; this focuses only on holden, who is the oldest of the bunch, but you’ll more about the rest as they go

It’s not that Levi doesn’t trust Holden’s babysitters, he just would rather watch over her himself. Moreover, he would rather have the time to spend with his small daughter instead of having to leave her in the care of someone else who isn’t you, but sometimes life gets busy, and babysitters come in real handy.

He still doesn’t understand why Erwin would schedule the both of you to attend such important work-related meetings on the same weekend; much less, to send you half-way around the world for yours, and then book Levi for damn near twelve hours on a Saturday. He would murder Erwin if he weren’t his direct boss, and a long-time friend. But shit happens, and while it’s a major inconvenience and pain in his ass to be working on a weekend, it’s good to know he could rely on the brats at the office to step up on such short notice.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if anything happens, I won’t hesitate to dismember you,” Levi says calmly, closing his briefcase after triple-checking its contents.

“Of course,” Armin stiffens visibly, awkward laughter seeping through his words, “Eren and I would never let anything happen to Holden.”

To his left, Holden has already tugged Eren to the coffee table for a game of children’s Scrabble, determined to show off her new skills. Levi smiles slightly as he remembers playing the game with her last week, and how awe-struck she was to have seen Levi create a word bigger than “unattainable”—which is currently the longest word in her four-year-old vocabulary. But he’s certain she would have no trouble beating Eren.

He gives Armin a slight nod. He knows Holden is in good hands; or good enough hands with Armin, anyway. It’s not the first time the duo has babysat, and for as air-headed and clumsy Eren could be at the office, he seemed to be pretty damn good with kids if Holden’s attachment to the brunette was anything to go by.

Levi recounts that you’ve questioned on multiple occasions why Eren was so dedicated to being your PA when he seemed to have a potential career in taking care of, and maybe even teaching children. Not that he’s not a good assistant to you, but he’s certainly not as organized or detailed-oriented as Armin. Levi shrugs away the thought. Eren’s career choices are none of his business; his only concern is that he keeps his daughter safe and sound.

“Right. My card is on the kitchen island, you can buy lunch and dinner or whatever, I don’t think there’s much in the fridge,” Levi informs Armin. He looks briefly to the clock on the wall; he really should get going. “Remember to walk Captain at some point, and no matter what Holden says, he absolutely does need a leash on him. If Erwin isn’t being a complete asshat, I’ll be home by nine. (Y/N) will probably still be on her flight, so call me if you need anything.”

Armin nods enthusiastically, promising Levi that they would take care of everything. They’d better.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Levi announces, pulling his keys from the table near the door, “Be good, Holden. Tell Armin and Eren if you need anything.”

Holden’s head perks up at the sound of her name. Elegantly, or as elegantly as a four-year-old can be, she stands from her seated crisscross position, to run over to Levi by the door. He should remind her that she should use walking feet inside the house, but he can’t bring himself to, instead crouching down to meet her height.

“Bye, daddy,” she tells him sweetly. Levi reaches a hand out to ruffle the top of her head, much to the small girl’s chagrin. She sports a grimace almost identical to his as he reaches up to try and smooth out the aftermath of her father’s affections, “Daddy!”

Levi can’t help but chuckle, reaching two fingers out to poke at his daughter’s forehead. “Be good. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mommy too?”

Levi sighs, “No, mommy doesn’t come back until Tuesday.”

“That’s four days away,” Holden’s doesn’t hesitate to express her dissatisfaction. Levi nods, a little proud of how quickly she’d calculated that in her head, “Can Eren stay until Tuesday?”

“No, Eren cannot.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Holden crinkles her nose. Levi really has got to do something about her fascination with Eren.

Holden looks backwards to where Eren is still seated around the coffee table, he and Armin watching the father-daughter duo. After reconciling with the fact that Eren does, in fact, have his own home to go back to at the end of the day, Holden turns back around, and holds her hand up, palm facing Levi. He does the same, bringing his larger palm to hers, so that her hand is pushed against the middle of his.

