#it’s such a soft grandfather-grandson dynamic and I’m all here for it

[fistfuloflightning]

I just really love Dusty and Mayday’s relationship, the way they care for and look out for each other

[carolmunson]

you can count on me (nurse!s.h.)

inspired by: i'll be home for christmas brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, holiday cheer, and viewers like you. a/n: i cried while writing this, so good fuckin' luck. cw: 18+ minors dni, hurt/comfort, sad/complicated family dynamics, lots of hospital talk (but i don't know shit about nursing or hospitals so i'm sorry if any of this is just blatantly wrong), mentions of illness/cancer, talk of death, overall holiday stress. mentions/discussion of WWII and the korean war, some slight homophobia, religious references (praying/heaven/'upstairs'), but on the bright side the party is featured and nurse!steve is a total flirt, so.

Christmas Eve, 1974

“I’ll be home for Christmas. You can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree…”

“Grandpa, why do you always have to sing this song? It’s so sad,” Steve asked, curling onto his side to face his grandfather. He smiled, running a hand over the boy’s hair, a little chuckle rattled his lungs.  “Says who, sport?” he asks, creases on his face crinkling in faux offense. “Says daddy, says me. Daddy says it’s like if a funeral came for Christmas dinner,” Steve crosses his arms under the covers.  “It’s not a sad song to me, kiddo. Came out the year I was far away from your grandma,” he explains, “They played it a lot when we were away – but I got to go home that year and surprise ‘er. It was playing in the diner when I walked in to say hello and she cried and cried – cried like a baby, kissed me all over my face.”  “Ew,” Steve teased and laughed, “That’s gross. Girls are gross grandpa.” 

“They won’t be so gross when you’re old like me,” he laughed back at Steve, tickling him on the tummy, “But I don’t think it’s a sad song, buddy – it reminds me of how much I love Grammy.”  “So it’s a happy song, even though the words are sad?” Steve asked. He’s too young to understand, but that’s expected for such a little kid.  

“Songs are whatever you make of ‘em,” his grandpa shrugged, tucking the covers around Steve while his eyes drooped with sleep, “But I gotta finish singing so you go to bed, or else Santa won’t come.” 

“Okay, okay,” Steve smiled as his eyes fluttered closed, the soft hum of his grandfather’s voice sending him off for the seventh Christmas Eve in a row. 

Christmas Eve, 1979

“He’s always at the office, he’s never even here. And then when he is, he’s just –” Steve’s eyes brimmed with tears, hugging his knees to his chest on his bed spread, “God damn it, he’s so mean.” Steve’s grandfather lets out a big breath, clapping a hand to his grandson’s shoulder, “I think your dad is just really overworked, kiddo. He’s tired.”  “We’re all tired, grandpa,” Steve groans. He can’t believe the types of grown up things come out of his grandson’s mouth sometimes. 

“All he does is talk about how much – how much better I can be to his friends. Like I’m not good enough for him now,” the tears spill over onto his cheeks, sliding past his running nose, the mole near his jaw, “Like ‘Steve could be varsity his freshman year if he just gets that three-pointer right. It’s looking rough,’ or like, like, ‘Don’t think my Steve’s gonna be in any honors classes, maybe your kid can tutor him’” 

“You heard him Grandpa! He might as well have just – I don’t know – stood on the coffee table and told everyone h-how much – h-how much I s-suck at every-everything! Like I’m his favorite j-joke to tell at the w-watercooler. ‘Oh all he got from me was the good looking genes, other than that, not sure who’s kid he is.’” 

“Well your mother is very pretty. I would know, she’s my daughter,” he says softly, “So I think you got a lot of those genes from her.” 

He runs a hand over his bald head and smiles, “Maybe not my hair genes though.” 

Steve lets out a weak laugh, “It’s not funny, Grandpa.” 

“It’s a little funny,” he nods, a chuckle making his heavy shoulders bounce in his suit jacket. Steve laughs a little stronger, their laughs bouncing off each other, laughing from laughing, then laughing some more. 

“You know something buddy, I’ve been around a long time. I’ve met a lot of people like your dad,” he starts, “And I when it comes to people like that, it’s important to just be kind.” 

“But why? He’s not kind,” Steve argued, brows furrowing behind his new glasses. Another thing his dad teased him relentlessly over. ‘Shoulda named you Steve ‘Four-Eyes’ Harrington, kid.’ 

“I find the most unkind people need kindness the most,” he encourages, “And even if he’s still acting mean, at least you know you were the bigger man, right?” 

“I guess,” Steve shrugs, “Why do you think dad needs kindness? Everyone kisses his ass. You saw them down there.” 

The new tradition of the Harrington Office Christmas Party instead of the Harrington Family Christmas Party was weighing heavily on just about everyone. The time when they were supposed to be the closest and coziest quickly became the coldest. If this is how his dad was at home with his friends, Steve could only imagine what he says about him when he’s not there. 

“I’ll bet you your dad’s not very kind to himself,” he confesses, “So he doesn’t know how to be nice to other people.” 

“Well that’s too bad for him, then,” Steve broods. His grandpa barks another laugh. 

“That is too bad for him, isn’t it, sport?” he gets up, motioning for Steve to get comfortable before he starts to sing, “Gotta get to bed, Steve. It’s late – Santa’s not gonna make it if you don’t go to sleep.” 

“Grandpa, Santa’s not real,” Steve mumbles sullenly, getting under the covers. 

“Who told you that?” he asks, putting on a show of acting shocked. Flabbergasted. 

“Who do you think?” Steve shrugged, curling in on himself on his side and putting his glasses on the nightstand, “Dad told me. He said twelve’s too old to be believin' in Santa.” 

“If Santa’s not real, then how did he call me this morning?” he asks, “He told me about the Atari you put on your list.” 

“How do you know about that?” Steve shot up in bed, he only put the Atari on his Christmas letter to Santa. He didn’t tell anyone else about it. 

“I just told you! He called me!” he urges with a full belly laugh, heading to the door, “Now go to sleep, or he’ll put it under that tree for me, instead.” 

“Wait, Grandpa – sing the song.” 

“You sure? You’re not too old for your grandpa to sing you to sleep?” he asks, his heart swelling. 

“S’my favorite part of the night,” Steve smiles a drowsy smile, settling down in his covers while his grandfather starts to sing. 

Christmas Eve, 1981

“Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light gleams…” 

Steve sings softly to himself while he puts his pajamas on, the matching set his mother always made them wear for photos the next morning with the family. He can hear the sounds of the big corporate style Christmas party his father threw for the firm this year milling about downstairs. Even at fourteen, he wished his grandfather’s singing could drown out all the noise, but his Walkman would have to do. 

“He would have loved that you’re still singing it,” Steve’s mother says gently from his bedroom door, tears shining in her eyes, “It must be really hard to not have him around this year.” 

Steve forces a tight lipped smile, turning back to look at his mom and nods, “S’really hard.” 

“Oh, Steven, I miss him, too,” his mother cries, walking over to hold him tight in her arms, “He loved you so much.” 

It’s the most comfort he’s felt in months. 

8 AM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Makin’ a list, he’s checkin’ it twice…” Steve mumbles to himself, going over his charts for the morning leg of the day. He flicks his eyes up to Darlene at the admin desk. She’s in her late forties, gray lacing through her dark brown hair. She wears a new holiday theme brooch on her cardigan every day, resting on her heavy bosom. She carries her weight in her rosy cheeks and her big thighs. Her husband comes in every lunch break to give her a kiss and picks her up every night at five.  “Where’s your name this year Darlene,” he asks with a wink, “Were you naughty or nice?” 

Darlene, who’d never been immune to Harrington charm, smiles big and waves him off, “You better stop that before my husband comes through that door.” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he smirks, leaning over the counter, “Were you naughty or nice? Bet I could guess.” 

He runs a hand through his hair, always half surviving double shifts on the thrill of flustering the married women in administration. Darlene’s face turns red as she turns to the computer in front of her, “I was very nice this year, Steve.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” he shrugs with a knowing glance, swiping another chart out of the file holder and giving it a once over, “I won’t be around at five to ask Gary.” 

“Oh, I saw you got the night off – who’s luckier than you?” she asks, “Gotta hot date or something?” 

Steve snickers, “I could never play around with your heart like that, Darlene.” 

She focuses on her work but shakes her head again while he continues, “Having some people over at my house. Parents are in Hawai’i again so –” he shrugs, “Just haven’t had some of the holiday off in a few years.” 

“Night shift tomorrow?” she asks. He nods with a deep breath while he looks over the white board on the wall past Darlene’s head. 

“Arthur’s coming in today?” Steve asks with a furrowed brow, looking at the patient list, “Isn’t he all good? He was in remission six months ago.” 

“Oh yeah, he’s got a biopsy this afternoon – can you imagine? A biopsy on Christmas Eve?” Darlene asks, looking at the list with him, “Just routine, though. I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you.” 

“Sure his wife will be, too,” Steve winks again and Darlene shoots him a look. 

“Will you go do your job please, before I call security!” she teases, “I know what list you’re on this year, Harrington. You’re on my list!” 

Steve laughs, adjusting his glasses and slinging this stethoscope around the back of his neck, charts tucked neatly under his arm. He’d been at the hospital a couple of years and even though his dad wished he was a doctor and not a nurse, he preferred this gig. It was all about making people feel good. He never had to give bad news, all he never had to do was just be there. All he ever had to do was be kind. 

He loved the nurses that took care of his grandpa when he was sick, they were there all the way to the end. Steve made friends with all of them, especially Georgia – who called him a little heartbreaker and was always trying to convince his mom to let him have a playdate with her daughter. Steve thought Georgia was a whole lot of woman – spitfire red hair, the kind of nurse you found in dirty magazines. He guessed her daughter was just as pretty. He wouldn’t know, he never got a chance to meet her. 

Arthur was a lot like Steve’s dad when they first met. Scrooge-like, a curmudgeon, not one nice word to say to anyone but his wife. 

November, 1995

“Why do they got a male nurse in here for? What’s the issue kid, bein’ a doctor too hard? You a fruitcake or somethin’?” Arthur’s voice was gruff and angry, huffing and puffing into his mask while his oxygen pump wheezed above his head. He’d just gotten out of surgery for a chemo port in his chest, so the last thing he wanted to do was be greeted with a nurse he wasn’t able to flirt with.

“Oh Artie, will you just relax? You’re gonna have an aneurysm,” his wife chides.

“Of course you don’t care that he’s a guy, Dottie,” Arthur grumbles under his breath. 

“Mr. Robbins, I get that you hate that I’m a guy,” Steve starts with a smile, “But if I don’t get your vitals you’re gonna be spending a lot more time with me than you want.” 

“Please, take your time,” Dottie says softly, “Don’t listen to him. He’s such a grump.” 

Arthur tosses her a look, it’s almost cartoonish. His frown pushes his jowls further down his face, deepening the creases by his nose. His furrowed brow in a permanent scowl from the deepened wrinkles in his forehead. 

Arthur’s life reads on his leathered skin and perfectly parted hair. Still styled like he was stuck in the 50s, covered in pomade – the silver shining in the fluorescent lights above them. A set of dog tags hung on a chain, slipping over the dipping collar of his hospital gown.

“World war two?” Steve asked, casting his eyes over to them while he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Arthur’s arm. 

“And Korea,” Arthur wheezed, listening to the hiss of the cuff get tighter and then release, “Met my wife when she came over to sing for the boys.” 

“Thanks for your service,” Steve nods, while he writes Arthur’s stats down on his clipboard. He’s not sure if he’s thanking Arthur or his wife, he might as well thank them both. 

“Did you have any family in the war?” Dottie asked, crossing her legs. Dot was a winner, her hair a salon dark brown but the smile lines in her cheeks and the crinkles by her eyes showed her age. She wore a dark brown fur coat and carried a black leather handbag with a gold clasp that Steve was sure she’d kept in mint condition for the forty years she’s had it. 

“My grandpa fought in World War Two, too,” he smiled, “My mom was born in ‘45, though, so he didn’t volunteer for Korea.” 

“Well, thank him for his service from us, too,” Dottie says warmly. 

“He’s no longer with us,” Steve says, still smiling, “He passed away in ‘81 – but I’ll send a prayer up to him from you.” 

“Heh, if this thing keels me over, I’ll say ‘hi’ to your grandpa for ya instead,” Arthur lets out a grumbly, dark, chuckle.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dot coos, tossing a reproachful look at her husband. Her voice sounds like it was made for the movies. 

“Will you stop chattin’ him up and let him do his damn job?” Arthur growled. 

“Stop being such a big baby, Artie. You want me to get you some water?” she asked her husband sweetly, “I’m about to go grab a coffee for myself.” 

“Yeah, fine,” Arthur grumbled.

“Looks like that port went in okay,” Steve says to himself, inspecting the small contraption on Artie’s chest, “Everything feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he huffed. 

Steve shook his head, scribbling down a few more things on the chart at the end of the bed, “I believe it, sir.”

“You from around here?” Steve asks, hoping to strike up a small conversation. They’d definitely be seeing a lot more of each other. 

“From Florida,” Arthur wheezes again, “My son and his wife, n’ my grandson all moved up here for some job she got. He’s some stay at home dad, can you believe it? ‘Least you sorta made somethin’ of yourself.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just nodding along. 

“Well anyway – hmmmff – s’cuse me,” Arthur coughs roughly, it sounds his Steve’s grandpa’s cough from when he was a kid, “Anyway, Dot couldn’t bear to be away from her boy so, here we are. Got here, two months later I got cancer – so, Indiana’s working out great for me.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Steve says earnestly, looking up from the board, “Your son comin’ in at all?” 

“Nah,” Artie makes a face, shaking his head, “That boy doesn’t talk to me. Prob’ly happy I’m sick.” 

“Oh, I doubt that–” Steve starts, but Artie let’s out a laugh. 

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Arthur’s chuckle is gravelly and deep in his throat, “I’m the meanest son of a bitch you’ll ever meet – and if anything’s true in this life kid, mean people never die.” 

Christmas Eve, 1995

“Well I’ll be back shortly, honey,” Dottie chirped while Arthur got his port hooked up to his tubing. She nearly knocked Steve over when he came into the room. 

“Oh, Steven, honey! I’m so clumsy! Merry Christmas,” she beams, rubbing his arm affectionately.

“You’re okay, Mrs. Robbins,” Steve says with a wink, “You’re leaving so soon?” 

“Just running out for a few last minute gifts! Gonna grab the Grinch here some cookies from my son’s house for him to snack on later,” she lists, “Can I get you anything, dear?” 

“I’m perfect, Mrs. Robbins, thank you though,” his dentist perfect smile makes her blush. 