Not one for hugs, kisses, or larger displays of affection, Holden simply turns her palm so that her hand grabs around Levi’s as best as possible, hooking her thumb around his pinky finger—what Levi’s heard the young girl call a hand hug.

“Bye, daddy,” she repeats, squeezing his hand, “Come back soon.”

Levi bends his fingers to wrap around her hand, “I will.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Levi reminds Armin and Eren, after standing back up and gripping his briefcase in his hand, “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Holden never causes trouble,” Eren says in response, but his words are spoken in coos to the young girl, who’s already back at his side. 

Levi scoffs, “I was talking to you.” 

“We’ll be fine, boss, don’t worry,” Eren chuckles with an awkward blush, “We love looking after Holden.”

“I’m not your boss,” Levi deadpans, double-checking his pockets for his keys, “You’d better hope everything is fine. Call me if anything happens, I’ll be back soon.” 

With one final round of good-byes, and a wave from his daughter, Levi’s out the door, and stepping into his car with a grimace. It was just one stupid day out of his life. Besides, Holden would be fine with Armin and Eren; she always is. Levi is just grumpy that he can’t be the one to spend the day with her. 

He sighs, reluctantly, putting his keys in the ignition. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could come back to Holden. Everything would be fine in the meantime; for now, he had to focus on how he was going to get himself to sit through Erwin’s long-ass meeting. 

“Levi! Hi! Um… okay, so don’t freak out, but Armin and I are at the hospital with Holden right now—don’t freak out—because there was a small incident at lunch—don’t freak out and fire me please—but! It’s all gonna be okay, they’re already treating her and she’s doing fine now, so don’t freak—”  

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate Armin and feed you his balls myself.”

“You sound a little freaked out,” Eren placates, wincing and holding his phone away from his ear when Levi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and explain why I shouldn’t decapitate you immediately.”

“It’s a funny story, actually—so, um, we think Holden might be allergic to nuts…?”

“What do you mean might be, Jaeger?”

Eren can feel his heart in his throat. He eyes Armin on the other side of Holden’s hospital bed. He looks no better—color almost completely drained from his face, but Eren doesn’t think he can say much else to his boss before his knees give out from underneath him.

“Uh, well, it was a lot of technical terms, and—I—um, actually I’m going to let Armin explain!” Eren hurries, all but chucking his phone at the unsuspecting blonde.

Armin’s blue eyes look almost grey with anxiety, but before he can protest, Eren is flailing his hands and pointing fingers and reminding him that Levi will kill them both if he doesn’t start talking.

Reluctant, and terrified, Armin finally lifts the phone to his ear, stuttering out a pathetic hello, but Levi cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Save it. Send me your location, and pray I don’t kill you when I get there.” Armin chokes out a “yes, sir,” before slowly bringing the phone down to his side.

The good news is that Holden’s allergic reaction wasn’t too severe: her throat had been irritated, and hives had emerged as a result, but it hadn’t been closing up. And luckily, Eren had the endurance to run nearly a mile and half with a four year old tucked under his arm; because with the traffic Armin observed whilst he and Captain huffed and lagged behind, it would have taken thrice as long to get Holden to the ER had they waited and called for an ambulance.

Even better was that Holden was an unnervingly calm kid, even whilst having an allergic reaction. She looked almost back to normal now, save for a few red looking blotches on her neck and upper arm; and seemed more than content to be watching a video on Eren’s phone, despite the situation. She was a little bummed out to find out that she could never eat the new ice cream she liked so much ever again, but she seemed to quickly get over it once Eren reminded her that there were lots of other flavors out there for her to try. Flavors that wouldn’t make her choke to death.

Still, Eren and Armin could probably kiss their jobs goodbye, seeing as they had nearly just poisoned their bosses’ daughter. Holden seemed to like them enough, but, unfortunately, Holden wasn’t the Ackerman who signed their checks.

At the very least, Eren doesn’t think you’ll be too upset with him. He doesn’t think you’ll be ecstatic to hear that while you were away on your already inconvenient work-trip on the other side of the globe, that he also managed to land your daughter in a hospital bed… but you were the more forgiving one. Then again, maybe not so forgiving when it comes to the health and wellbeing of your daughter. 