“Steven, I keep telling you to please call me Dottie,” she huffs, pulling her coat on, “Mrs Robbins sounds so…ugh, so old.” 

“Ah, yes, don’t call her by her married name Steve. She’ll remember how married she is,” Arthur grumbled from his chair, a low chuckle shaking his shoulders. 

“Oh, stop,” Dottie teases, opening the door, “I’ll be back in a bit, I’ll see you both soon.” 

“You keep flirtin’ with my wife I’m gonna die a divorcee,” Arthur joked while she disappeared down the hall. 

“Well if it weren’t for you still kicking around here, she’d be more of a Mrs. Robinson to me than Mrs. Robbins,” Steve smirks into Arthur’s file, “The ladies love me here.” 

“God, don’t I know it – you’re everywhere, kid,” Artie rolls his eyes, “Whenever the girls are in here fussing over me they’re always checkin’ the board to see when your shift starts. I tell ‘em every time, ‘Will you shut up about that Harrington boy? I hear enough about him at home!” 

“Sees you when you’re sleeping, knows when you’re awake,” Steve shrugs, “Might as well be Santa Clause, huh?” 

“You doin’ anything for the holiday?” Arthur asks, he sits up a little, slowly. He’s gotten weaker with the chemo, it shows in his eyes. It shows in the growing softness in his voice. It shows in the thinness of his skin, olive green veins bleeding through a tan film. He’s thinner now, more fragile – it reminds Steve of the hospital in ‘81. His grandfather’s hands lying there, rigid and waxy. 

“You’re lookin’ at it, Artie,” Steve mumbles, adjusting the levels on the machines next to him. 

“Even tomorrow? What about your folks?” 

“My parents are in Hawai’i,” he lets a chuckle out in puffs of air from his nose, but Arthur knows it’s not a happy one, “I don’t really talk to my dad, much.” 

“You and my boy would get along -hhhgggack- get along great,” Arthur wheezes into another coughing fit. 

“Probably,” Steve laughs, “We both don’t like you.” 

Arthur’s coughs turn into barking laughs, loud enough that other attendants are craning their heads to look over at him. 

“Oh Harrington, you’re funny,” Arthur says, wiping his eyes, “You’re real funny.” 

The early evening rolls around and Arthur’s treatment finishes up just on time. Lung cancer was hard, but lung cancer with COPD and emphysema was a little worse. Steve was surprised that they were already starting to see some progress on the tumor after three weeks – maybe Dottie had a deal with someone upstairs. No one in heaven was looking out for Arthur Robbins. 

Steve undoes the connection to his port, starting the wrap up, singing softly to himself. 

“Please have snow, and mistletoe, and presents by the tree…”

“That’s Dorothy’s favorite Christmas song,” Arthur hums, staring down at his feet. 

“Yeah? Was my grandpa’s too,” Steve says, grabbing Arthur’s coat from the chair and passing it to him, “He used to sing it to me every Christmas Eve, just sort of kept up with the tradition.” 

“We do the same for my grandson,” Arthur smiles, “It’s better as a duet. You should really hear Dottie sing – the pipes on her she just –” 

“Hi, so sorry I’m late!” 

As if summoned by the angels themselves, Dottie rushes into the room, gifts in hand. Arthur stands up, slowly putting on his coat and scarf, picking up his portable oxygen (which was hardly portable for a man his age). 

“Stevie, here,” she says with a smile, handing him a gift bag, “It’s not much, but I notice you always just come in with a coat on and I’d love for you to stay a little warmer, honey.” 

Steve melts, opening the tissue to see a red wool scarf and a pair of gloves nestled inside, “Dottie, you didn’t have to get me anything. That’s so sweet, thank you.” 

“Merry Christmas, Steve, we’ll see you soon,” Dottie presses a kiss to his cheek, Arthur rolls his eyes. 

“See you in the new year, Harrington,” Arthur says gruffly while he shuffles out of the room with Dot. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” Steve corrects, putting his file in the holder by the door. 

1PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Merry Christmas Artie, I got you a biopsy,” Steve cheers as he walks into Arthur’s room. 

“Oh, there’s my boy,” Arthur laughs, it’s hearty but he still wheezes, the tubes in his nose shake against his face. Steve comes in for a hug, completely missing the two people in the corner of the room. A man in his forties or fifties, and a boy around ten or eleven next to him. 

“Hi there,” Steve says, adjusting his glasses and putting his hand out, “I’m Steve, I was your dad’s nurse when he was here for treatment – and uh, I guess I’m his nurse today, too.” 

“Mark,” the older man says, he doesn’t smile, “We’re not staying long.” 

“This is my grandson, Mikey,” Arthur says, gesturing to the boy. Steve looks at him and his curly hair, his wire rim glasses that look like his own and his heart leaps.

“Hey Mikey,” Steve puts his hand out for a low five, “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” Mikey says back, slapping his hand against Steve’s. He watches Mark start leading Mikey to the door and he cocks his head. 

“I’m just taking his vitals, you’re welcome to stay,” Steve says gently. 

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Mark says with finality, “Say bye to grandpa, Mikey.” 

Mikey runs over, reaching over the bed on his tiptoes to pull Arthur into a hug, “I love you grandpa, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay,” Arthur smiles, “I love you, too.”

He watches them go and Steve turns back to him. 

“Where’s Dottie?” 

Arthur smiles at him with downturned eyes, “We lost Dot in August, Harrington.” 

“Oh, no. Artie, I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes, leaning against the end of the hospital bed. 

“Still looked like a movie star down to the last day,” Arthur says with soft eyes, “Had me put her lipstick on the morning of, like she had someone to go meet in Heaven. I says, ‘Honey, I’m still here! Who’re you trying to look pretty for?’ She tells me she just wants to look pretty for me. Can you believe that? I’m just some schmuck she married.” 

“She probably lied to you,” Steve teased. 

Arthur swats at him with a grin, “She probably did.” 

“Things okay with your son?” Steve asks, unfurling the blood pressure cuff. 

“Nah,” Arthur shakes his head, “Mike though? That kid really is somethin’. He’s so friggin’ smart. Knows everything about computers and shit – even started teaching me how to use one. He’s ten! He’s gonna be – I don’t know, flyin’ rocket ships or somethin’ when he grows up.”

“You living with them?” 

“No, no, still at the house. Can’t part with Dot’s stuff – y’know? So much of her is still there. She decorated the whole place. S’like I’m still comin’ home to her when I do,” he smiles up at Steve and Steve follows suit. 

“You miss her?” he asks, the answer is obvious. 

“Like the deserts miss the rain,” Arthur declares gently, Steve notices the soft heave in his chest. 

“So what’s the deal, Artie, what’s the biopsy for?” 

“You’re the nurse, you should know!” Arthur laughs in surprise, “Whaddya mean what’s the biopsy for?” 

Steve rolls his eyes while Arthur wheezes back to speaking, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. They found a spot – I got a scan back in Florida, we were there for a couple months. It’s not big, but better safe than – y’know – cancer. But honestly kid, it’s nothing. I’m not worried about it.” 

“Neither am I,” Steve nods. They go through the motions of his surgery prep, vitals, the works. They make jokes and share stories – it’d been a long six months. It was hard to leave each other – but his remission was a blessing. He’d become a different man in that year. They both had. 

“I’m heading out around three today, so I won’t be back until tomorrow,” Steve says. 

“Aw, c’mon, you’re supposed to be my Christmas buddy!” Arthur complains, “My son’s basically having me fuck off until he gets me tomorrow. Stick around!” 

“You want me to stick around or do you want Sara-Jean to be your night nurse?” Steve smirks. Sara-Jean was real pretty. Pretty enough that Steve had pulled her into a few empty rooms to play doctor every now and again. 

“Oh, you can get the fuck out right now if you want,” Arthur’s chortle is scratchy when it comes out. Steve missed that, and the soft puffs of his portable tank in the background. 

3PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Barb, did you hear about Darlene?” Steve asks while he gets to the admin desk. Darlene ‘tsks’ under her breath while she types away. 

“Did I hear what?” Barb asks, tossing a look at Darlene, “What’d she do?” 

“Well I talked to the big guy, y’know?” he says, tugging on his jacket, wrapping a red wool scarf around his neck, “Turns out, she’s on the naughty list.” 

“Ooh, Darlene! We better call Gary!” Barb teases with a laugh, opening a filing cabinet under the desk. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Steven?” Darlene whips her head around with a laugh, “Go home!” 

“I know someone on the naughty list isn’t telling me what to do,” he tutts with a sly smirk. 

He slaps a hand playfully on the counter, “Someone oughta teach her a lesson, huh Barb?” 

“You’re pushin’ your luck here, Harrington,” Barb says, emerging from below the desk with a stack of files, “You’re luckin Gary’s not here to knock you into ‘98.” 

Steve smiles, waving to the women, “If I don’t see either of you tomorrow afternoon, Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” they call back. 

Steve pops his head into Arthur’s room, still waiting to go in for surgery. 

“Hey, Merry Christmas, Artie,” he says. 

“Hey, Harrington,” Arthur says, beckoning him over, “C’mere for a second.” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked, walking to the edge of his bed. 

“I got a gift for Mikey that got delivered to my house this morning, my neighbor brought it in for me. But since I’m gonna be here overnight I was wondering if you could grab it and bring it in for me tomorrow? I just wanna tell ‘im Santa dropped it off so this whole thing doesn’t bum him out. I’m sure ya already got plans but I’d really appreciate it.” 

“No, no, of course,” Steve shakes his head, “I’ll go pick it up. What’s the gift?” 

Arthur smiles a knowing, grandfatherly smile, “He’s been begging Mark for a Nintendo 64 for since September – and they’ve been sold out everywhere. They can’t really afford stuff like that anyway, so Mark’s been telling him to ‘manage expectations’. Pfft.” 

“Think I’d ever tell my grandson to manage his expectations?” Arthur asks, Steve swears he hears his own grandfather saying it. “So I used the lessons Mikey gave me about the computer and I found it on this website called E-bay – hefty fuckin’ markup I’ll tell ya that. Now, I had to go to the library to find out how to really order it but, y’know, here it is. Who’d a thought you could just click a button and get something sent to your house, huh? Friggin’ magic.” 

Steve’s heart swells, “That’s really nice, Arthur.” 

“He’s a good kid, he deserves it. And y’know, Mark could use a break – he really could,” Arthur nods, considering for a moment, “He really loves his boy – so I think it’s sort of a gift for him, too.” 

“Well, I’ll give ya a call when I pick it up, okay?” Steve asks, walking back toward the door. Arthur nods, jotting the address down and passing it to him. 

“Thanks a lot Harrington,” he smiles, stopping him while Steve gets to the door, “And nice scarf.” 

Steve winks and pats the wall as he leaves. 

7PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

“Well I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Robin confesses, “If she didn’t get you a gift, she probably doesn’t like you like that.” 

“What do you know about girls liking you back anyway, Buckley?” Eddie frowns, playfully tossing a red M&M at her on the couch. 

“Hey, hey, be nice,” Steve says, holding his hand out to Eddie who fills it with M&Ms. 

“You look so tired, Steve,” Nancy frowns, “How many shifts did you pull to get tonight off?” 

Steve shrugs, tossing his head back on the cushions of the couch, “I don’t know, too many.” 

The door opens and the kids file in. They aren’t kids anymore, Steve guesses, but they might as well be. 

“Party people! Merry Christmas!” Lucas calls, head of the line to file in followed by a deeply embarrassed Max. She has a big bag full of shiny wrapped boxes in her arms but before Steve can scold her about presents, she shoots him a look that could kill him dead. 

Henderson comes in after, immediately running to Eddie first, also carrying a bag of gifts. 

“Merry Christmas, folks,” he announces with a smile while passing out gift bags one by one. 

“Guys, I said–” Steve starts. 

“Shut up, nerd,” Erica says, walking in the door with Will and El flanking either side of her. Mike follows up at the end, closing the door behind him. 

“You say no gifts every year and we never listen to you, so,” Erica continues, crossing her arms and looking down at him from behind the couch, “Merry Christmas, though.” 

“Merry Christmas, Sinclair,” he says up at her. 

“Merry Christmas, Lady Apple Jack,” Eddie calls from the other end of the sectional. 

“There’s food all laid out in the kitchen,” Nancy calls to them. Steve yawns, sitting up and watching the group move as a unit to the kitchen, dropping their gifts off under the tree on the way. He looks around, a smile creeping onto his face, a Christmas that finally feels like family. Like home. Like he’s seven years old. 

His eyes zero in on the Nintendo 64 on the side table and his heart skips. 

“Shit, I’ll be right back, I gotta make a phone call.” 

Steve heads upstairs to his room, dialing to hospital without even looking at the numbers, counting the rings down to the second for Barb’s voice to pick up. 

“Hey Barb, it’s Steve. Can you transfer me to Artie Robbins’ room? He feelin’ okay?” he asks. 

“Uh, yeah, let me double ch– Hey, is Mr. Robbins out of surge–he is? Okay, okay – alright honey, let me transfer you over.” 

Steve holds his breath while the phone rings, letting it out when Arthur’s scratches through the phone, “Hello?” 

“Artie, hey, it’s Steve. Your gift is secured.” 

“Oh, good, good –hhgggack-, s’cuse me,” Arthur coughs wetly, Steve can hear him spit on the other end, “Sorry about that.” 

“Hey, don’t worry man. How was um, how was surgery, how’s it lookin’?” Steve asks, heart thumping in his chest. 

“Well um…” Arthur trails off, another wet, hacking cough echoes through the line, “Y’know I uh – I got some bad news for you, Harrington.” 

“Oh shit, Arthur…Arthur I’m so sorry,” Steve starts, “We can start you right back up on –” 

“I can’t believe you’d lie to me like that, Harrington,” he confesses, ignoring Steve’s apologies, his voice grinding with phlegm. 

“What? I didn’t – what do you –” sweat formed on his brow. Why did he tell him it was gonna be fine? He’s just a fucking nurse, how would he know? 

“Sara-Jean wasn’t my night nurse,” Arthur says, exasperated, “It’s some old broad I’ve never met before.” 

Arthur laughs and it gets caught in his throat like a wheeze, Steve lets out a long breath through his nose. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole,” Steve chuckles, rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “You almost gave me a heart attack, Jesus Christ.” 

“Merry, merry, Harrington,” he says, “See ya tomorrow.” 

“Do you want me to wrap it?” Steve asks, “The gift?” 

“Hey, if you’re offering – I don’t gotta pay you for that, right? They gonna add that to my bill?” 

“Actually, I’m gonna make sure they charge you double,” Steve smiles through the phone, hearing Arthur’s breathy laugh one more time before he says goodnight and hangs up. Steve heads back down stairs, the group all around the living room. 

“Here,” Robin calls, beckoning him over and patting a seat next to her, “I’m gonna put on Miracle at 34th Street.” 

“Why? It’s boring,” Mike frowns. 

“Cause it’s your sister’s favorite and she made all the food, dumbass,” Steve snap at him, walking over to the couch, not resisting the urge to give him a soft smack across his mop of hair. 

Eddie giggles, “Yeah, don’t be such a dumbass, Wheeler.” 

8PM - Christmas Eve, 1996

Beep beep. Beep beep. Bzz.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Bzz.

The group looks over at Steve who immediately reaches back into his pocket, beeper lighting up and buzzing. He squints down at it, the hospital’s number flashing below, “Ugh, shit. They’re really calling me in now?” 

“Just don’t go,” Eddie said, “They gave you the night off for a reason. Can’t they call someone else?” 

“That’s not really how it works Munson,” he mumbles, “Sorry guys, I gotta go um –” 

He looks around the room, eyes scanning everyone before they land on Nancy, “Nance can you just make sure everything’s locked up before you leave?” 

She nods, Henderson’s voice calling over the TV, “Why do you always ask Nancy?” 

“Do you really think I’d trust any of you other twerps to do it?” he asks with a laugh, pulling his coat on and wrapping the scarf around his neck, “Merry Christmas, guys.” 

The traffic was low, everyone home and inside, cozy with their families while he races back up to the hospital. He lets out a sigh, exhaustion rolling over him in waves like he hadn’t worked three days in a row – the twelves hours he had off would’ve been a great welcome. Before he knows it, he pulls into staff parking, still in his scrubs, hurrying into the lobby. 

“What’s up Barb,” he asks, “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Oh, honey…” she says, her frown tells him enough. 

“What’s happening, what’s wrong with him?” Steve asks, his body felt like he’d been dunked in ice water. In his peripheral he can see Arthur’s doctor come up behind him. 

“Steve I – I’m sorry,” he says. 

“What’s happening, what’s going on?” Steve eyes, nose prickling with heat, the back of his throat getting thick. 

“He’s hemorrhaging,” the doctor said, “It’s happening slowly, but we can’t stop it…he’s not gonna make it, Steve.” 

“Well you gotta, like, you can do something,” Steve says, a hurt smile pulling at his lips, “Like, there’s gotta be something that can stop it.” 

“There’s nothing we can do, Steve,” he confesses, putting a hand on his shoulder, “He wants to go.” 

“Well, um,” Steve swallows thickly, “Can you – has anyone called his son? Or? Where’s his family?” 

“They aren’t coming,” Barb says, shaking her head. Tears pooled in her eyes, “He asked if we’d call you.” 

“How much t-time does he have?” Steve gasps out, breath coming out of him in short spurts. Shoulders rising and falling unsteadily. 

“Not much,” the doctor says, “You should go see him.” 

Steve nods, numb, dizzy, the floor spins under him and suddenly he’s fourteen again – sitting in the waiting room with his dad while his mom wails outside the door. 

He gets to the room and opens the door slowly, Arthur laying there covered in tubes – with every blink it’s 1981 all over again. 

“Hey, Artie,” Steve says softly. He see’s Arthurs eyes flit toward him, a twitch of a hand standing in for a wave. Steve pulls a chair over and sits next to him, the healthy man he’d seen just hours before suddenly paled, older than he’d ever seen him. 

“Hey -hmmmfff- Harrington,” he pushes out. Pulling in a big, strained, wheezing breath between the words. It sounded like it hurt to breathe – but with only one weak lung working at this point, the other filling with blood, Steve assumed it must be. 

“Shh, shh,” Steve coos, “You don’t have to talk.” 

He sits there for a moment, listening to the beep of the EKG, the whoosh of air from the oxygen machine. Steve watches the drip of the IV drip – morphine. Arthur’s eyes are drowsy, but they still sparkle playfully at him. 

A lump builds in Steve’s throat while he watches him, he feels guilty taking deep breaths to keep from crying. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold back. 

“Aw, come on man, you were – ugh, fuck – thought you were too mean to die,” Steve asked between sniffles. He tries to blink back his tears but they finally spring out of him, leaking down his cheeks. 

“Well –hhhmmmfff- look what m-meeting you -hmmmfff- got me, k-kid,” Arthur laughs through labored, shallow, breaths, “One good -hhhmmfff- de-deed and I’m k-kicking the buck-bucket –hmmmff-. 

Steve takes his hand, holding it tight, a shuddering breath hitting his lungs before he breaks, “I’m s-sorry your s-son’s not coming.”

“S’okay I don’t want -hhhmmfff– Mikey to -hhmmfff- see me like th-this,” he gasps out, eyes lulling, breaths getting farther and few in between. 

“You think -hmmfff- Dot’s st-still gonna think I -hhhmmmff- look sh-sharp?” 

“Oh, for sure,” Steve cries into a laugh, “She’d probably still think I look sharper.” 

Arthur lets out a weak wheeze of a laugh, using whatever left over strength he has to push a half smile onto his face. 

“I’ll say -hhmmff– hi to your gr-grandpa –hhmmff- for you,” he whispers. Steve nods, squeezing his hand, wiping his face with the other. 

“He’ll thi-think you’re a real p-piece of work,” Steve jokes, his thumb grazing comfortingly over Arthur’s hand. 

They sit there in silence, outside of Arthur’s labored breathing and the monitors beeping, Steve’s sniffling and shuddering cries. 

“-hhhmmmff– H-harrington?”

“Yeah?” 

“Sing the song.” 

Steve doesn’t have to ask which he means, his heart breaks as he looks at the clock – 9 PM – right when his grandpa would bring him off to bed. 

“Sure, Artie,” Steve promises, “Sure.” 

“Christmas Eve will find me…”

“As the love light gleams…”

“I’ll be home fo– Oh, no…no, Artie. Arthur c’mon, c’mon man.”

The monitor holds a steady note, and against it, a rattle Steve knows all too well. 

Christmas Day, 1996 

Steve got home late but Nancy, Robin, and Eddie were still there when he got in. “How’d you know?” Steve asked, eyes red behind his specs. 

“Your girlfriend Barb called,” Robin joked, pulling him into a hug. The rest followed suit, pressing against him so that maybe the pressure would relieve him of his grief. They all stayed the night, they saved cookies for him, a plate of snacks, dinner. They stayed up until he was fast asleep – all sneaking out quietly the next morning to spend time with their families. 

Steve woke up around nine in the morning, blearily peering around the living room. He must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, glasses laid neatly on the side table and a note from Nancy. His eyes lingered on the present for Mikey, he heaved a deep and heavy sigh. 

Steve got up and took a quick shower, hoping the water would take his aching along with it down the drain. It didn’t, but it woke him up a little. He didn’t bother getting dressed, just getting back into his scrubs from the night before, slapping on some deodorant and cologne before trudging back downstairs. 

He took his time to wrap the gift, folding over the edges of the paper and sealing it seamlessly. The North Pole would’ve hired him in a heartbeat if they could get a look at this wrap job. 

He pulled on his coat, his red wool scarf, and tugged the present under his arm while he walked to the car. He pulled out a small piece of paper from his coat pocket, his own sloppy writing looking back at him with Mark’s address scrawled on it. It was a twenty minute drive – it felt like an eternity. 

He rang the bell and knocked on the door, and even though he knew they were home he was still surprised to see Mark open it, his wife next to him. 

“Hey, Mr. Robbins,” Steve says softly, “Sorry to come by but um – I know this must be a really hard day for you both, but –” 

“It’s okay. Um, Steve – right?” Mark guesses, Steve nods. Mark looked worse for wear, “This was dad’s nurse at the hospital.” 

“Hi,” his wife murmurs, “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merr–” 

“Dad, who is it?” Mikey calls, pushing between his parents, “Oh hey, you’re that guy from yesterday.” 

Steve guessed it must be hard to really dampen the magic of Christmas for a ten year old, even if his grandpa just died. 

“Hey buddy, you’re actually the guy I wanted to see,” Steve said with a smile, kneeling down to get closer to his level. 

“I found this on the desk in the lobby at the hospital,” he says, looking down at the box, holding it out in front of him, “It’s addressed to you, looks like it’s from Santa.”  Mikey frowns, and at a closer look, it’s clear Mikey had just as rough of a night as his dad had. His lower lip wobbles slightly but he quickly straightens it out. 

“Santa isn’t real,” Mikey says defiantly, crossing his arms. 

“Who told you that?” Steve asks, his brows furrowed. 

“No one told me,” Mikey mumbles softly, “I told Santa that all I wanted for Christmas was for my grandpa to get better. And he didn’t…so…” 

“Well if Santa’s not real, then how did he call me this morning?” Steve asks with a smile.

“What?” Mikey asks, eyes shining with excitement. 

“He told me he left this at the hospital because he thought you were still there,” Steve explains, “So he asked if I could bring it to you. It was something you really wanted, he told me.” 

“Oh man, is this –” he takes the box from Steve, it’s a little too heavy for him, “Is this what I think it is?!” 

“I don’t know, dude, you gotta open it!” Steve laughs. Mikey sits right on the ledge of the front door, Mark and his wife behind him. The paper rips away to reveal the Nintendo 64 Mikey had begged for since it came out in September. 

“WOW! Dad look! Santa saw it on my list! He didn’t forget! I can’t believe it!” 

Steve stands back up to see Mark, his red eyes pooling with tears. 

“Honey, why don’t you come with me and I’ll see how we can set it up,” Mark’s wife says to Mikey, taking the box from him. Mikey runs inside and his mom gives Steve a small wave, wishing him a Merry Christmas.

“S’that from my dad?” Mark asked, wiping his eyes. 

Steve takes his glasses off, wiping his own, “Yeah, he um, ordered it online – if you can believe it.”  They both let out a small, pained, airy chuckle. Two men who are suddenly boys. Red noses and cheeks. 

“He asked if I’d bring it to him to give to Mikey but um, y’know.” 

Mark nods, face contorting while he tries to hold back a sob, “Merry Christmas, man.”  Steve puts his hand out to shake it, but Mark pulls him into a tight hug where they both fall apart, “I’m so sorry, Mark. I’m just so sorry.” 

They stay embraced for a few minutes before breaking apart, both taking deep breaths while they settle. Two boys who know what it’s like to not understand their dads. Two boys who know better now. 

“You’re a very kind man, Steve,” Mark says, “Thank you so much, for – for this.” 

“Thank you,” Steve says gently, “I hope you and your family are able to have a good holiday.” 

They say their goodbyes and Steve takes his keys from his pocket, swinging them into his hand. He gets in the driver’s seat of the BMW, the leather quickly cooled over. He watches Mark shut the door behind him and takes a cleansing breath through his nose and out through his mouth, putting the key into the ignition. 

The heat blasts and he pulls out onto the road, flicking the radio on. 

He chuckles sadly to himself, eyes closing briefly behind his glasses at the coincidence, while the radio crackles to life. 

“Merry Christmas, guys,” he says, staring up at the sky through the windshield. 

Bing Crosby’s voice fills the car, and Steve’s red, wool scarf feels warmer than it ever has around his neck.

“Christmas Eve will find me. As the love light gleams. I’ll be home for Christmas… 

If only in my dreams.” 

[xoruffitup]

TROS (Mis)Characterizations: What Was and What Could Have Been

What started as responding to an anon ask turned into an entire meta... but working out all these thoughts has at least eased a bit of my TROS pain. :’) 

From my perspective, TROS managed to destroy not only the characterizations built so far in the sequel trilogy, but also the entire story built upon these characters (mainly Reylo) as we knew them. While talking to a family member about the movie a few days ago and voicing my grievances with the story, he pointed out how someone could watch TFA and skip to TROS without realizing they’d missed much. That’s mostly true and entirely gutting.

Since I had an ask to talk about how TROS regressed in terms of characterization, I’ll start with the most hurtful of defacements: All of the nuanced vulnerability that made Kylo/Ben our most beloved character. We had absolutely nothing in TROS like the complex masterpiece moments of TLJ. Think back to “You are a monster.” / “Yes I am” – delivered with glowering menace as Kylo stalked closer, simultaneous to the tell of fragmented uncertainty in a quivering bottom lip and chin, all while his eyes remained completely riveted on Rey. Think back to “You’re not alone” – delivered with a wet sheen to his eyes in a soft cracked voice, but with self-loathing still smoldering behind his expression. Until the scene with Han, Kylo was shrunk into an entirely two-dimensional cookie cutter “villain” figure in TROS, seemingly more committed to the dark side and the First Order than he ever was to begin with in TFA. (I say “seemingly” because his true motives and interior dilemmas are frustratingly unclear in the entire first half of the movie. Cue me loathing the mask more than ever.)

Though Kylo seems uncharacteristically committed to the Supreme Leader role in TROS, considering he ended TLJ in a supplicating position fixing regretful eyes up towards Rey, luckily TROS did at least maintain the Force bond. …or at least the concept of it, because in execution the Force bond scenes achieved approximately nothing of what TLJ so uniquely excelled at: Creating a sense of intimacy, understanding, and forbidden tenderness between Rey and Ben. Instead of soft-spoken entreaties and promises across the soft glow of a fire or the dappling light of rain (ugh, remember the way light and shadow literally played out in contrasts across Kylo’s face during “I am a monster”? TLJ is a cinematic wonder, pass it on), we get scenes where the two yell and spit spite at each other. Most frustrating is how absolutely out of touch Kylo’s dialogue is with the Ben who was revealed through previous Force bond scenes. In a regression that makes absolutely no sense after Ben’s big proposal of “It’s time to let old things die: The Jedi, the Sith… I want you to join me” – he literally has the most reductive, bland, and meaningless lines such as “I will find you and turn you to the dark side.” ……..? Kylo has literally never been that boring or straightforward ever, not even since the TFA interrogation scene. He offered to be her teacher, sure, but never on terms that simplistic or blatantly combative to Rey’s will.

What I’ve always passionately loved and defended about Reylo is that Kylo never forced Rey to do anything harmful or against her will. Even pushing her to the painful moment of admitting the truth (or so we FUCKIN’ THOUGHT) about her parentage during the throne room scene did, in the end, help her character come to terms with repressed trauma and move forward in her journey of self-determination. (haha look at me, still stuck in my feminist goggles as if they haven’t been ripped off my head by TROS…) The point is: The TLJ Force bond was never a means of threat. It was never a tool for Kylo to say something as blatantly antagonistic as “I will find you and turn you to the dark side.” (Wow, did a Kindergartener write that? Come the fuck on, JJ.) And I was deeply disappointed to see the Force bond reduced to a tool used only to tell a part of the story unrelated to Reylo; rather than being the means of developing their relationship in and of itself.