Eren falls back against the wall in dread. You weren’t even in the same country as him and he was worried about what you might say or do to him. Levi was probably less than twenty minutes away and fully capable of beheading him.

“You… uh, you think the Interior Branch is still looking for interns?” Eren breaks the silence, looking towards Armin, who’s taken the seat next to Holden’s bed, petting Captain robotically as the dog sits in his lap.

“I don’t think it matters,” Armin responds, “They won’t hire corpses.”

Fifteen minutes, and several run red lights later, Levi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric wing of the emergency room. He doesn’t care about the old woman at the reception yelling at him for causing a ruckus, or the other parents, doctors, or visitors eyeing him for marching around like he owned the place. Holden was in there somewhere, and he was going to get to her.

“Holden—oh, god, Holden,” Levi coos, frantic, as he marches into Holden’s room, scurrying to the side of her hospital bed. A cold hand reaches up to stroke her face. Angry, red bumps litter the sides of neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and the perimeter of her mouth seems a bit irritated, but Levi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay.

“’M fine, daddy,” Holden assures him. She’s almost overly-perceptive for her age, able to pick up on her father’s out of character antics, and does her best to console him. “Eren ran with me all the way here when I started coughing and itchin.’”

Levi nods, the dark grey splotches in Holden’s eyes bringing him comfort, ensuring him that she was okay. “They gave me a shot, and I don’t like needles, but I didn’t even cry at all. Ask, Armin and Eren, they saw! Captain, too.”

“Brave girl,” Levi smiles, reaching his hand up to push her hair out of her face then leans over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Levi had almost forgotten that Eren and Armin were in the room until he hears a blundering cough from behind him. The younger boys look petrified, Eren practically shaking in his shoes, while Armin doesn’t even have the confidence to look him in the eye.

“We’re really sorry, Levi,” Eren apologizes, voice scratchy and wobbly, like he’d been the one to just get a shot, “We didn’t know—and when she started coughing and saying she couldn’t breathe, I swear, I ran here as fast as I could—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s… fine?”

Levi sighs. Maybe he’d been a little harsh with them on the phone, letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d already been pissed off enough to not have the time to spend with Holden this weekend; hearing that she’d been hurt was just the final push over the edge for him, but it wasn’t necessarily Armin or Eren’s fault.

“I didn’t know either,” Levi exhales, reaching at hand out to pet the top of Holden’s head again, the young girl now distracted once again by the phone in her hand, “She’s never had a reaction to anything before, and neither (Y/N) or I have any strong allergies.”

Armin shuffles where he’s standing. “The doctor said she might be allergic to tree nuts. We, uh, we gave her pistachio ice cream after lunch.”

If there’s anything concerning Levi, it’s that they gave Holden ice cream before dinner, but he supposes he can let it go for now.

“Eren told me to try it, and it tasted good, daddy,” Holden interjects, “Before I started coughing, it was good.”

“Ah, well, you can’t—you shouldn’t eat things that make you feel sick!” Eren stutters loudly.

“But it was good,” Holden pouts, “And you said to try new things, Eri. I won’t know if it makes me sick if I don’t try them.”

Levi holds back his laughter. He knows that Holden definitely wouldn’t want to try the same same flavor again knowing now that she was allergic to it; she was just pulling at Eren’s leg. Levi would have to keep an eye out for the stuff anyway, especially if her oh-so-precious Eren has expressed any former love for it. 

“Um, Levi, sir,” Armin calls, pulling Levi’s attention towards the blonde, “We didn’t know if (Y/N) would have landed already, but do you think you should call her, to, um, let her know?”

Levi’s face pales three shades when he realizes that none of them had already informed you that your daughter was currently hospitalized with a new found allergy.