This feeds into my overall biggest grievance with how Kylo/Ben was handled in this film. Similar to the Force bond – Ben’s character was reduced to a secondary prop piece who mostly served only as a narrative device in advancing the Rey-Palpatine plotline. Look, I imagined for months ahead of TROS the kind of candid Force bond conversations we might hear. Like “No one (knows me)” / “But I do.” (Where the FUCK did that line go?! Apparently JJ doesn’t know her…) Or perhaps Ben apologizing and opening up to Rey about how unhappy he is in the dark, how alone he feels. Instead…. we got shit like “You’re his granddaughter.” Like how dare they disrespect Academy Award Nominee Adam Driver’s talent like that?

Now, looking past the fact for a moment that the Rey-Palpatine addition is insulting, unoriginal, and sexist; there could have been a very interesting dynamic here. We would have the grandson of Vader and the granddaughter of Palpatine feeling very different pulls to both light and darkness, Force bonded together as they struggle with the weight of these legacies. Kylo, I imagine, was probably partially excited when he learned it, because maybe this means that Rey would understand him fully and perhaps this time, once she learned the truth, she would finally be with him. But nope, we don’t get nearly that much of a look into Kylo’s head. He does say at one point “You can’t go back to her (Leia), just like I can’t,” but the line missed the mark a bit for me because TROS still had Kylo appealing to Rey from the perspective of “Join the dark side as if we’ve done away with all that grey morality complexity we introduced last movie” – rather than from the perspective of “Neither of us should feel alone ever again.”

I’m rather unspeakably bitter that we had no exploration into what Palpatine’s return meant for Ben. I imagine he would have gone a bit wild upon learning that the man who was responsible for his grandfather’s fall was still alive. And the revelation of “I have been every voice you’ve ever heard inside your head”? This was enough to bring Ben Solo stans to tears before we even watched the movie, and yet it was treated completely off-handedly. Ben never even gets his own moment of coming to terms with Palpatine’s return. No “My grandfather killed you – how is this possible?” Nothing like that at all – even though he’s the character who would be most affected by his return in terms of legacy implications. Nope; Ben’s first encounter with Palpatine at the beginning of the movie – the same encounter where we learn Palpatine has apparently been behind all of the dark side grooming, manipulation, and isolation Ben has suffered since he was literally in the womb – quickly veers towards “Kill the girl / She is not who you think she is.” Early warning here that Ben Solo as a character in dire need of resolution is about to be treated with utter apathy by this film.

Here’s where I need to pause for a moment of self-awareness. While arguing with my Dad about this movie (he loved it), he threw at me that he thought I was being anti-feminist because I disliked the ending of Rey being alone. I quickly did my best to disabuse him of the idea that feminism = women being forever alone. This did make me think though about the implications of TROS veering away from the dual protagonist story framework that had been established up to this point; in favor of a narrative with Rey as the single and clear protagonist. The two main reasons I had such a knee-jerk reaction against this shift were A) It left a bad taste in my mouth after Rey ended TLJ emboldened by her acceptance of her past and unremarkable lineage; and B) It upended Reylo as the foundation of the entire story – also which we’d been led to expect. And I’m not just talking TLJ – I’m referencing back to JJ’s own Director’s commentary for TFA where he says “Now back to the story we really care about” when the film goes back to Rey and Kylo’s forest battle; who described Kylo as “a sort of prince,” and insinuated “you get the feeling there’s more going on here” when Kylo decided to spirit off Rey on Takodana. JJ set all the fucking clues here and then apparently forgot about each and every one.

However – am I perhaps not being fair to Rey in my disappointment that she doesn’t end the film in domestic bliss with Ben? Was I expecting something beneath her potential? Can I really say it’s a bad thing that the narrative rearranges itself in this film to focus chiefly on her? 

The reason it all sits so wrong with me is because Rey’s characterization became bastardized for the sake of her solo narrative. Her character was essentially entirely effaced. The emphasis of her journey thus far pointed towards the crafting of one’s own identify; to the fact that might and greatness can reside within anyone, and it is up to that person alone to decide what kind of life to live with such power. Rey’s development at the end of TLJ indicated she’d found freedom from her past, and was now fully embracing the act of forging her own path without any constraints or shadows. But then, this road she’d been paving for herself was abruptly switched in TROS to one already completed and well-traveled, lined with unoriginal identity struggles and a copout for assigning Rey’s instincts of aggression and passion to the hereditary and ungendered “dark side.” This sudden switch stripped away all of Rey’s unique identity struggles, as well as her agency to define her own story.

Confining Rey to such an unoriginal and unfortunate struggle also required that her own goals and desires be changed as well. When faced with a legacy of evildoers, Rey’s story immediately shifts away from being focused on her, and rather to remedying the mistakes of men who came before. Rey’s own story was about a thousand times more interesting when she was in the center of it. As a twitter post I saw a few days ago but now frustratingly can’t find said very aptly: Male viewers found “Rey Skywalker” satisfying because they see a happy ending as being the “best” or the most powerful. Female viewers see a happy ending as being truly seen, understood, and valued for the person one is. (If anyone knows the source, please let me know...)

Rey used to say she wanted to learn “her place in all this.” That doesn’t indicate a thirst for greatness or power; but rather for belonging and connection. She has spent most of her story so far thinking back to her parents, then spent a solid 2 minutes in TROS looking longingly and smiling at the alien babies on Pasaana, which hello motherhood signaling. She has been happiest in moments when she felt valued and connected to those around her.

The idea of having greatness bestowed upon her by some external entity (aka a man) was already examined and rejected in TLJ. (Read: throne room proposal scene.) But in TROS, this act of external determination is thrust onto her regardless of her will. In so doing, her possession of a legacy rewrites and predetermines all of her goals, battles, and the key facets of her identity. She no longer has the freedom to embrace and cherish her found or chosen family; instead, her goal is to rid herself of the “family” that’s been thrust upon her – making what’s now presumably her happy ending of being disconnected from her assigned family the complete opposite from everything her character previously yearned for. Standing alone in a desert with the company of only half-remembered spirits is likely what filled the nightmares of young Rey of Jakku.

This is, of course, why the dual protagonist/Reylo narrative we expected to see in this film was so compelling. While doing none of Rey’s decision-making for her or removing any agency from the formation of her own identity; her force-bonded relationship with Ben offered Rey belonging, understanding, and purpose. Ben was the only character who could understand how debilitating and frightening it was to feel her Force sensitivity come alive and waver between the light and dark; just as he was the only one who could comfort her in that conflict without infringing on her independence. Once we saw dark!Rey in that D23 footage, I think every Reylo imagined scenes where Palpatine begins to sink his control into Rey’s mind and Ben rushes to her side to pull her back towards the light, because he knows all too well what those voices are like inside his head and he’d rather hear them all again than watch Rey suffer it.

From several perspectives, Reylo fighting and defeating Palpatine together is also the only ending that makes sense from a holistic storytelling perspective. (I mean both of them wielding blue sabers against Palpatine and fighting together in tandem – rather than that single crowd-pleaser shot of them hefting their complementary lightsabers together before Ben gets brushed off into a pit…) While Ben is the legacy character, representing all that our beloved original characters fought and suffered for; Rey is the new-generation character, representing a new age and the banishing of old mistakes which continued to perpetuate conflict. Only these representatives of new and old; of royal legacy and self-made upstart; could truly banish all of the harm committed in the galaxy by Palpatine and remedy all the loss and suffering effected throughout the Skywalker line. To have only a single character recently revealed to be related to Palpatine facing him alone (no matter how “badass” that might make said female character seem by superficial standards), rather than a union with the single remaining descendant of the Skywalker line himself is simply unsatisfactory and directionless storytelling. It is Palpatine’s manipulation towards three generations of Skywalkers that was the sole catalyst for all of the warfare, struggle, and conflict we’ve witnessed throughout this entire 9-film series. To not even engage with Ben Solo-Skywalker’s troubled relationship to that heritage and to completely fail in realizing the emotional catharsis and resolution that stood there waiting is nothing short of infuriatingly shortsighted storytelling. J.J. claimed in several interviews that this film was crafted with the entire preceding story in mind, as a cap to everything that came before. I have absolutely no idea which story he was referring to.

And so, from the perspectives of this film alone, the sequel trilogy, and the entire 9-film saga as a whole – Yes, I do claim that it was a poor decision in terms of story telling and character integrity to reconfigure the narrative to focus solely on Rey. For the reasons just mentioned, it was an utter disservice to Rey’s character arc. To reduce all of the tragedy, charisma, and youthful potential in Kylo/Ben’s character to a secondary narrative device is nothing short of shameful. Not to mention wasting all of Adam’s potential for playing truly heart-wrenching scenes of Ben’s penitent soul-searching. I will never forgive the fact that Ben had literally not a word of dialogue after his quick conversion scene halfway through the movie. Not only does he play no major role in the final battle with Palpatine, but aside from charging in heroically and doing a phenomenal Solo Shrug, he isn’t allowed a single moment of interiority. He has no speech to Palpatine declaring his change of heart and his reclaimed heritage. Perhaps most painful of all – he and Rey never even have their Big Talk where we expected Ben to apologize for the doings of Kylo Ren and for both of them to affirm their desire to be together and their devotion to each other. Adam did a pretty amazing job demonstrating all that in how he cradled Rey’s body and couldn’t even bear to look into her lifeless face (RIP my heart). But no matter how phenomenal and tender the Reylo kiss was, how luminous Rey’s smile was when she said “Ben,” and how achingly loving his eyes were when he looked at her – I can’t help feeling crushingly cheated that their love itself wasn’t what enabled the victory. Rather than the strength they lent to each other through a union that defied light-dark dichotomy (as it should have been and as the story was previously leading towards), it was rather Rey’s miracle heritage that won the day. The fact that Ben never says a damn word when he stands before Palpatine, or when Rey kisses him and he finally realizes she does care for him too – makes both their bond and Ben’s entire character feel like a throw-away prop only there for Rey to wear so long as this feeble story needed it.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on what made TROS’ plot so underwhelming and lifeless compared to TLJ or even TFA. The difference between TLJ and TROS in the simplest terms is that TLJ’s narrative was character-driven, whereas TROS subjected its characters to a narrative. Rather than a huge space battle, TLJ’s biggest moments are Rey and Kylo’s throne room proposal and Kylo and Luke’s showdown on Crait. Both of these moments had huge emotional stakes for the characters involved, which was what made them epic. TROS’ narrative, meanwhile, uses twists like the Rey Palpatine reveal to manipulate its characters in inorganic directions, and builds towards a finale that is unrelated to any of the long-standing challenges our heroes have confronted throughout the story. TROS derided its characters down to mere tools for a superficial spectacle of a story. TLJ, on the other hand, made its characters the story. It’s no wonder I found myself strangely numb and disconnected the first time I saw TROS.

Now, I’m just angry and disappointed. Disappointed that such brilliant, wonderful characters were wasted. Angry that we’ve imagined a hundred endings more appropriate and fair to the characters we hold dear. I am trying to appreciate what I can from the film and hold on to the few beautiful moments, but I definitely plan on writing my own fic version of how TROS might have played out, had it upheld the complexity and integrity of its characters. Even still, I’m quite sure we all know and understand Ben Solo much better than J.J. or Chris Terrio, so in our hearts Ben will find the happy ending he deserves.

[soopersara]

I have a theory...

The timeline of Zuko’s family has never made that much sense to me. I know I’m not alone in thinking this, but the fact that Sozin and Roku were both white-haired old men in their final showdown 112 years before the events of ATLA has never sat quite right with me. It just doesn’t seem possible that they could have been that old if they were Zuko’s great-grandfathers. Cue my overly analytical brain, and a theory that I’ve been sitting on for almost a year now.

So the Avatar wiki is kind enough to provide us with dates for a lot of events in the show. The page is here if anyone cares to see where I’m drawing all this nonsense from. But I pulled out the relevant dates and stuck them in this nifty little timeline:

That’s all the confirmed births, deaths, etc. that the wiki gives us on Zuko’s family from Sozin through the first episode of ATLA with a few bonus Aang-and-Roku events thrown in for reference. And there are some pretty big gaps. 

I’m willing to let the gap between Sozin’s death/Azulon’s coronation and Zuko and Azula’s births slide, though, because we have Iroh and Ozai to fit in there somewhere. Given their appearances in ATLA, I’m willing to bet that Iroh is in his 50′s or 60′s, and Ozai is considerably younger, probabably in his 40′s. So I threw in a guesstimation of when they would have been born (in blue) here:

I’m not sure why their ages aren’t confirmed on the wiki, but whatever. These dates would put Iroh on the younger side (54 at the time of ATLA), but there’s plenty of wiggle room depending on how old you think Azulon was when Iroh was born and how big an age gap you think there is between Iroh and Ozai. Like I said, I can buy that hole in the canon timeline because there are reasonable ways to fill it in. 

But the gap of 58 years between Sozin’s coronation and Azulon’s birth doesn’t sit right with me. Am I supposed to believe that Sozin was eighty-two years old before he had his first son? This is a monarchy, for crying out loud. A monarchy needs heirs, and I never got the impression that the Fire Nation was that opposed to putting women in positions of power. A daughter probably could have taken the throne, so if Sozin and his wife had cranked out a bunch of daughters, I’m assuming at some point they’d give up and just pass the throne to their firstborn daughter. But that didn’t happen, so I think we’re supposed to conclude that Azulon actually was the firstborn. And again, Sozin was eighty-two before Azulon was born, and if a monarch is waiting THAT long to have children, there’s going to be grumbling from many corners of government. Not to mention the fact that menopause is a thing, and unless Sozin was doing some Henry VIII-level wife swapping (and that probably would have been seen as a stain on Sozin’s otherwise “glorious” reign), he kind of missed his chance to have kids at all. 

Basically, that gap makes no sense whatsoever. 

So here’s my theory:

Azulon wasn’t Sozin’s son. 

Sozin started his warmongering ways early enough that he might have put off the “creating an heir” thing until his 40′s or 50′s, but he had a son, who I’ll call Druk. What can I say? I suck at names, but if it was a good name for a dragon, it stands to reason that it should be a good name for a Fire Lord too. Anyway, the government was happy because, Hey, look! Sozin has an heir! Now if something happens, we know who to crown!

But Sozin’s son never became Fire Lord. Druk would have lived a normal royal life, gotten married, and had a son of his own: Azulon. And then, since Sozin lived for an absurdly long time, Druk passed away before his father, and the crown passed to Azulon. 