“You can call her,” Levi says, a shudder in his spine at the thought of relaying this information to you, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

[arofili]

HAPPY GRADUATION! Freedom from school is wonderful! For the prompts list, can I request “with annoyance” between Fingon and Turgon sometime post-canon? I have sooo very many thoughts on their family’s dynamic and what Fingon’s siblings vanishing off to Gondolin meant, etc., etc. Poor Fingon :( I was tempted to make it just Russingon because I’m Like That but feel free to make that there too! I’m Eryniel_Alasse over on ao3 :)

22. in a moment of annoyance

~

“Ai, Finno, would you just—”

Turgon—no, he still preferred Turukáno, didn’t he—brushed past him with a light shove to his shoulder. In the past, this kind of thoughtless touch would not have made Fingon blink, but now...

Fingon reached out, grabbing his brother’s arm. Turukáno whirled on him, eyes sparking with annoyance, and suddenly Fingon couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Where are you running off to now?” he snapped. “It’s Lómion’s first day out of the Halls, and I know you two reconciled in Mandos—you can’t just leave him!”

You can’t just leave me, he did not say—had never said. No matter how often he thought it, then and now.

Turukáno bristled, snapping his arm out of Fingon’s grip. “Findekáno, there are things you just won’t understand—”

“Fingon,” he interrupted, harsher than he intended.

Turukáno stared. “What?”

“You prefer ‘Turukáno,’” Fingon said flatly. “I respect that. Will you respect my choice ot be called ‘Fingon’?”

“You want to use the name they forced on you?” Turukáno said incredulously.

“It was the name I took as High King of the Noldor,” Fingon said, stubbornly switching into Sindarin. “It is the name I kept as I led my people. All my people.”

Turukáno’s eyes flashed dangerous. “You think me a bad king?” he snapped. “For protecting my people as long as I could?”

“You may well have been a good King of Gondolin,” Fingon hissed. “I wouldn’t know; I wasn’t there. But you certainly weren’t a good High King of the Noldor.”

“You dare—!”

“Tell me, brother, did you once send a missive to Orodreth?” Fingon continued, his voice rising with his anger. “Did you bother to reach out to those elves who survived in Hithlum? The kin of your Sindar lords? Lalwen at the Falas—my children at the Falas?” His lip curled. “Or were you afraid Gil-galad might challenge you for the crown, when he was less than fifty, practically still a child?”

“I would never—”

“Or did your hatred of my husband extend to my son and daughter also?” Fingon demanded. “Did you ever think to restrain the Sons of Fëanor before the Sack of Doriath—or did you blame them for my death so completely as to absolve yourself from any fucking responsibility for abandoning us and only showing up when it was far, far too late?”

Turukáno stumbled back, thunderstruck by the force of Fingon’s wrath. His face took on an ugly purple hue as he spluttered out, “You have no idea what I sacrificed—!”

“Was it my love?” Fingon spat. “My peace of mind? Because not knowing where you were, if you were safe or if you were dead—not learning that Írissë died until Húrin bullied you into sending the only letter we ever received from Gondolin—”

“I kept my daughter safe!” Turukáno shouted. “My realm lasted longer than any other in that Valar-forsaken land, and my daughter survived! Can you say the same of your family, Findekáno?”

Fingon stepped forward as if to strike him—but he was never a violent man, not to the ones he loved. And Turno, damn him, fell into that category. It was why this all hurt so much.

“I sent my children away for the same reason you kept yours close,” he whispered, the fight slowly draining out of him. “To protect them. Even if...in the end...I don’t know if it was the right choice.”

Turukáno hesitated—then pulled Fingon into a hug, clinging to him tightly until they both were crying. Fingon sobbed, holding his brother close for the first time in Ages, wishing they’d gotten this over with sooner. How much time had they wasted, in the Halls and out?

“I didn’t mean all that,” he croaked. “I know you were doing what you thought was best—”

“You did mean it,” Turukáno rasped. “And—and you needed to tell me. I needed to hear. I know...I knew my choice had consequences. I knew it would hurt you. But I had to. Don’t you know?”

Fingon wiped his eyes, remembering Maedhros’ fear on the eve of the Fifth Battle, remembering Erien and Ereinion crying as he sent them away, remembering the despair heavy on everyone’s minds when he set out for Thangorodrim.

“I know,” he whispered. “I do, Turno, I do.”

“If you boys are done with your shouting match, I do still need that ribbon for Lómion’s gift, Turno,” Aredhel said waspishly from the doorway.

Turukáno and Fingon jumped apart. “Sorry, sorry,” Turukáno said quickly. “I was going to get it, but our darling brother—”

Fingon shook his head. “Take this,” he said, reaching to unwind one of his braids and offering a golden ribbon to his sister. “It has sentimental value.”

Aredhel hesitated. “Are you sure? I know Nelyo...”

Fingon took a deep breath. “Those ribbons were lost long ago,” he said firmly. “And—and when Russo returns to me someday, the ones he gives me anew will be more meaningful than the ones I procure on my own in his honor.”

Aredhel pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Finno. I know Lómion will appreciate it—he always did hope to meet you.”

“He will now,” Fingon promised as she hurried back into the house to finish her gift for her son, Returned at last.

“He’ll come back,” Turukáno said quietly, hovering at his shoulder. “I know he will. Your...husband could never leave you alone for long.” His mouth twitch in not-quite-a-smile. “No matter how often I tried to make him.”

Fingon elbowed him. “I know he will,” he said, calling upon his reservoir of estel as he so often did when he thought of Maedhros. “And now that Lómion, who had so much to heal from...so much to repent from...now that he is back, my hope grows stronger.”

“I’m sorry for leaving,” Turukáno admitted. “I can’t say I regret it, but...I promise, Finde—Fingon. I promise I won’t leave you again.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Fingon said firmly, and slunk an arm around his brother. “Come on, Turukáno. Let’s not keep our nephew waiting!”

[cubedmango]

u know what fuck it . ive already had 3 kind of accurate predictions so im gonna throw one last very wishful thinking inspired prediction out into the world for the last ep . if the universe is kind it will make my hopes happen and if not then. i will go lie down in a ditch and cry i guess (under the cut bc wow this got a bit long)

patpran Do break up for realsies. no fakery or going back to secret dating or anything. they decide that the times just not right for them, and that if they can only have either their relationship or their familys support, they need the latter more

the scene of them telling their parents Does happen . they Do react like the shit parents they are. hate to say this but its extremely in-character for them its very real so

they announce said break up to everyone at uni. they all think theyre joking or had some fight while they were gone. maybe here patpran explain their full history to their friends (if they havent already)??? anyways none of them are happy about this

insert extremely sad snippets of them just watching each other from afar or looking at the guitar/watch/pick/shirt/earphones/god theyve shared so much shit help with painful yearning . everyone notices

the time skip is Not Real. either some kind of what-if scenario or a dream/daydream/nightmare sequence most likely thought up by pat, imagining them staying away from each other all those years. the reunion part is him yearning and hoping they can get back together one day because of Course he’d want that

irl though, perhaps like a montage of patpran having different demeanors around their family?? like them just Not acting the same as before, being less energetic, less responsive, etc, and here is when parents start to get concerned

maybe the separation reaching a breaking point, with pat or pran (or both) snapping at their parents like “i/we already broke up for your sake, what more do you want from me/us?” after a long time of just bottling up the issue and not bringing it up

somewhere, pran saving pa as kids finally being brought up?? possibly by pa herself whos now ready to talk about it???? just pa also having enough of their parents acting like little children and making her brother and the person who’s literally the reason she’s even alive rn both miserable

the friends could step in as well, tell them about just how different patpran have been recently after the break up?? would love it if wai told dissaya something about pran during boarding school and how shaken he was then because of the sudden transfer that she caused, and korn talking about how just. Mad pat used to be at everything and causing unnecessary fights. or something!! many possibilities

ming and dissaya (and the other two too) finally having that moment of realization of “Oh. We’re Actually Hurting Our Kids By Being The Way That We Are” and possibly even doing something about it? shockingly?? wow

and then something something the parents having A Lengthy Talk and deciding to either reconcile (not likely i think lol but would be sweet) or to at least be civil towards each other for their sons’ sake, coming to a truce to put their past behind them from there onwards or to at least no longer force their own views onto the boys

both parents apologizing to their kids for everything because i am a tired asian who just wants to see some fictional parents admit their fault For Once !!! if nothing else this is the one thing id want to manifest in the ep

and then ummmm. scene of them asking patpran to meet them together and (cries) telling them that theyre ok with it if theyre dating and (sobs) and that theyd support them and (wails) and

yeah and then like . real montage of how things Actually end for them w them getting back together and really going to the reunion together and graduating and . Just Being Happy!!!! they deserve it!!!!!! maybe a hint to s2 with inkpa or waikorn crumbs and thats it thats the ending thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[theramseyloft]