So then why did Zuko and Azula refer to Sozin as their great-grandfather? Wouldn’t they have known about the “missing generation” in their family tree? Mwahahaha. Never fear, skeptics. I’m this far down the rabbit-hole, I’m not stopping now. 

Sozin was disappointed in Druk in much the same way that Ozai was disappointed in Zuko. Druk had a soft side and didn’t care for the war efforts - he grew up in a world at peace, and while he probably didn’t want to speak out against his father, he never fully bought into the Fire Nation supremacy malarkey. Sozin realized that if Druk was ever allowed to take the throne, his efforts would all fall apart, and Druk would work to restore peace. 

But Sozin was a patient man. He knew that he needed an heir who wouldn’t back down from the war effort, and from very early on, it looked like Azulon would be perfect for the job. So Sozin took over his grandson’s education and did his best to distance Azulon from his father. By the time that Azulon was a teenager, he shared Sozin’s contempt for Druk and was more than willing to go to extreme lengths to further the Fire Nation’s goals. Sozin knew that he had shaped the perfect heir, so now the only problem was getting rid of Druk. 

Sozin had Druk murdered. There was some suspicion surrounding the former crown prince’s disappearance, but Sozin planned the whole thing well enough that no one could ever prove what happened, and Azulon was named as the official heir to the Fire Nation throne.

So there’s my final timeline with Druk added in. Sozin and Azulon both took measures to gradually erase Druk’s name from history: Sozin mostly because filicide (I had to Google the right word for son-killing) is frowned upon, and Azulon because he thought that Druk’s inclusion in the history of the royal family would weaken their legacy. Neither Iroh nor Ozai would have ever met their true grandfather, so if Azulon never mentioned Druk and had records of his existence erased, it would make sense he would have been forgotten by the time that Zuko and Azula came along.

And why does all this matter to ATLA, aside from making Zuko’s family even more screwed up than it was already? Well, personally, I think that having moral conflict within the royal line is a better reason for Zuko’s continual inner struggles than having both Sozin and Roku as his ancestors. Don’t get me wrong, I still kind of like the idea of Roku as Zuko’s great-grandfather (although there’s gotta be a generation missing there too - it’s just basic math), but it was a huge reveal that was done very quickly, and then never touched again. And yeah, introducing a “missing” generation in the royal line would have been a big deal too, but it would have mirrored a lot of Zuko’s family dynamics really well, AND given a reason for why Iroh had so much good in him too. After all, Iroh wasn’t related to Roku. 

Also (and this might seem unrelated, but bare with me), I’m not sure I ever bought Ozai’s reasons for wanting to bring Zuko back to the Fire Nation at the end of Book 1. Like, he had three years to change your mind on the banishment. And yeah, Zuko keeps failing spectacularly, but he’s gotten a lot closer to catching the Avatar than anyone else. Bringing him back just to throw him in prison doesn’t make the most sense to me. BUT, what if Ozai found records of what happened to Druk? Azula was Ozai’s “golden child” but putting her on the throne was never going to end well, and maybe Ozai was smart enough to see that. So when he realized that skipping a generation was possible... well, Zuko’s sixteen. By the standards of most fictional worlds, that makes him an adult, and therefore old enough for a family of his own. Even if the ATLA world didn’t consider him an adult, there was a chance that he’d find a girlfriend and "accidentally” father a couple of grandchildren before Ozai disposed of him once and for all. After all, Zuko’s far less likely to produce a child who’s a raving lunatic than Azula is. He would be the logical choice for producing a new generation of backup heirs quickly. 

Anyway, that’s just what I’ve been able to come up with. Do with it what you will. It’s dark, but I think it makes a lot of sense. Also... I kind of like the idea of Zuko naming his dragon after the great-grandfather that history forgot, who happened to be named after a mythological dragon. I don’t know. I like adding layers to the meanings of names, but I hate coming up with names of my own. Go figure. Hope you enjoyed my waking-up-at-5:30-on-a-Sunday rambles!

[andretruffaut]

.･:*:･ﾟ’ ( twenty-two year old cis male andré truffaut) was made in (paris, france) and attended (le lycée dorian, in france). he resides in new york, and are currently (studying film at tisch). they are (la nouvelle vague, an odd sleeping schedule, rainy days and the myth of icarus). onlookers say they resemble maxence danet-fauvel.

evie here, bringing you another muse !!

okAY so i’ve been thinking this muse over for like 2 weeks now and i’m so excited to finally bring him to the rp. i’ll try to keep this shit short ok? ok.

andré picoli-truffaut was born on june 24, 1996 in paris, france

so he is a cancer, meaning he is the softest most emotional baby ever

identifies as pansexual, pretty out of the closet about it

he is the grandson of françois truffaut. if you’ve never heard of him, he was this big and famous director from the nouvelle vague movement in france. so andré belongs to a renowned family of the film industry and european artistic circles in general. however, his grandfather died 10 years before andre was born so he never met him.

his mom’s name is eva and he has an older sister named luna. his parents divorced when andré was still very young and pretty much abandoned him and his sister. so he was basically raised by his mother and his grandmother. these three women are the pillars of his life. hence why he only uses his maternal last name. 

andré has lived his whole life in paris, up until last year when he moved to new york city to study film at tisch. following up on the footsteps of his grandfather. so, bitch never heard of constance/st. jude’s, even though he attended the parisian version of it.

he is pretty new to the whole UES dynamic and most of the time he’s not interested in being a part of it. he’s too artsy to care tbh. 

LIVES FOR THE AESTHESTIC.

he is such a sweet soft human being. can be a bit petty though. but in general, he is sunshine personified. but he can also be a sad boi. he goes through periods of heavy nostalgia every now and then. 

if he were a character from greek mythology, he’d be icarus. i sort of based his personality on the myth. and made andré be obsessed with icarus and all of greek mythology while at it. he probably likes to fancast people as gods/goddesses.

WANTED CONNECTIONS!

le gang: basically his friends from the UES. we can always plot out specifics, if they’re like bffs or artsy besties, or drinking buddies, etc.

people that knew him from paris or like before he arrived to nyc in general.

roommates! ‘cause why not.

one ex or two wouldn’t hurt tbh.

casual hook ups.

anything that’ll bring me ANGST.

this is what i’ve got so far. thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

[lj-todd]

Challenge: walder frey sr./jon snow

(**eye twitches** You love challenging me, don’t you? Alright, this pairing threw me, part of the reason it took me so long to actually write something for it, but here it is. A/B/O dynamics and angst abound.)Jon sat, silent as a shadow, before the fire of his bedchamber, his hand resting over the swell of his abdomen, lost in the grief and darkness of his own mind. Almost a year of marriage, almost a year of trying to build a real relationship with an Alpha old enough to be his grandfather, had been met with failure. He had been trying so hard to connect with Walder, to build something more than a contractual marriage with the Alpha, that he had missed all the signs.And now his family had lost even more. His brother and Lady Catelyn were dead. Butchered in the very place Jon was expected to live. Expected to raise the child he was carrying. And he’d been locked away in his room during their murders. Kept from trying to save them. Kept from dying alongside them when he failed to save them. If not for the child he carried he would have tried to avenge them by killing his Alpha.“Jon?”

He looked up, finding Roslin, Walder’s daughter, standing next to his chair, looking at him with concern. Roslin was one of the few comforts he had in this wretched place.“I’m fine,” he said quietly, looking at the dwindling fire, the words hollow, repeated so often now that they held no true meaning. “I’m fine, Roslin.”She frowned, knowing him too well to believe that, and she took his hand in hers.“Father sent me,” she said softly, no doubt not wanting to do this, wanting to leave Jon to his seclusion but, like Jon, having no choice. “He’s holding a feast. All my brothers and nephews are here and he…he wants to celebrate.”Jon twitched and let out an angry sound.“He wants to celebrate the butchering of my brother and his mother.” He glared at the fireplace. “He wants to celebrate the slaughter of his wife and unborn child.” He closed his eyes, hands trembling. “And he wants me to sit there and smile and pretend to celebrate with him.”Roslin bit her lip, shaking slightly, before letting out a soft sound.“I’ll tell him you don’t feel well,” she tried to offer. “I’ll tell him the baby…”“No.” Jon stood, though not as quickly as he wished he could, his current condition making that too difficult. “No. If he wants me to be there I will be.”“Jon…”“And who knows, I might save my child the pain of knowing his father.”“Jon.” Roslin sounded frightened but Jon leaned in quick, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.He shook his head, pecking her cheek softly, before making his way from the room and, slowly, carefully, to the great hall. The feast was already underway and Walder barely acknowledged him as he took his seat at the high table, too interested in laughing with his sons and grandsons. All the Frey men, it seemed, were present and Jon felt sick at the sight, wishing they would all just drop dead.Jon sat there, silent, ignored, and when Walder stood, drawing the attention of his sons and grandsons, the young Northern Omega thought about stabbing him in the groin but refrained. He would not risk bringing harm to his unborn baby. As much as he wanted revenge for his brother he could not risk anything happening to his baby.Walder began a disgusting speech, seemingly uncaring that his Omega, his husband, brother of the man he’d helped murder in his own home, was seated next to him, praising his family for their actions. The men all drank of the rich wine Walder had provided and Jon was surprised when he reached for his glass only for Walder to snarl at him about not wasting good wine on a damn Omega. It made Jon bristle but he bit his tongue as the man pressed on.“I’m proud of you lot,” Walder said, smiling, the men still drinking and laughing. “You helped me slaughter the Starks at the Red Wedding.”Jon clenched his hands tightly as the men cheered and Walder nodded approvingly.“Yes, yes, brave men the lot of you. Butchered a woman pregnant with her baby. Cut the throat of a mother of five. Slaughtered your guests after inviting them into your home.“Silence dropped over the crowd and Jon glared up at Walder but something, something in the man’s expression wasn’t right. It didn’t fit wit the bile he had been spewing. Jon saw the rage, a rage that mirrored his own strangely enough, and a cruel smile spread across his husband’s face.“But you didn’t slaughter all the Starks,” Walder mused as his sons and grandsons watched him, confused and uncomfortable. “No, no, no.” Walder reached out to Jon then, meeting his gaze, fingertips scratching at the corner of his jaw in a familiar gesture. But not one Walder had ever used before. Jon frowned in confusion. “That was your mistake.” Walder looked at his family again. “You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe.“ Suddenly the men began to cough, to choke, blood staining their lips as they fell, clutching their throats.Jon was suddenly on his feet, staring wide eyed at Walder, fear clawing at him, but Walder merely smiled, meeting his gaze and reaching up, peeling his face away to reveal the most unexpected thing.Arya.Arya, through some sort of magic, had just impersonated Walder Frey and, in one swift move, had just brought about the end of the male line of House Frey. She had avenged their family.“Arya,” he whispered her name and the young Alpha smiled.“Tell them,” she said, hugging him, letting him clutch her close. “When they ask what happened here today, tell them that the North remembers. Tell them that winter came for House Frey.”Jon smiled against her hair, realizing that, by killing every Frey man she had left his baby to inherit the Twins. She had given him a front row seat to the vengeance for their family and she had gifted him a keep and control of it.She did not remain in the Twins long after that, leaving before dawn, heading for Winterfell, which Sansa had managed to take back from Ramsay Bolton with the aid of loyal knights of the Vale. Jon wanted to go with her, to be home, to be with his sisters, but he knew he could not leave the Twins to fall to the hands of the Lannisters or one of their allies.It was not difficult to find men willing to pledge to him as Lords of the Twins, many men of the Riverlands had loved Robb, had been outraged by the murder of the King in the North and his family, and saw Jon as a hostage of the Freys who had helped to destroy them. And they were not the only ones. Men from the Neck, sent by Lord Howland Reed, and men sent from the North by Sansa, newly crowned Queen in the North, joined them.Jon, wanting no further association with Walder, with those who had tried to destroy his family, cast aside the Frey name, stylizing himself as Lord Jon Stark of the Twins and, to further cement his control he pledged loyalty not only to his sister as Queen in the North but to Edmure Tully, rightful Lord of Riverrun and his son-by-law through the man’s marriage to his stepdaughter, Roslin.He knew there would still be challenges ahead, the Lannisters would not be content to simply let him rule the Twins, not when he had declared for Queen Sansa, but he would be ready for them. He was a Stark, he may not have been born with the name but, as his father had once said, he had Stark blood and winter had come.

[nellie-elizabeth]

Doctor Who: The Woman Who Fell to Earth (11x01)

New Doctor! New show-runner! Something to get excited about!

Cons:

One of the new companions, Ryan, starts off the episode making a video blog about the most amazing woman he's ever met. He starts the story with how his grandmother was helping him ride a bike, and then tells the whole adventure with the Doctor and aliens and all that. In the end, his grandmother Grace ends up dying trying to help save the day. Turns out, the video diary was about Grace, not about the Doctor, as we are led to assume at first. Only, it's such an obvious subversion of expectations that it came across juuuust a little bit cheesy. I felt emotional when Grace died, but something about Ryan's words pushed it too far into campy territory for me.

I'm sure this will come with time, but thus far I'm not getting much of a read on Yasmin, or "Yas", as a character. This story really was about Ryan, Grace, and Graham, and their family dynamics, which is totally fine and lovely. So Yas, who will round out the trio with Ryan and Graham, felt a bit one-dimensional to me in this particular episode. All we know about her is that she's a new cop who wants more excitement. Maybe we don't need to know more than that right away, and it is of course a little unfair to make a judgment based only on the first episode. I'm sure I'll learn all about her in time!

As thrilled as I am to be moving away from all things Moffat, this episode contained a remarkable lack of connection to anything that came before it. No companions, no setting, no nothing. The most we got was the Doctor making a few little remarks about how she used to be a Scotsman, and that her legs used to be longer, that sort of thing. These "soft reboots" that we get when there's a new doctor and new companions all at the same time, can be a good way to reinvigorate the show. But they can also make it difficult to find the coherence in these stories.

Pros:

Honestly, though, this episode was just lovely. The first thing I really noticed was how simple and Doctor Who-like the plot was. The Doctor finds herself abruptly thrust into a strange situation, with a couple of odd alien sightings, some scared yet brave humans, wacky humor, and a somber yet hopeful ending. It feels like just the "back to basics" story we desperately needed to untangle ourselves from the mess of recent years. It wasn't an episode destined to be remembered for anything other than a new Doctor's first appearance, but maybe that's okay.