You go on about how intelligent/emotional pigeons are, but you treat them like objects and that bothers me. You separate bonded pairs of these intelligent, loving animals so frequently as if they don't have any feelings. And then you wonder why these birds afterward do not just take a new mate instantly. You are continually traumatizing these animals and causing them to shut down because they probably begin to realize any new bond they make will only be severed.

I do that because they are.

There is a huge difference between treating a living being like an object and acknowledging that the feelings of a non-human will not often perfectly align with those of a human.

Different species are different.

They have different physical, emotional, and social needs, even if there are a lot of close parallels.

And there are certainly a lot of parallels between humans and pigeons;

They are self aware cooperative social learners.

They form societies.

Those societies have a culture that varies regionally and they have a base line of values...

But their society, culture, and values are different from a human’s because pigeons are not human.

Nothing specializes in preying on humans. We generalize in preying on everything, as a species, as a whole.

We change our environment to suit our needs as much as we are able, and we are more able with every generation.

While things, objectively, can happen to any human at any time, out of nowhere..

On the whole, we generally don’t expect them to.

As such, our monogamous relationships are, ideally, “Until death do us part” meaning “Until we both die of old age, preferably around the same time.”

To the extent that closely bonded humans are emotionally devastated by the loss of that life partner.

To many of us, a life partner is also counted as lost if they engage in sexual infidelity, and if this happens, we are just as devastated (if not even more devastated) as we could have been if that partner had died.

Pigeons are a prey species that evolved in a cheetah-and-thompson’s-gazelle-style arms race with the Peregrine Falcon.

Their monogamous relationships version of “Until Death do us part” can be better translated; “Until one or the other of us gets eaten on a foraging trip.”

And sexual fidelity does not enter into the equation for a pigeon unless their partner is treading or being tread by some one else at the exact moment that bird wants to tread or be tread by their partner.

A cock who wants sex will seek out his wife first, but if she is not interested, he will go asking all the hens away from their nest until one agrees and crouches for him.

If his mate changes her mind and wants him to tread her, she will seek him out and crouch to present herself.

He will tread his wife, and after they do the cute little “I just had sex” dance that’s reserved for mated pairs (side flings get neither this nor courtship. Just sex and separate.) she goes off to do what ever she wanted to do.

If the cock is satisfied, he goes with his wife.

If he still needs or wants more sex, he can tread as many hens as he wants. His wife will not care, because she has had her turn.

If a hen wants sex, she will seek out her husband, generally, but if he’s busy or away, she’ll present for who ever she likes.

Her husband does not care who filled the egg. He only cares that she lays it in his nest and he gets to help set and raise it.

Pigeons divorce partners they consider to be inadequate. Cocks who fail to fill eggs, hens who refuse to set eggs, partners of either sex that don’t spend enough time reaffirming their bond with their spouses...

Unrequited relationships and love triangles are also relationships that pigeons find themselves in.

A pair is considered to have divorced if one partner or the other moves in and spends their nights in the nest of another partner, not for mating with some one else.

Some times, divorces are mutual, and both birds move on to other mates.

Some times, they are not. And the partner left will pine and keep making overtures to reconcile with the partner that left them.

But when a mate just disappears and doesn’t come back, they are assumed by the remaining partner to have been eaten.

If they were closely bonded, the remaining partner may wait a week or so at most, in case they were lost, in hopes the missing bird will make their way back and reunite.

If, after a week, the remaining bird is keeping to them self and not socializing, something is physically wrong, and anthropomorphizing it as “depressed” can get the bird killed.

The veterinary term ‘depression’ describes an animal that is physically ill, be that from a pathogen attacking it to ingesting or absorbing a toxin or simple vitamin or mineral deficiency.