Jodie Whittaker is doing a great job. She's funny, but not too whimsical. She's recognizably the Doctor, a person who always helps when people need it, but she's not a "bad-ass" in the traditional sense of the word. She's afraid of the alien threat enough to run away when things look bad, but she'll stand between the danger and her new human friends too. She's charming, and clever, and willing to role her sleeves up and do what needs to be done.

I could see how some people might think this episode was a little tame, but I rather liked the simplicity, as I mentioned above. It lent itself to some hilarious moments, like the Doctor being unable to understand the alien introducing himself, so she ends up calling him "Tim Shaw" for the rest of the episode. There isn't some big alien invasion, just a single dude on a hunt. The wackiest that this episode gets is that the target of the alien's hunt is a crane operator, so the climax takes place up high on precarious beams. I also liked the dude who was being targeted by the alien. He obviously has some self esteem issues, but he uses motivational tapes to remind himself that he is special and valued. I liked that little quirk.

Appropriately for this premiere, things don't get too serious or dark, until the end, when Grace falls to her death. Her passing is a catalyst that brings Graham and Ryan into a new chapter of their lives. Obviously the Doctor's arrival is part of that big change as well. We see that this step-grandfather and step-grandson relationship isn't on the firmest footing, so one of the journeys of this season will be to see if Grace's death can bring these two closer together as they go on adventures with their new friend.

I also enjoyed the hints we're seeing of the Doctor's lasting principles. She tries to give "Tim Shaw" a chance to redeem himself and make the right choice, and when that doesn't work, she still plans only on returning him home, not killing him. His would-be victim actually attempts to kill him by pushing him off of the crane, but he teleports away before he can fall to his death. The Doctor tells the man: "you had no right to do that." It reminded me a bit of the 10th Doctor's first episode, when humans made a choice to kill an alien threat instead of letting them leave, and the Doctor expressed his displeasure at that choice. Here, obviously it was a much smaller, more muted example, but it's good to know that some key character traits are consistent throughout.

I'm really encouraged by what I've just seen in this premiere. It was a muted, simple episode, but it did what it needed to do. It served as a spring-board for a new Doctor. We got to see her heart and her comedy and her principles. As we move forward, I'm sure the stories will be more adventurous, and the companions will become more well-rounded and interesting.

8/10

[alongwalktoforever]

Japril Fanfic:                                Thank You For Being You

14x03 AU.

“Pick a place with you wife and child.” What if, there is something more Harper’s comment about April? Maybe, even genuine affection for the peppy, do-gooder redhead. A shared moment during a simpler time. A time of happy married Japril, before everything got so complicated.

Harper Avery was a man ahead of his time...until he wasn't.

Once, he was making medical advances and changing the face of surgery. They called him trailblazer, pioneer, groundbreaker. Now? He found himself confused at medical articles, unable to keep up with each technological advancement. It infuriated him. Harper wasn't always this irritable, but when his eyes begun to go and he wasn't allowed to perform surgery anymore, everything changed. His one release was taken from him and he saw age begin to catch up with him. He was fading fast; just a shadow of what he once was.

This thought was in the back of his mind when he entered Grey/ Sloan today, which is why he was already in a bad mood this morning. That and he hated crowds and any pomp and superfluous activities that took away from the work. Also, he had a splitting headache since he woke up and it wasn't going away. Yes, he was harsh to Jackie and this Bailey woman, but his blunt candor was how things got done, it is how he got where he is today. He had never pussyfoot around an issue and he wasn't going to start now. Why Grey/Sloan thought that they were so special was beyond him. He had always believed that respect had to be earned. There are no such things as handouts. You do the work or you don't get to be at the table. That was that. So for Bailey to insist that her hospital deserved anything other than the same expectations that he places on every other Avery hospital and facility was unacceptable and she had to go. Catherine had taken Bailey outside, probably to give her a hug and pat on the back or some other weak gesture. Let the woman wallow. There was work to be done. Harper was going through the budget one more time when Jackie walked through the door. His grandson seemed just as surprised to see him there.

"Oh...I thought you guys had finished up. I just wanted to grab my notebook," Jackson stumbled through his words, but Harper could feel the contempt in his voice. He knew his grandson hated him. And today, Harper probably deserved it. Those words earlier were harsh. Robert Avery had always been a sore spot in the Avery household. His name unspoken, unless used to spew hurt. There were times where times where Harper saw his son in Jackson and it scared him. Robert was weak, selfish, and lazy, but he was also smart and full of potential, just like Jackson. He just didn't want his grandson falling down the same hole. And Harper wanted to tell all this to Jackie, but all that came out was his usually grumpy demeanor.

"Well… hurry up!" Harper barked and returned to his spreadsheets. Jackson didn't say anything else, but nodded and moved around the table to grab his notebook. Jackson was halfway to the door when Harper remembered something from earlier.

"You and April really divorced?" Harper asked without looking up. This stopped Jackson in his tracks. First, Harper Avery never remembered anyone's name. That was a fact. He still called his secretary of thirty years, Ellen… Her name is Sarah. Second, Jackson could actually detect genuine curiosity.

"Yeah… Last year. It's complicated." This was all Jackson could manage. He couldn't see himself describing the whole painful experience to his grandfather. How grief had torn them apart. How they were still trying to find their way back to some sort of normalcy. His grandfather was not one to talk feelings.

"Hmm..." Harper grunted. Jackson took this as a sign of the end of the conversation and made his way to the door. But before he could close the door behind him, Jackson heard his grandfather say something else. It was so faint that Jackson wasn't even sure he heard Harper correctly. It almost sounded like he had said, "That's a shame. I liked her."

Jackson had no way of knowing that those would be his grandfather's last words together.

2014 "We can just leave. Just sneak out and go before anyone sees us," Jackson suggested again. He kept fussing with his tie, it suddenly felt like it was strangling him, but he also knew that this was probably just psychosomatic. Jackson had probably been to hundreds of these stupid galas since he could walk. He spent years making mind numbing small talk with stuffy socialites and watching everyone kiss his grandfather's ass. It was exhausting.

"Jackson. My hair is done, I'm wearing a dress. This is happening." April almost wanted to laugh at her husband's nervousness, instead she grabbed his hand to stop his fussing and gave it a calming squeeze. "Everything is going to be fine."

"Have you met my family?!" He scoffs as they enter the huge extravagant ballroom. It was professionally decorated with golden streams and soft lighting. It was ironic to spend this much money, just to raise money. These always seemed counterproductive in his opinion. This gala was another in a line of self-congratulatory bullshit. His grandfather was getting award for raising money, but even this seemed extravagant even for an Avery event.

"Hey, we survived your mother..." April remembered how a few months ago, Catherine blown into town like hurricane and questioned their whole relationship. Her mother-in-law had even brought up some very awkward questions that they had since put on the backburner, enjoying married life instead.

"Yeah, a fucking cakewalk compared to this." Jackson could handle his mother. At least, he knew that her heart was in the right place. His grandfather? Not so much.

"We will survive this one night too." April turns and stands in front of Jackson. She was going to enjoy this night, no matter his morose mood. It was the first time they were outside of the hospital as a married couple and didn't have to hide. She could dance and kiss her husband all she wanted, without worrying about what others thought. She was excited, especially since he was looking exceptionally handsome in his suit.

"That isn't guaranteed," Jackson sighs, his doubts were not going to be appeased that easily. However, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle when his wife moves close against his body and whispers slyly into his ear. "And then when the night is over, you get to see what I am wearing underneath the dress," He could feel April's breath and felt his blood start pumping into some very inconvenient places.

"Are you bribing me?" Jackson can't help but smile.

"Is it working?" April asks with a kink of her eyebrow. God, she was sexy when she wanted to be.

"A little bit. Yeah," He wraps his arms around her, bringing her even closer. They both laugh and Jackson leans down and gives her a long kiss. They had been married several months and each day, he fell more and more in love with her. He didn't know that was possible.

'Ahem..." The newlyweds break apart to see Catherine standing there, tapping her very expensive shoes at them. "You're late."

"Nice to see you too, mom." Jackson greets his mother with a quick peck on the cheek. She was still prickly about their marriage, but she was slowly coming around.

"Hi, Catherine,"April gives an awkward half hug to mother-in-law, which she returns. They were still trying to figure out how to navigate their new dynamic.

"Hello April, honey. Well come on, your grandfather wants to see you two," Catherine doesn't wait for them to answer, but walks away as the crowd seems to part in front of her. April has to give her husband a gentle nudge before he actually begins to follow. Jackson grabs them drinks on the way. We are gonna need it, he tells her.

They find Harper Avery surrounded by a group of people, all decked in fancy clothing and jewelry. No one could deny that Harper was a commanding presence. Everyone seemed equally scared of him and equally trying to impress him. April knew she felt very outside her element, but she was here for Jackson and that is all that mattered.

"Sorry to interrupt. But Harper, Jackson is here and so is April," Catherine announces.

"You're late," Harper greets them, bluntly.

"Jesus," Jackson rolls his eyes and growls under his breath.

"Harper, nice to meet you," April says loudly, over her husband's comment. She reaches her hand to shake, but Harper ignores it. Jackson grabs her hand instead and holds tight even as Harper turns to the group and introduces them.

"This is my tardy grandson, Jackie...finally and his wife." Harper gestures half-heartedly at them.

"Jackson, very good to see you. And you look lovely, Mrs. Avery." One man comments, addressing the couple. Jackson almost chokes on his drink as he sees April's expression. He could see the color flush her face, she was not happy.

"It's actually Kepner. April Kepner. I kept my name," April corrected.

"Ohhh. How modern," The woman laughs.

"Oh, are you the Kepner's from Napa Valley? Their vineyard is divine," Another asks.

"No. Nope. We are the Iowa Kepners...from Iowa," April manages.

"Yes, Amy married well above her means. Smart girl," Harper states, dripping with condescension. 

"Oh. That's...nice," They seem to lose interest after that and turn their attention on to Jackson. "So Jackson, I know you are in surgery. What is your speciality? Cardio, Neuro, or…" Before Jackson could answer, Harper interrupted.

"My grandson chose flash over substance. Plastics." Harper said the last word with so much disdain that it even surprised Jackson.

"Actually, Jackson is the head of plastics and a hospital board member and has created one of the best burn centers on the west coast," April interjected.

"You his wife or his cheerleader?" Harper did not mean this as a compliment.

"We're gonna go find our seats. Nice speaking to all of you," Jackson ushers April away before she could argue anymore.

"Ass!" April hisses when they are safe distance away.

"Welcome to the family," Jackson says as he kisses the top of her head. It felt very very nice to have someone on his side.

The next few hours, Jackson and April successfully avoided Harper and his posse of judging eyes. Instead, they drank and danced and only had eyes for each other. The couple was currently swaying slowly to the very expensive string band as April rests her head against his chest and sighs contently.

"You know, this might be the first time that I have had fun at one of these since I was thirteen," Jackson muses as his hand trails up and down her spine, sending shivers everywhere.

"What happened when you were thirteen?" April asked, amused.

"I got to second base with Mila Taylor in the coatroom closet," Jackson reveals with wicked grin.

"Jackson!" April swats him with false indignation as Jackson laughs.

"You asked! Hey..." Jackson lifts her chin gently and kisses softly on the lips before whispering, "I couldn't have done this without you. Thank you for.." "For what?" April confused at his seriousness.

"Well… for everything. For just being you," He says finally. "I love you."

"I love you, too" April returns simply. She stands on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply. He pulls her closer and April can feel every nerve in her body on fire. They become truly lost in one another before finally breaking apart after what felt like hours.

"I have to get you home...like now," Jackson says breathlessly. They were starting to become a spectacle. And he needed to know what was under that dress more than anything.

"What no coat closet?" April teases but grabs his hand and heads toward the door. Jackson was helping her put her coat on when he hears his name bellowed across the room.

"Jackson!" The couple turns to see Harper Avery waving them over.

"So close," Jackson drops his head and walks over. "Hey, we were actually just leaving."

"Yeah, I am not feeling too great. I think it was the shrimp cocktail," April fibs as she rubs her stomach dramatically. Jackson shoots her an appreciative smile for her effort, but knows that the lie won't get them out of this. Harper ignores her and carries on.

"I told you to come so you could network with the top surgeons in the world, Jackie," Harper lectures. Jackson had heard this speech countless times growing up, he was over it.

"I thought you just wanted us here for familiar support," Jackson quips.

"Don't be a wiseass." Harper snaps.

"I have talked to these people a million times. They are all the same! They are vapid and self-serving and…" Jackson lists, but he is interrupted.

"And you're not? How many boob jobs have you done this month, Jackie? Jesus, what a disappointment." The last word hits the group harshly. Harper sips more of his drink, indifferent to the effect of his cruel words.

"Well, I am sorry about that, Grandpa," Jackson states, solemnly. He turns to April and kisses her on the cheek before saying, "I'll grab us a cab."

He leaves April and Harper standing there, while April finishes putting on her coat to leave.

"So sensitive. It's like having a grand..daughter. " Harper says with disdain and a hint of inebriation.

"You know what? No. I was going to let this go. But no."April turns around, with fire in her eyes.

"Excuse me?" Harper was not often talked back to.

"You've insulted me, my husband, and apparently the whole gender of women tonight. I don't care what you think of me. My whole life is people underestimating me. Which is whatever… I can take it. So yes, I grew up on a farm in Iowa, but if you had taken the time to ask any personal questions then you would know that my father owns almost all the land in Moline county. That is a big deal. Maybe not when you are dealing with pompous, brown nosing sycophants, but in the real world. The world where you don't spend a million dollars congratulating yourself on your philanthropy. Like this is crazy," April gestures to the decadent room. She continues her rant, she was only just beginning.

"Also, I am an excellent trauma surgeon. I was the top of my class in med school and I have helped make Grey Sloan one of the best trauma centers in America. Me. So no, I don't have a name or award named after me...yet. But I am not just Jackson Avery's wife. I am so much more." April began to walk away, but suddenly she turns back with a second wind. "And Jackson is so much more too. So much more than what you think of him. He changes people's lives everyday. And he doesn't ask for a pat on the back or a gala celebrating him. He does amazing things every freaking day. He is amazing. And it is just so very sad that you can't see that."

April finally takes a full breath for the first time in what felt like forever. An awkward silence falls on the two adversaries. April begins to wonder if Harper is deciding between calling security or just disowning her and Jackson, entirely. However, what happens next does surprise her.

Harper finishes his drink and says calmly, "I hate these things too." "What?" April asks, shocked at his demeanor. "I hate being surrounded by… what was that word you used?" He turns to her. "Sycophants," April answers, bluntly. "Yes, sycophants. My business advisor says they are necessary. But, they are stupid and useless. Is a ridiculous champagne fountain saving lives? No, doing the medicine, doing work, that is saving lives." "Well… I agree," April never thought she would say something like that out loud. "And Jackie, he needs to be pushed or he will just… His father…" Harper struggles with his words, which doesn't happen that often. "I think you need to stop comparing him to his father. He's not him." April did not have a doubt in her mind about this. Harper doesn't say anything else, just nods curtly. April takes this as her signal to leave. "Goodnight, April," Harper remarks before heading back into the party. "Yeah… Goodnight," April walked away, still in shock with how the whole conversation went.

She finds Jackson standing outside the main entrance with his hands in his pockets and staring intensely at the night sky, the crinkle between his eyes more prominent than ever. April knew that Jackson had lived with this sort of pressure all his life. That even after all that, he was still brave and caring and did his best to help the people around him. That he was still the amazing man standing before her. April was pretty sure that she had never loved him more than in this moment. She slowly walks up behind him and wraps her hands around his waist, leaning her head against his back.

"Hey," She says softly. "Thank you for being you."

He doesn't say anything but she feels him relax against her touch. After a few seconds, he turns to face her and gathers her inside his large coat. Jackson gently moves a strand of hair from her eyeline and traces the outline of her face. April closes her eye to his touch. He stares at her for a few more seconds, before he kisses her. As they break apart, he leans his forehead against hers and says, "Let's go home."

Present Day Jackson has spent the day fielding condolences from people, some he had never even spoken to before. He was a great man. What a loss. You must be so sad. Jackson didn't know how he felt yet. But he had to go through the motions. He would nod solemnly, say something like, 'He will be missed' or 'It won't be the same without him.' Then he would make an excuse to leave before he had to fake anymore grief. Yes, his grandfather was a great man, to everyone but him. He had been a bully and judgemental and held him to impossible standards his entire life. The whole day had been weird and exhausting, which is why he found himself heading towards the nursery, hoping that he could have a few minutes of peace with his daughter. However, when he got there, he found April holding Harriet outside the nursery.

"Oh hi..Hey you," Jackson says and shakes his head. He was acting like an awkward schoolboy. "Hey," April smiles politely. Things were still weird after April's confession and moving out. They were still trying to figure everything out. "Sorry, I didn't know you were…" He begins. "Oh no, it's fine." April waves his apology off. "I just wanted to see her since I have a surgery and won't be able to see before she leaves for the night." "Oh well, I'll just come back later." Jackson begins to back away, not wanting to impede on April's time. "Don't be silly," April walks up to him and hands Harriet over. "I was just leaving." "Oh thanks," Jackson says as kisses his daughter on top of head and smells her baby scent, it was already calming him. "I heard about Harper," April remarks as she watches the father/daughter greeting with a sad smile. "Oh yeah…" Jackson shrugs, too exhausted to come up with a fake condolence. "So," April inquires. "does it feel like a 10,000 pounds weight has been lifted off your back?" "No…" He says seriously, before cracking a smile. "More like 10 million." They both chuckle at the dark humor of it all. Jackson had almost forgotten that April had been there through all the bullshit with him, from even before they were together. It was nice to have someone get it. "Well, he could be an ass, but he was your grandfather so I'm sorry." April reaches out to put her hand on his shoulder, but decides against it at the last second. Sometimes it was too easy to act normal with Jackson. She decides to leave before she falls back into old habits, "Well, I gotta go." But before she can walk away, Jackson blurts out the question he had been dying to ask, "Do you know what his last words to me were?" "Hmm?" April asks, bracing herself for some classic Harper dig or insult. "He said, 'I always liked her,'" Jackson looks probingly at his ex-wife. "Liked who?" April eyes squint as she tries to understand Jackson's line of questioning. "You." He states, simply. "Me?" April asks incredulously. "Yeah. Were you friends and I just didn't know it?" Jackson was only kidding, however when he sees April's expression, he can tell there is something more the story. "No. Not friends," April says, evasively. When Jackson keeps looking at her, she finally confesses. "I did yell at him once." "What?" Jackson lets out a surprised laugh. Now it was Jackson's turn to be confused. "That first gala we went to… well the only gala actually," April remembered the evening very clearly. His suit, her dress, that damn champagne fountain. "You yelled at my grandfather." Jackson still trying to wrap his head around this development. "He was being a huge… jerk to you. And I was little drunk and kind of just snapped." April confesses. "You yelled at him and we still got invited to Christmas dinner." Jackson repeats in disbelief. All April could do was shrug. April had only seen Harper a handful of times after that night. He was still his gruff self, but his icy exterior had melted a bit over the years. He even sent her a holiday card or two over the years. "That night…" Jackson doesn't know what he wants to say about that night. He just knew that having April there had been everything. He looks at April and knows he has more to say, but doesn't know how. A few seconds pass, before the moment is disrupted as April's pager goes off. She looks at it and says solemnly, "I really gotta go... Goodbye Jackson." "Yeah, goodbye," He says as he watches her walk down the hallway, he was going to let her go but he had to say one more thing, "April!" She stops at the edge of the hallway and turns back. "Thank you...for…" He struggles to say what he really means. For being you.  But April seems to understand anyway. She nods, before disappears around the corner. Jackson watches the spot long after she leaves, reminising about a simpler time. 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12684923/1/

[popgoesthewiener]

Even The Stars Are Ill At Ease 0001 - Doofus Rick Sanchez/Evil Morty Smith - SFW

Title: Even The Stars Are Ill At Ease Author: Daisy  Fandom: Rick And Morty Setting:  Pairing: Doofus Rick/Evil Morty, J19ζ7 Rick/Evil Morty, Gazorpazorpian Rick/Evil Morty, C137 Rick/Evil Morty, Evil Rick/Evil Morty, Riq IV/Evil Morty, Storage Rick/Evil Morty, Miami Rick/Miami Morty, Miami Rick/Investment Rick/Miami Morty, Super Morty Fan Morty/Miami Morty, Punk Morty/Miami Morty, Greaser Morty/Miami Morty, Punk Morty/Greaser Morty/Miami Morty, Dreamy Rick/Novelist Rick, Dreamy Rick/Punk Morty, Novelist Rick/Greaser Morty, C137 Rick/C137 Morty, Birdperson/Tammy Gueterman, Abradolf Lincoler/Nancy, Mr. Lucius Needful/Summer Smith Characters: Doofus Rick, Evil Morty, Gazorpazorpian Rick, C137 Rick, Evil Rick, Riq IV, Storage Rick, Miami Rick, Investment Rick, Dreamy Rick, Novelist Rick, Miami Morty, Punk Morty, Greaser Morty, Super Morty Fan Morty, C137 Morty, Birdperson, Tammy Gueterman, Abradolf Lincoler, Nancy, Mr. Lucius Needful, C137 Summer Smith, Doofus Jerry, Doofus Beth, Doofus Summer, Doofus Snuffles Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama/Hurt/Comfort Rating: E Chapters: 1/? Word Count: 3522 Type of Work: Chapter Story Status: Incomplete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Het, Straight, AU - Canon Divergent, Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Child Abuse, Incest, Grandfather/Grandson Incest, Selfcest, ABO Dynamics, Alpha!Doofus Rick, Omega!Evil Morty, Some Universes are ABO and others are not, Most pairings are just mentioned, More Tags To Be Added Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: Evil Morty isn’t totally sure what to do about his desire to have a ‘Proper Rick’, while Doofus Rick is finding that he might have been forced to forget something important. AN: Alright guys, so like… I have this whole headcanon surrounding Doofus Rick being Evil Morty’s original Rick. I’ll let the story tell itself, instead of spoiling things, but some things to note: Evil Morty’s Snuffles never left entirely, he stayed with Morty and kept his mecha suit. Doofus Rick is a trauma therapist that sometimes works with the Rick police/military forces, especially with victims of Ricks’ plots. He deals with a lot of Rickless Mortys, too. 

Rick And Morty Fic Masterlist (Chapters Will Be Posted There) Chapter One: I Woke Up To Something In My Head ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sunlight filtered into the house through the big picture window downstairs, and everything seemed cheery and bright save for the young teen’s bedroom. The lights were off, blackout curtains drawn, and he lay snuggled down underneath his six blankets, not ready to leave his cocoon of warmth and safety. It brought a sweet smile to the lips of the elder male as he entered the room with a wooden tray full of food in hand.