For example;

A week after I became aware that breeding pigeons could become salt deficient and gave the flock a salt and trace mineral brick, birds that had shown no interest in bonding or courting for months are suddenly flirting with everything that moves.

They were not too traumatized to before.

They had a mineral deficiency.

They did not court because they did not feel good.

With the addition of their supplement brick, lo and behold, they all feel better and are courting again.

I have an entire flock to take care of, and I am responsible for the wellbeing of every individual I bring into the world.

To avoid overcrowding, I have a cap of 10 breeding pair.

Because that is the number of adults and their offspring under 6 months old that my loft can comfortably house.

When ever a new breeding bird leaves quarantine or a keeper reaches 6 months, a bird of the same sex has to be retired and made available to avoid overcrowding and the stress and disease that come with it.

Who retires when is not arbitrary.

There are very strict criteria.

1. Physical health.

Regardless of whether or not I have a replacement ready, a bird who may be hurt by the physical process of reproduction or the strain of rearing young, or who may pass on genes that may be harmful to potential offspring is retired on the spot and adopted out with a strict nonbreeding agreement.

Gus is a sweet boy,

But this happens to him every molt, and we have since found out that it runs in both sides of his family, proving it to be genetic and cumulative.

As cute as he and Leela were together, I cannot let him breed.

Because I would have to be a monster to be willing to knowingly pass that painful condition on to another generation.

He has a forever family familiar with his condition to whom he is going on Monday.

2. Undesirable structure

I do not mean anything as stupid as “This animal isn’t pretty enough.”

Cody is not only gorgeous, but an excellent father who has served our program very well.

But his muffs are big enough to make walking uncomfortable, so while I like the rest of his traits, that’s one I want to breed away from.

Now that I have a brother and Sister of his with short muffs that do not cause them discomfort, 

Farthing 

and suki

will continue contributions to the project

and Cody is available.

3. Antisocial behavior that disrupts or disturbs their flock mates.

Indica

And Pookie 

Are the poster children for flock disruption.

They are a gay and bi mated pair of cocks, who are literally turned on by prying other treading pairs off of each other.

If they see another pair treading, Indica will grab the hen by the scruff, Pookie will grab the cock by his, and they will pull in opposite directions, prying the treading pair apart, and marching them in opposite directions towards the wall.

Indica and Pookie will then throw the bird they have at the wall and then run back to meet each other in the center of the floor, smooch-feed each other back and forth, and take turns treading each other.

On top of this, they defend 15 of the 36 total nest boxes in my loft, refusing to pick a specific one or let any other pair settle in a box to lay.

You may or may not have noticed that when I advertised the available birds on Thursday, I made a point of saying that I would prefer these two be adopted together because they are bonded and would be happier that way.

A prospective new family is coming to meet them on Monday.

But they are SUCH a violent disruption to their flock mates that if only one had a home lined up, it would be unkind to the rest of the flock to keep them both on the insistence that they go together.

4. Shitty parenting history

Parents who tend to ignore eggs or peeps, leaving all the work of setting or feeding to their partner.

This is a personality trait, and such a parent puts dangerous strain on their partner and stress on their peeps. 

Their partner will usually divorce them for that, so adopting the bad parent out isn’t “Splitting up a bonded pair”.

Their former spouse is usually looking for or has found some one else with out any interference on my part.

5. Too many offspring/grandchildren

This is to avoid any more inbreeding than necessary.

Betty is one of the best studs here.

He is an outstanding father who sits tight on his eggs, pumps his peeps full, and educates them carefully though weaning.

MANY are his children and grand children, and he has a strong preference for birds with faces like his.

He has already bred with his niece to produce Sherry, and I would like to avoid having him breed to any more of his kin.

Once his peep with Liang is weaned, he will be adopted.

Liang is very skittish, and she liked him right off the bat, so I delayed his retirement to give her more time to feel secure with the flock.

But with her egg hatching, she is allowing herself to be casually flirt with more.

Wukong still likes her. So do Cherub and Ginger, so she’ll have her pick when Betty goes to his new home.

6. Temperament

The Therapy Bird Project is working towards developing a performance breed with a temperament conducive to Therapy work.

All else being equal; The birds are all physically sound with no known detrimental genes, no embellishments too exaggerated, not overly aggressive to flock mates, great parents... Then the bird least interested in human company gets retired.

The ground work of physical and mental base soundness has to be laid first and foremost for that excellent temperament I’m aiming for to shine in their handler’s lives for as long as possible.

You probably have not noticed that when bonded pairs retire at the same time, I make a thing of them being bonded in hopes that they will be adopted together.

Dodger and Alex retired close enough to each other that both are still here, and I would prefer they be adopted together.

But if one of them gets a perfect home lined up where I think that individual will be happy, I will not refuse them that good home for the sake of not splitting up a pair.

You care about the idea of that a LOT more than the pigeons themselves do.

[sukisbestgirl]

during the scene in sozin's comet, where sokka is holding toph's hand and she's the only thing she can feel, i never fail to think about how terrified she must have been. in that moment, toph is truly blind — she's hundreds of feet away from any earth and she can't feel the world around her to see.

she's just... hanging. and all she knows is that she's got sokka's hand. he's the only thing holding her up, keeping her from falling blindly.

she's twelve.

and sokka, he's fifteen, and has been given the responsibility to look after this young girl who's also one of his best friends. he loses his (sentimental) boomerang and one-of-a-kind meteor sword, his leg is broken and they're surrounded. toph's hand is slipping.

and all he can say is "i don't think boomerang is coming back, toph", with a smile, and she knows. they're twelve and fifteen and they've been given the task to help save the world — and in that moment, they both realise they're going to die. "it looks like this is the end".

and boomerang doesn't come back.

they're twelve and fifteen, and somehow they're just supposed to... accept that they're going to die. either they're both going to fall to their death, or sokka will lose hold of toph and the firebenders will get him. they're twelve and fifteen, and they're supposed to stare death in the face, and not be afraid. accept that... this is the end.

and in a way, they do. you see toph's hopeless expression as tears start to stream down her face — she's only got sokka's hand and she knows. and sokka's trying not to be afraid, but he is, because he's just a kid — they both are — and he's supposed to still have so much time.

they don't know if their friends are safe. they don't know if zuko is winning against azula, of if he and katara have been killed. they don't know if suki survived the fall, and they can't tell if aang has lost to ozai. for all they know, their friends could all be dead. they just... know that they're here, now, holding each other's hands, and they're all that they have left in that moment. they're going to die, together.

and toph hasn't seen her parents in months now — she ran away without saying goodbye and hasn't seen them since. i wonder if they were what flashed in her mind as sokka's words of "it looks like this is the end" reached her, the fact that a twelve year old girl was never going to see her family again, never going to reconcile with them, because she'd run away on a whim. and she'd had incredible adventures, made new members of a new family, that she’d never take back — but they'd never know about it. all they'd know is that toph, their twelve year old daughter, had died blind and falling from a fire nation airship. she had been so excited when she received the fake note addressed from her mother in ba sing se — if she had gotten the chance, she would have wanted to reconcile. and now, she's twelve, and she's going to die, and she'll never be able to.

sokka hasn't seen his father since they were separated at the western air temple, he doesn't know if hakoda made it out. and sokka is afraid. he, who can only see katara's face when he tries to conjure an image of their mother, is never going to see his sister again. his baby sister who already lost her mother at eight years old, who had been caring for him for as long as he can remember — who he had sworn to protect. and now, he doesn't even know if she's alive. he doesn't know if she's already been killed by azula, or if she's been captured, if she’s lying dead somewhere. he just knows that she has their mother's face, and it's the only thing he can think of when he tries to remember an image of their family in those last moments. it's the one thing that consoles him.

and so they're twelve and fifteen, and he has toph's hand, and he's the only thing she knows — and it's the end of the world, and it's the end, and they're... children.

they're just kids. it shouldn't have to be up to them to piece the world back together. but it is. 

they were afraid, but they were going to face it together. how else would it ever go?

and all they can think about is where all the time had gone.