“Morty?” A smile brighter than a thousand suns met his eyes, the second one slowly refocusing with a few mechanical whirs. Those buck teeth, he’d know them anywhere. “Rick…?” He whispered, slowly pushing up onto his knees, one hand holding up his weight as the other dug the heel into his false eye. “What are you-- I thought you were-- Do you remember…?” “I made you breakfast, silly.” Rick absently flicked some hair out of his face, setting the ornate little tray down in front of his Morty and ruffling his wild, sleep-destroyed curls. “I was thinking maybe later, we could go out. You know, we need some more cesium for something we’re working on, and I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch. Anywhere you like, little buddy! Today’s your special day.” Leaning forward, he pressed his lips softly to Morty’s forehead, before getting up and dusting off his pants.  “Wh-where are you going?” For a second, he couldn’t hide the desperation on his face, the terror in his tone, and his eyes must have looked pained because Rick sat back down beside him, tugging him into his lap. “Oh, baby, don’t look so sad… I need to go grab my breakfast so I can eat with you.” His voice was soft, sincere, and something about it calmed the racing heart of the boy in his arms.  “I just… Don’t want to lose you.” Morty imparted shyly, the brighter aura of his mechanical eye shining in the dimly lit room. It made the red on his cheeks even more obvious, and he looked away as another kiss was pressed to his cheekbone.  “I’m not going anywhere without you, Morty, you know that.” He smiled softly, slowly picking the other up and setting him beside his tray of food, getting up again. “I’ll be right back.” Casting a glance at the pancakes with strawberry glaze, the bacon and egg baked thingy that Rick insisted was the better version of both worlds, the orange juice and milk sitting side by side, he found himself sighing. How could anyone want this to stop? With a little sigh, he tucked into his orange juice, eyelids slipping closed. Seconds later, he was jarred out of his joy by the entire room shaking. Debri fell from the ceiling and his shocked eyes flitted around the room. Hot, wet tears ran rampant down his cheeks as he heard a sob of anguish from downstairs; he could feel his hands quaking, the burn of bile in his-- “Morty.” An almost robotic voice managed to sound concerned. A hot, red tongue swiped over his cheek several more times before the brunet shot up in bed, smacking his head on the mechanical contraption his dog resided in. Tears slipped down his cheeks but it had nothing to do with the pain in his head.  “Sn-Snowball?” He questioned, slowly, eyes narrowing, the right one whirring as it shot about the room. He wasn’t in that sun drenched house anymore, his bed was lumpy and cold despite him sleeping in the same spot all night, and the only other living being worth his time in this place was his dog. The cold metal of the room he was in only helped to amplify the loneliness he felt as he absently reached forward to pet the fluffy dog’s chest, the only spot his neural suit didn’t totally cover. “It appears you were dreaming of him again, Morty.” The dog informed, carefully preparing the suit for exit so that he could hop up onto the bed. The little white Maltese crossed the gray blanket to curl up in his friend’s lap, licking at his chin again before watching him carefully. “If you need it, I am here for emotional support.” Chuckling a little bit, albeit mirthlessly, Morty’s hands lovingly pet down the fluffy dog’s fur, scratching the base of his tail and rubbing along his spine. The human was so good at getting all the spots his companion couldn’t quite reach, and it always made him pant a smile.  “I might just need to go see hi--” A pause, and he gulped, “My therickpist again.”  “You cannot hide forever.” Snowball responded, those beady eyes looking up into Morty’s, “He will find out somehow. His entire livelihood--” “I know. Until then, I have to--” “Make do with other Ricks? Let them treat you poorly so you feel more like one of yourselves?”  “...You’d make a great therick-- Therapist, Snuffles.” But it wasn’t the most praising tone he’d ever heard. Snowball bared his teeth for a moment, before huffing and closing his eyes, sighing gently. “Go, then. I’ve made breakfast, but I know you’d rather not eat before you go to the Citadel. I suppose that means more bacon for me.”  “You eat all the bacon you want, Snuffles. You’re the best friend a Morty could ask for.” Kissing his head, he let the dog make his way back to his suit before getting out of bed and stretching. It would be a long day, most likely, and he wanted to at least look a little less like he’d gotten three hours of sleep this week and hadn’t remembered what a shower was for at least half of that time. It was hard to be involved in a project as large as the one he was busy with, and maybe this particular trip was long, long overdo.  Eyepatch in place, he settled into the scalding water, letting it soak away his fatigue even as he found himself wishing he could crawl back into bed. The desire to go see the man that plagued his dreams was enough to spur his leaden limbs to moving, and he took the bare minimum of showers before he was hopping into his usual shirt and pants. White vans on his feet and black socks climbing up his calves, he closed his eyes as he tried to think about what to do about the circles under his eyes. A glance at the clock told him he needed to go quickly, so he changed his mind about doing anything and simply grabbed his portal gun out of the box labeled ‘PORN’ in his closet.  It took less time to portal to the Citadel of Ricks than it probably should have, and he was thankful that he wasn’t the only solo Morty running around. All he had to do was go to Sanchez And Associates, which would take him six streets north, four to the right and down the last one, across from the McRick’s that he’d probably eat lunch at. It was a simple enough walk, melded in with the other Mortys with his eyepatch in his pocket, and when he finally arrived at the old hotel, he took the stairs to avoid any awkward elevator moments.  Upon arriving on the third floor, even he had to admit he was a little out of breath, panting as he rest against the wall. A couple other Mortys passed him, chatting about this, that and the other thing, giggling like a gaggle of girls. It set his jaw so tight his eyes hurt, and he had to rub them, the whirring of his right eye kicking up another notch as he rolled it up and back. When it came back to a normal setting, he could see through the wall like an X-Ray, trying to find his purpose for coming here in the first place. “...Hey, what the fuck are you doing here again, kid? Weren’t you just--” “Shut it, Rick.” Morty snapped, eyelids narrowing dangerously as he snarled his next words, “I thought it was that Morty’s day to work? Didn’t realize there was going to be a secricktary today.” “I’m the fucking secretary today, you little shit. Don’t bite my balls off, Jesus. Who are you here for?” Leveling a glare on the scowling man behind the desk, Morty finally sighed and rolled his eyes before closing them. Breathe. That was what he’d been instructed whenever his temper was too high. Most Ricks weren’t smart enough to listen, but he still had that Morty disposition, despite the fact. “J19ζ7 Rick.” There was a look settled on him before the Rick laughed around the mouth of the bottle he was drinking from.  “Doofus? You Mortys sure love him as a therapist.” He almost sounded incredulous for a long moment before he shrugged, “And which Morty are you?” “J499.” It was a lie, one he knew well enough, but it was easy to tell, at this point. At least he was believed. It had been awfully hard getting a new dimension, but finding one that had a dead Rick and Morty was a lot easier than he’d thought. Assuming someone else’s identity was always easier said than done. “...You don’t have an--” “I know. I just had a shitty… Experience, and he said that whenever I need him, I could go see him.” “He says that to--” “Shut up, asshole.” Morty sat on the little couch in the waiting room, facing the door, and pulled out his phone. Flipping through a few things, here, there, then another, he finally found himself relaxing a little. It was one, two, three Mortys and a Rick that walked out of that back office before he finally saw the blue-haired angel that would lead to a bit more of a restful night for him. With any luck. “Hey, there, Morty. Are you ready?” His kind smile and soft blue eyes were enough to coax Morty’s heavy limbs into movement, and he offered a small smile as he nodded. Feeling the other’s hand in between his shoulderblades leached ten million years of stress and anxiety from his soul, and he sighed gently. “Y-yeah, uh… I--” “You don’t have to say anything until you’re comfy on the couch.” The way he said it was more something a father or a friend would, and Morty felt his heart flutter in his chest. Maybe this was a mistake. Or, maybe, he would be able to get this nipped in the bud totally. Once they were behind the closed door, Rick seated himself calmly in his usual chair across from the loveseat Morty spread out on like he owned the place. What he wouldn’t have given to lay his head in the other’s lap… But he had to knock that thought out of his head before he said something stupid.  “So, I heard you had an emergency.” Rick’s voice was soft, his tone sympathetic, and his eyes gentle. Every time Morty exposed himself to this, it just made everything worse. Here he was, sitting with the man of his literal dreams, and all he could do was shrug and try not to stutter. “I… I-- I keep having these… These dreams. About someone that I used to know, and I… I shouldn’t… The dreams are…” If only he could finish a sentence like he could a Morty torture device. “The um… Themes behind the dreams can be… Troubling. Not necessarily bad, but… I shouldn’t feel this way about h-- This person. Sometimes they are… Sexual in nature, and others they are… Almost mundane.” The whole time, Rick took quiet notes on his legal pad, keeping his eyes on the other as he listened intently. Nodding a little here and there, he sat forward just slightly, pressing his elbows on his knees and tenting his hands against his mouth. The gesture was oddly attractive, and brown eyes flitted to the ceiling, the boy closing in on himself where he laid on the couch. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he scooted so that he was sitting in the corner of it, he almost looked guilty. When he didn’t continue, Rick nearly chirped his first question. “Regardless of what happens in these dreams, do you remember how they make you feel?” His head tipped to the side, knocking a bit of his dorky bowl cut into his eyes. Morty wrung his hands as he thought about it. He was almost afraid to say what he actually came up with. “They… Make me feel safe. Like I’m only at home in my dreams.” He began, closing his eyes and trying to think of how to word the rest of it, “It’s like… I… I don’t know, you know? I feel… Happy. And then… I wake up and I’m sad. Snuffles has been great about helping me but he… Doesn’t quite understand, I don’t think.” “Well, the important thing to note, I think, is that these dreams shouldn’t give you excess anxiety. Just like Snowball, you take comfort in them. It’s rather likely that you do not feel anything for this person, but you need to feel safe and happy in your waking hours. Being as you know this person, or did at some point, you probably have a heavy connection to them that you might not consciously be aware of.”  Everything that Rick was saying seemed to cement things in place for him. Morty did crave happiness and that feeling of safety and love that the dreams provided him, and he mourned their absence like he were addicted. Maybe it was wrong of him to want to get up, to snuggle into the other’s lap and have his hair pet, but there it was. The urge was sitting in the black pit of his heart, tugging his heartstrings like it might pull the right one to get him to move. Instead, he stayed firmly planted, rolling his fidget cube in his palm.  “So… I should maybe… S-seek out a… A Rick or something?” His cheeks were hot as the question left his lips, and he felt itchy in a way that only wanting out of one’s own skin could bring about.  “You said that yours died a while back,” Rick responded quietly, writing something down before looking up again, “Perhaps you need one in your life. Many Mortys are fine without their Ricks, but it isn’t uncommon to find one side of the other craving the attention of their opposite.” Some part of Morty wished that this Rick understood what he was saying. Craving the attention of a Rick? That, he figured, was probably true. Which was why there was a Gazorpazorpian Rick in an underground part of his lab back on the planet he’d taken up as his. He’d picked up and dropped so many Ricks in his work, used them as shields and reasons to go this place or that one. He let them think they were in control, he turned them into cyborg freaks like himself, all in an attempt to gain some kind of acceptance. The ones he controlled didn’t give him what he wanted of their own free will. The ones mostly governed by instinct didn’t give him a challenge. And, at the end of the day, none of them were his Rick.  But it seemed the devil was always in the details. “Plus, you said you were from dimension J499, right?” Now, Rick was considering something out the window of his office, closing his eyes and sighing slowly out of his mouth. “That is a dimension that deals heavily in Alpha/Omega dynamics, doesn’t it? It would explain your desire to have a connection with a Rick,” For a moment, he paused, sniffing the air before pausing, “Particularly an.. An Alpha.”  Well, J19ζ7 most certainly wasn’t wrong. J499, much like J19ζ7, was a universe with heavy Alpha/Omega dynamics, and Morty was, despite himself, an Omega. With Omega needs. And his body had figured out long before he had that there was a particular Alpha that he wanted. There were studies, some of which he and Snuffles had discovered on their own, that there were some pairs that were True Mates. It made sense, in his head, that his body desired his mate. But the eighteen year old was far from a virgin, and nothing had ever taken. Maybe he needed to stop running. “Yes… I suppose I could use a Rick with a… With a knot, huh?” He murmured softly, finally tossing his eyes over at the other. How could Rick be so… So calm? Could he not feel how they were drawn to one another? Was he so brainwashed that even his heart couldn’t possibly remember him? The mind-wipe gun that he used shouldn’t have erased everything like this… Maybe he was repressing things, too. “Are you uh, implying that you frequently sleep with… With other Ricks?” There was something in the elder’s tone that awakened something in him that had his heart pounding, and he shrugged a little.  “I…” A lie. He had to tell a lie. Even if the only one he could think of wasn’t entirely untrue. “I make money working at one of the um… M-Morty brothels here in the Citadel.” At least he had the decency to sound properly shamed. Rick’s eyes jumped to the other’s face and for a long moment, he looked a little disturbed.  “Do you enjoy it?” He finally asked, his smile soft again, less upset looking, and he reached forward for his water bottle. The way he gulped it down was telling of something, but Morty wasn’t entirely sure what. “I enjoy being close to Ricks that want to… Be with a Morty. I enjoy sex, as well, like most healthy adults do. It shouldn’t matter that…” That he always felt strangely empty afterwards. It didn’t matter how full his belly was, how much he’d been given, how he’d been used and claimed and left with his entire body full… His heart felt empty.  “It shouldn’t matter that what, Morty?” Reaching over the sparse space between them, he rested a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder and the younger man wanted to scream. Skin on skin contact was worse than anything through his shirt, and he had to force himself not to whimper. “It shouldn’t matter that I want more than physical attention.” “Everything that you desire and need emotionally is just as important as physical needs.” Rick was pulling his hand back again, nodding slightly as he continued, “Never neglect these things. Your body knows what it needs.” “Sometimes I wonder if it does.” Morty responded, feeling lightning surge through every nerve ending as the other’s hand slid up his arm to his elbow. This was embarrassing. Shivers ran down his spine and he slowly sat up, curling in on himself, though there was a scent of sad satisfaction in his scent.  A familiar memory of that particular mixture of lavender, gunpowder and green tea flickered over Rick’s brain, and for a long moment, he just stared. There was a brightness to the flavor of it, and it soaked into the air around them in a way that had him breathing in deep through his mouth to avoid doing something stupid. Morty seemed to notice just what was going on, and suddenly rose to his feet.  “Th-thanks, um. I… That’s probably good, I know you have other patients.” They had barely talked for half an hour, but the room was stuffy and he needed to get out onto the street. Maybe he would treat himself to something from the bakery down the street, instead of his usual chicken nuggets at McRick’s. Before the other could stop him, he was out of the room and practically running down the hallway that lead to the lobby. Pushing out the door and into the hallway, he charged down the stairs like there was a fire on his heels. Outside was both a blessing and a curse; he could breathe again, safely and without compromise, but it was too bright. Scrunching up his eyes as he greedily sucked in air like a man drowning, Morty found himself leaning on one of the pillars that held up the building he’d just run out of. His spine screamed at him to rest for a moment, and he knew better than to push himself when it hurt this bad. A glance up at the window of the room he’d just been in showed a concerned J19ζ7 watching him, a hand pressed to the window. For a second, he was sure that there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, but the younger couldn’t be bothered with that.  The bakery furthest from his therapist’s office was in the main lobby of the Council Chamber, and it was close to a place where he could lose himself for a while. After all, that was probably what he needed the most. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Oh man. xD I honestly don’t know how this got so long. O.o; But hopefully it’s worthwhile.

[returntorule]

former heroes who quit too late; who just wanna fill up the trophy case again and in the end i'll do it all again i think you're my best friend

the kids aren’t alright - fall out boy

Name → Green Oak Closed character, played by Andres Age → 21 Occupation → Gym Leader Affiliation → Neutral Pokemon Team → Pidgeot, Machamp, Gyarados, Rhyperior, Umbreon, Tyranitar Aesthetics →

Grass stains and ripped jeans, windswept hair and clear sunny mornings, a careless grin and blood on the first four knuckles. Green is a force of nature, beautiful and reckless and near unstoppable when he has his mind set on something. He’s breathtakingly passionate in battle, but there’s a hidden softness, a keen curiosity and sharp mind that lends itself equally well to lab work and research. The only obstacle is figuring out what it is he really wants.

Bio →

To Green’s understanding, his mother was a youngin when Daisy and he were born: a teenager, sans any father to be seen. Minus a few pictures small, curious young hands dug out of an old dusty box, time dusted away with a swipe of a thumb, he hasn’t even a clue what his mother even looks like. His old lady dropped ‘em off, dumped ‘em onto their grandfather and skipped town– or God knows where, really. What were they? Unwanted pests? Years it took Green Oak through the ages to come to terms with the reality, though animosity and deep rooted feelings of abandonment aren’t easily shaken.

Ignorant eyes read the growing child a little rambunctious, something defiant, and arrogant. Green has few friends growing up, notably Red. It’s not easy branching out socially when you’ve got a mouth on you and an attitude, the blood ties with his own kin are somewhat awkward.

Eevee, she’s called Eevee, and while Green has been around Pokemon all his life given his caretaker a Pokemon professor, this one’s his. Challenging Red the first thing he does as a Pokemon trainer, then he sets off on his journey, tasked with a Pokedex from his grandfather– Red is given one too, of course. Something stirs in his gut, determination perhaps… perhaps jealousy. Either way, he’s going to complete it first, he’s going to collect his very first gym badge before Red, he’ll reign as champion first; He’s going to do it all on his own and by damn when the sun sets, someone’s going to be proud of him.

And Green does what he sets out to do, with a few losses here and there, but he does it, claims his throne as champion, feels like a king in the still of time too. Just as anticipated, his crimson clad rival steps through the doors of the champion’s chamber of the Indigo Plateau. Rocks his world too. Blood, sweat, and tears were forfeited to lead to this very day, and there he stood. Defeated. Humiliated. A two second champion. Where did he go wrong? Samuel Oak storms in shortly after the devastating loss, congratulating Red on his win, praising him then turning to scold his own grandson, words cutting like daggers. Icing on the cake. The green monster creeps in on his back again as the two vanish from his sight side by side.

Red’s gone. Poof. Disappeared into thin air. Kid think he a magician or something? Tch. For weeks the mutters under his breath speak ill of Red but as time goes by and there’s no sign of the champion, it hurts somehow. He blames himself, scorns Red, chastises himself, it’s a vicious cycle. He should’ve been better to him, to one of the very few people he actually held close in this life. A familiar feeling prickles at his heart, he knows this, he’s been through it, he can’t help it.

Time clocks anyway and along the way Green takes over the missing spot as gym leader of Viridian City. Wins some, loses some. Things are stagnant, life feels dull. Gray. Eventually he sheds the funk that’d enveloped him. Although things between his grandfather himself are still a little uneasy, he finds his person drawn to the profession of Pokemon professor. Kalos in his cross hairs, time is taken off from the gym – he can afford to sacrifice a year – studying under Sycamore, absorbing what the region has to offer.

Today, Green Oak can be sought out in Viridian after you’ve fought your way up to collecting seven badges. Word of mouth says Red and Green oversaw Battle Tree in Alola a couple years back too. The man got around.

Connections →

Sam Oak. Grandfather. Awkwardness. Jealousy is an ugly word, but it’s how Green often felt when dealing with his grandfather’s interaction with others. From the very beginning, perhaps it’s why he’d striven so hard to be the best when he finally gained freedom. All the hard work and effort fell moot in the end, all he’d dreamt of accomplishing was an “I’m proud of you.” While Green isn’t a little boy anymore, when the two are in a room together or simply communicating via phonecall, there’s a certain stiffness present. Even so, Green’s infinitely grateful for the man taking he and Daisy in.

Red. Rival. Best friend. The kid who dwelled down the road in the teeny inhabited Pallet Town, a boy Green’s child counterpart took to rather quickly. Then, a set off of a journey shifted the dynamic in the friendship the two shared; Green treated Red poorly, like he had something to prove, and there was a constant need to one up the boy, tear him down– their relationship evolved into a rivalry. For years following Red’s disappearance Green dwelled over his vile actions despite the slight feelings of abandonment with Red’s vanishing act, despite the feelings of defeat of being bested by the other. He felt bad, Red was the closest person he had. Eventually Red reared his head once again, and between the two they picked up the pieces and patched up the rips and tears.

Augustine. Friend. Worries about. Kalos’ very own Professor Sycamore Green formally met when he was sixteen. Green’s sights were set on becoming a Pokemon professor and to his relief, Augustine was easily swayed– working alongside his grandfather wasn’t exactly preferred arrangement. The professor was his mentor, Kalos was a region he knew little of. The year flew smoothly under Augustine, they keep in touch here and there. What’s more is the professor’s involvement with the remnants of Team Flare. Sure, they say they’ve an opposing stand in Galactic and other gangs of thugs’ recent speaking out, three years ago though, their attempted atrocity spoke volumes otherwise.